Maeve’s POV

“Yes, I told you to put your career on hold—to take care of the house, the family. But I didn’t mean this. Can you imagine what my Don friends would say if I brought you to a party now? ‘Where did you find her, Adrian? In the homeless shelter?’ That’s what they’d whisper.”

But Adrian didn’t stop there.

“For years, I gave you everything,” Adrian said, his voice sharp. “The house. The money. Stability. All I ever wanted in return was a wife who could stand beside me. Be useful. Presentable.”

He shook his head. “I told you I’d make you my Donna. That one day, I’d bring you into my world. But look at you now. Do you really think I can?”

His eyes swept over me. “Greasy hair, blank-faced and your plus-size. You dressed like you’ve given up. Is that how you think you honor the promise we made to each other? Or are you just trying to humiliate me?”

“I didn’t have time for polishing myself. I was already too busy…”

Adrian didn’t even let me finish. With a bitter laugh, he added, “If I’d known staying home would turn you into this, I would’ve told you to keep chasing your little doctor dream. At least then, you might still be easy on the eyes.”

The words landed like a slap.

Aldrin scanned the dress one last time, then scoffed. “It’s ruined now. Go find something new for Viola tomorrow, or I’ll blame the whole night on you.”

He stormed out.

The silence that followed felt heavier than his anger. I turned to the table. The anniversary dinner I’d spent hours preparing sat cold and untouched. The candles flickered, forgotten.

Why tonight? Why, out of all nights, did I still think—hope—this one might be different?

“Mom?”

I turned around.

Cam, my son, stood at the edge of the room, frowning.

His voice was small but cutting. “Why are you dressed like… like a freak?”

A freak.

I swallowed hard, the shame crawling up my throat.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured. “The dress didn’t fit. I was just about to change.”

I turned away, unwilling to let him see my face.

Before I could leave the living room, Cam’s voice followed me—too close, too clear.

“Mom… I wish you’d try harder to make yourself more… presentable.” He hesitated, then pushed on. “Look at you. That’s why I don’t introduce you to my friends. I don’t want them to think my mom is just fat ugly maid.”

Each word landed carefully, deliberately.

“Dad took Aunt Viola to the parent-teacher conference,” he continued. “Everyone was jealous. She looked amazing. Can you… learn something from her?”

If Adrian’s words had cracked my heart, Cam’s reduced it to dust.

All the years I’d spent keeping this house running. Every sleepless night. Every meal cooked with care, every shirt folded just right—none of it mattered.

To them, I was only an embarrassment.

I wiped my tears away slowly. “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll make more of an effort.”

This time, I meant for myself.

…

I barely slept.

Sometime before dawn, soft noises drifted in from the hallway.

“Be quiet,” Adrian murmured. “Don’t let that stupid woman hear us.”

I opened the door a crack.

Adrian and Viola were there—pressed together in the dim hallway, hands roaming freely, mouths locked like they belonged to each other.

For a moment, everything inside me went cold.

I didn’t scream or step out.

I closed the door, walked back to bed and made one call.

“Yes, this is Maeve Calder,” I said steadily. “I’d like to accept your Africa office’s invitation with Doctors Without Borders.”

Before I married Adrian, I had a future in medicine. I’d given it up for him, for this family.

What he never knew—what none of them knew—was that I never truly stopped. I’d been volunteering quietly for years.

This year, they offered me a position at their new office in Africa.

At first, I said no. I couldn’t bring myself to walk away from my family.

But now that they’ve chosen to walk away from me—What did my loyalty ever mean?

So now, I choose myself, and I’m leaving behind everything that was never really mine to begin with.

Maeve’s POV

“Maeve! Where’s breakfast?” Adrian’s voice shot through the air like a whip.

I blinked awake, still groggy, and found him standing in the doorway, irritation already pulling at his features.

“So this is your idea of working hard around the house? You can’t even manage breakfast now?”

I’d been up all night, filling out the paperwork for the Doctors Without Borders mission to Africa.

“Chop-chop,” he muttered, already turning away.

I exhaled, pushed the covers off, and rose.

I thought about telling Adrian about the program. But then I thought that he’d never let me go quietly—not without a fight.

So, I have decided that it was better to play the part until the moment I slipped those signed divorce papers onto his desk and walked out the door.

Until then, I’d be the wife he wanted. The mother Cam tolerated.

I washed my face, tied my hair back, and headed to the kitchen.

I brought the breakfast to the table like always—except today, Viola was there too. The secretary. Sitting at the dining table like she owned it.

Adrian didn’t seem to mind to have his secretary sitting at the head seat. Neither did Cam. They were too busy laughing at something she said.

