Adrian told me he’d asked his brother to prepare a birthday party for me tomorrow.

I refused almost instinctively. “That’s not necessary.”

Every year after the name-draw, he would throw me an extravagant birthday party—

“to make up for” the disappointment.

I used to think it was his way of loving me.

Now I know it was just another part of the performance.

Adrian took my hand, his voice soft in a way that left no room to escape.

“Of course it’s necessary. You’ve endured more than you should. For something this insignificant, I’ll indulge you—because you’re mine.”

For years, I let myself be bound by that so-called tenderness,

playing along with every script he handed me.

And since I’m leaving anyway…

one last act won’t make a difference.

The next day, a driver brought me to the restaurant.

The moment I walked in, I saw Adrian snapping at his brother.

“What the hell is this? The balloons are Irene’s most hated pink, and the dishes—celery? She doesn’t touch that. What were you thinking?”

His brother looked genuinely confused.

“I arranged everything she likes. Who flipped it?”

“I did.”

Sera appeared out of nowhere, her voice calm.

“Sera,” Adrian barked, “do you have any sense of boundaries?”

But Sera raised her voice over his, eyes reddening.

“Because of her, the elders lectured you again this morning! Why should she get to have a birthday here?”

Adrian’s anger extinguished instantly.

“Pour a glass of wine. Apologize to Irene.”

I saw it clearlyh, his fury was gone.

As if he’d forgotten that just yesterday he said he’d fire her the moment she made a real mistake.

What a joke.

He never intended to get rid of her.

“I don’t need an apology,” I said mildly. “I didn’t want a birthday dinner to begin with.”

But Adrian tightened his grip on my hand and shot Sera a warning glare.

Sera, seething, poured a glass of red wine.

In their Mafia circles, the most common apology ritual was simple:

the one who made the mistake pours the drink, the wronged person drinks it—

and the matter is considered settled.

If I refused to drink, it meant refusing peace.

But the moment I got close, I smelled the strong scent of nuts.

Sera held the glass up to me.

I didn’t take it.

I’m allergic to nuts. Adrian knows this better than anyone.

Sera knows too. She’s the one who often prepares gifts for me on his behalf.

Adrian glanced over, completely unconcerned.

“Just drink it. You’re allergic to so many things; I always carry meds. It’ll be fine.”

“Be good. Just a sip. She’s upset, but she agreed to apologize. Don’t get hung up on these small details.”

I smiled, understood.

Took the glass.

And in the next beat, under his expectant gaze, I lifted the glass, and sent the wine flying.

It splashed down Sera’s head, dripping over her stunned face, leaving her soaked and pathetic.

Adrian whipped toward me, his usually gentle expression turning ice-cold.

But I was done.

When you’re already on your way out, the weight of pleasing people disappears.

“I told you I don’t need an apology,” I said quietly.

“And next time you want a staged reconciliation… leave me out of it.”

Sera bolted out first, furious.

Adrian threw me a frustrated look. “That woman! I’m going to deal with her.”

Then he stormed out after her.

I hesitated for a moment, then followed.

My stomach churned at the sight—Adrian chasing Sera up to a room on the restaurant’s upper floor.

Then he slammed the door shut behind them.

Half an hour later, Adrian returned to the restaurant, Sera trailing behind him.

He spoke to me as if nothing had happened, his tone soft and deceptively gentle.

“Irene, I just gave her a proper lesson. Now she’s going to apologize to you in person.”

Sera immediately lowered her head, acting submissive.

“I’m sorry, Irene. It was all my whim. I hope you can forgive me, at least seeing that Don already ‘taught me a lesson.’”

She deliberately emphasized the words ‘taught me a lesson.’

Adrian’s expression stiffened for a moment, then he scowled and barked sharply:

“Apologized and still standing here? Get out of my sight!”

I watched Sera silently. Behind her eyes, where the pretended grievance lingered, there was an undeniable thrill.

She left swiftly, almost running.