“Auntie Viola, how do you know so much?” Cam beamed up at her like she hung the stars.

She gave him a playful pat on the head. “Just stay in school, sweetie. You’ll get there.”

“Learn from your Auntie Viola,” Adrian added, draping an arm casually over the back of her chair. “She’s been a great help to me.”

For a second, I stood there like a stranger in my own home.

My husband saw me as a burden. My son was ashamed of me.

And Viola? She’d slid into my place without so much as a second thought.

My fingers curled tight around the edge of my apron. Just a few more days, Maeve, you can do this.

…

After the breakfast, Viola and Adrian didn’t leave the house. They were getting ready for tonight’s annual mafia ball.

Adrian had stormed in earlier, frustrated all over about that ruined dress again, going on about how I’d ruined his day. He told me to find another dress—as if I had someone on call to hand-stitch a gown overnight. I didn’t. And he knew that. He said it to make me feel small and humiliated.

Knock, knock.

The door opened without waiting for a response.

“Sorry,” Viola said, too sweet. “Adrian said I could use your powder room to get ready.”

I moved aside. “Go ahead.”

She swept in, followed by a small team of makeup artists. They headed straight into the powder room.

I could still hear Adrian’s voice the day we moved in, “This will be your beauty room, Maeve. You’ll be the most stunning Donna in the city. I’ll take you to every gathering. The other Dons will be jealous.”

I never used it. Not once.

Now Viola sat at the vanity, laughing easily as the artists touched up her lips and smoothed her hair while I stood in the hallway, watching.

Maybe it did make sense—that Adrian chose to bring her. That people mistook her for his Donna.

She looked the part, maybe even sounded the part.

And me? I looked down at my hands—wrinkled from years of cleaning. My clothes were stained, worn from chores I never had time to replace. I couldn’t remember the last time I wore something that fit me right.

I couldn’t compete with someone like her.

And for the first time, I realized I no longer wanted to either.

…

In the end, Viola brought her own dress. It earned her immediate praise from Adrian.

“Compared to someone who does nothing but cause trouble,” he said coolly, “you saved the night again. Thank you, Viola.”

As he turned away, I caught the briefest curve of a smile on her lips—gone before I could be sure it was ever there.

“Oh, Don, that’s not fair,” Viola said gently. “Maeve has been a great help around the house. I’m sure she didn’t mean any harm by trying on my dress, right?”

Her eyes flicked to me.

I didn’t respond.

Adrian turned, his gaze sharp, warning.

“I’m sorry,” I said, forcing a smile. “About the dress.”

Viola brightened. She reached behind her and produced a garment bag. “Adrian mentioned you liked the dress very much. So I sent it to my tailor and had it altered to your size.”

She handed it to me.

My cheeks burned as I took it. The gesture looked generous—thoughtful, even. But I knew better.

The careful emphasis on your size. The way she presented it, like a favor bestowed. A kindness I had no choice but to accept.

A dress that had never been mine… Ruined by me. Now returned to me—reshaped, corrected.

I couldn’t tell whether I should feel grateful… or humiliated.

“Why don’t you wear it and come with us tonight, Maeve?” Viola asked lightly.

“No!”

“No…”

Our voices overlapped. But Adrian’s came faster—sharper, almost panicked.

Viola froze.

“She’s never been to that kind of party,” Adrian said quickly. “She wouldn’t know how to handle it.”

Then he turned to me. “Why are you still standing there? Go put Viola’s generous gift in your wardrobe. Those ugly clothes of yours could use something pretty mixed in.”

My fingers tightened around the handle of the bag.

I was so close to speaking. So close. But I didn’t have the strength for another lecture.

So at the end, I just nodded and walked back to the bedroom.

The door clicked shut behind me.

I dropped the bag onto the floor. The dress spilled out—silk pooling softly against the tiles.

I let it sit there for a long moment. Then I knelt and picked it up.

It was beautiful. The most beautiful dress I’d seen in years.

I stood in front of the mirror and held the dress up against myself.

Even altered to my size, it didn’t feel belong to me.

My reflection from the mirror stared back—bare face, unstyled hair, a woman worn thin by years of being overlooked. And suddenly, my mind drifted back to last night.

How foolish I’d been. How arrogant, even—to believe, for one fleeting second, that the dress might have been meant for me.

The dress had never been mine. And neither had the life I’d been trying so hard to keep.

Maeve’s POV

I started packing the clothes I planned to take with me to Africa.

It wasn’t much—just enough to fill a single small suitcase.

And even with it zipped shut by the door, the wardrobe looked untouched. The dresses Adrian had once bought me still hung where they always had. The jewelry sat in its velvet case, undisturbed.

I wouldn’t be needing any of it.

Ten years in this house, and all I had the right to take with me… was one suitcase.

My phone buzzed. “I left an important envelope in my study. Get dressed and bring it to the Grand Hotel.”

Another message came right after. “Make sure you dress appropriately. I don’t want anyone thinking my wife is some poorly dressed housewife who doesn’t know how to present herself.”

I sighed.

Ignoring Adrian’s texts would only invite another round of condescension when he got home. And the envelope—whatever it was—must’ve mattered. Adrian never asked for help. But tonight, he did.

To avoid more trouble, I chose to go.

I slipped into the dress Viola had given me—the only beautiful thing in my wardrobe that still fit.

I sat at the vanity in the powder room—hesitating.

Did I need makeup? I wasn’t going to be a guest. I would walk in, hand Adrian the envelope, and leave.

Still, I reached for the foundation. Just a light layer and a soft swipe of lipstick. I pinned my hair into a low bun.

I wasn’t a different woman—but I looked beautiful now.

I found the envelope in Adrian’s study, tucked it carefully into my bag, and headed to the Grand Hotel.

…

The hotel was more crowded than I expected.

I had always imagined the annual mafia gathering to be a sleek, exclusive event—maybe fifty people, tops. But the moment I stepped inside, I realized how wrong I was.

There were hundreds. Five hundred, maybe more. All dressed in silk and suits, diamonds glittering like stars under chandeliers the size of cars.

I tried calling Adrian many times, but he didn’t answer.

So, in the end, I decided to slip into the ballroom to find him myself.

Just then, a voice boomed over the speakers, “Let’s welcome the youngest and most successful man of the evening—Adrian Kane—to the stage!”

Next second, someone bumped me hard from behind.

I stumbled forward and hit the dance floor hard, my knees scraping against the polished marble.

Laughter exploded around me.

“Who the fuck is this?”

“Jesus, her dress—”

I looked down.

The fabric had torn completely. Threads unraveled like they’d been stitched with cheap glue. Within seconds, the dress was in pieces around me. All that remained was the thin beige slip I’d worn beneath it.

The laughter grew louder.

“Did her dress just fall apart?”

“God, who wears knock-offs to this party?”

“Someone call security!”

I forced myself to lift my chin.

Adrian stood on stage, staring down at me.

He looked pissed, but he didn’t move. He acted like he didn’t knew me at all.

Someone in the crowd asked, “Whose plus one is this?”

No one answered. The silence that followed was worse than the laughter.

A woman sneered, “Who would admit to bringing a knock-off to the most important party of the year?”

Then— “Maeve?”

Viola.

She rushed over, concern all over her face. But when she turned her head, I caught it. The flicker of a smile she was trying to hide.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, voice pitched high.

I stood slowly, my knees aching, and handed her the envelope.

“Adrian texted. Said something important was left at the house.”

Someone whispered, “Who is she?”

Then louder, “Mrs. Kane?”

And laughter. “Our charming Don Kane has a secret Donna?”

“No—” Adrian stepped off the stage.

“No,” he said again, firmer this time. “She’s the housemaid. What are you doing here?”

“I—”

“She thought something was forgotten,” Viola interrupted smoothly. “So she brought it over. That’s all.”

Viola’s words were just vague enough to give the crowd a story they could twist.

Someone laughed behind a champagne flute. “We almost thought she was your secret Donna, Adrian. Imagine the scandal.”

Adrian stepped forward, his voice strong and practiced. “My secret Donna? Her?”

His gaze dragged over me, slow and deliberate. “Why would my Donna be someone like… that?”

“So who will be?”

“Viola!”

“So, is this the year you finally make Viola your Donna, Adrian?”

“Mrs. Kane!”

Adrian looked at me—just once, silent and unreadable—before turning back to the sea of faces.

“I had hoped to keep this quiet,” he said smoothly, “at least until I received a proper answer from Miss Viola. But since you all insist…”

He turned to her, lowering himself to one knee. “Will you marry me and be my Donna?”

Cheers erupted around them.

I bent down, gathering the torn remnants of my dress, and stepped back into the shadows. I wasn’t sure why I looked back—but I did.

“Yes,” Viola said, breathless and smiling. “Yes, I do, Adrian.”

She threw her arms around him. Adrian held her close—and for the briefest moment, his eyes found mine again.

There was no apology in them. Just indifference. And maybe, buried beneath it, the faintest trace of pity.

I thought my heart had already burned to ash. Turns out, it could still feel pain.

To Adrian, I was nothing but a loose thread—something unsightly to keep hidden from the polished world he wanted to impress.

And for ten years, I’d been foolish enough to believe he’d bring me into that world, call me his Donna and stand beside me in front of them all.