Adrian’s gaze followed her, his throat still swallowing hard.

Then he turned back to me, clearing his voice with a couple of coughs.

“Let her go reflect on herself. No one’s going to disturb your birthday now. I’ll be with you all day.”

I hesitated. “Adrian… I wanted to tell you...”

His phone rang. The caller ID read: Sera.

He answered awkwardly.

Over the phone, Sera’s voice was urgency:

“The gangs are fighting over a crate of weapons. We need to go see.”

Adrian immediately refused.

“Worth me showing up personally? Let my lieutenants handle it. I’m staying with my principessa.”

Sera shot back:

“You don’t go? Someone will use it against you! Everyone will see you’re unfit.”

Adrian let out a cold laugh.

I stepped in:

“Go. This is more important than me.”

I gently pushed him toward the door. He kissed my forehead.

“I’ll come by your place tonight.”

“Earlier… what were you about to say to me?” he asked.

“Just… stay safe,” I said.

All these years, I always let him handle the gang business first. I trained myself every day, shaping myself to be a good Donna, waiting for the day he’d finally draw my name.

Once, I trusted him completely.

Now, I doubted him just as completely.

I followed him secretly, taking a taxi to see how he would handle the weapons dispute.

What I saw made my heart clench hard.

He and Sera were sitting across from the other gang leader in a fancy restaurant. Laughing. Talking. Like nothing had happened.

The New Year lights glittered outside. Inside, the restaurant was warm, festive, full of food. They were completely at ease.

Of course—the big boss solves things with a meal. No firefights, no chaos.

Meanwhile, I hadn’t eaten lunch.

Once home, I began packing my things for Miami.

Then a message from Adrian came:

The situation’s bad. I’m not coming back tonight.

I called him immediately. He picked up.

The soft sound of a violin floated in the background.

I didn’t say a word. Just hung up.

Yeah. I remembered—while they were having dinner, I saw him glance at a concert program from across the room. That’s where they were going next.

Adrian never called back.

I wanted to cry, but all I could do was laugh.

I just tossed my phone aside and kept packing.

The next morning, Adrian rushed in.

The moment he saw me, he pinched my nose, a mischievous grin on his face.

“My principessa… checking up on me? Found something?”

I know him. He’s nervous—afraid I’ll ask how yesterday went from stopping a weapons fight to attending a concert.

He’s probably played a hundred “what-if” conversations in his head.

But I just said, flat:

“Not checking up. I pressed the wrong button.”

He finally noticed the pile of packed luggage in the middle of the living room.

Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around my waist like he used to.

“You’re packing? Going somewhere?”

I gently pushed his hands away. “I’m going to Miami.”

Hearing this, he relaxed, letting out a breath.

“Going to see your mum and dad? When do you leave? I’ll have my assistant prepare some gifts for you to bring, and say hi from me.”

“This afternoon,” I said.

“Good. I’ll drive you to the airport. But come back early—I’ll miss you.”

I smiled silently.

Once I left, I had no plans to return to Chicago.

But even as the plane was about to take off, he still didn’t come.

All he left me was a message: ‘Something came up at the port. I’ll have the driver take you to the airport.’

Later, Sera’s Instagram posted a photo of the Great Lakes port.

They were inspecting the docks with another gang leader.

She was arm-in-arm with a man—only his back was visible—but I knew. That was Adrian.

And Sera… she looked every bit the Donna.

I let out a soundless laugh and called a cab myself.

In the airport.

My phone buzzed. A message from my mother:

“Boarded yet?”

I replied immediately, “Mom, I’m on my way!”

Once the boarding was done, I slipped into my seat.

My phone chimed, and there it was a message from Adrian.

He sent me a screenshot of an invitation:

Groom: Julian Monroe

Bride: Irene Cast

He texted, “What is this?”

I ignored.

The plane’s announcement instructed us to turn off our phones.

I pulled the SIM card out and tore it in half.

Adrian… to me, you are like that draw. Blank. Empty.