I'm Ava Callahan, secret lover to New York's Don, Julian Salvatore. For three years, he's never shown me a single moment of tenderness.

His fiancée is my sister, Scarlett. I’m just collateral, abandoned by my own family. At night, he unleashes a savage possessiveness, only to cast me aside with cold indifference when the sun rises.

I was tired of this life. And then, a text arrived from Scarlett—missing for three years—announcing her return.

My family was waiting to watch me get kicked out. But I was secretly thrilled. I could finally be free. To force his hand, I decided to get the mark of a rival family tattooed on my skin—presenting him with proof that I was no longer "pure."

I strode into a tattoo parlor, pointed to a serpentine design—the crest of his rivals—and told the artist, "This one. Put it somewhere he’ll be forced to see it."

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1

Three in the morning.

In the manor's master bedroom, the air was thick with the rich scent of whiskey and sandalwood—the Don’s signature scent, heavy in the afterglow of passion.

I lay limp on the rumpled silk sheets, my body feeling like it had been torn apart and pieced back together. I couldn't even muster the strength to lift a finger.

I glanced at the man whose back was still turned to me, his breathing finally evening out.

Just minutes ago, he had pressed me beneath him, his scorching lips against my ear, growling over and over, "Ava, you're mine… only mine…"

His voice was so raw, it almost made me believe his cold, unfeeling heart might actually beat for me.

And once again, I'd fallen for it.

Maybe it was the hormones clouding my judgment, but as I gazed at his broad back, a strange urge took hold of me—to trace the line of his spine as he breathed. I even found myself craving an embrace, if only for a second.

"Julian, I—"

But before my fingertips could even brush his skin, the mattress beside me lightened.

Julian Salvatore rose from the bed. No tenderness, no hug, not even a word.

In the dim glow of the wall sconce, I watched his broad shoulders and lean waist as he walked away. Across his back were the crimson marks I'd left in a moment of lost control.

He cast a cold glance at my hand, still awkwardly suspended in mid-air.

In that instant, my heart plummeted.

I’d once naively asked him if he meant the things he whispered in the dark.

He'd scoffed. "Ava, don't take pillow talk seriously. It's just a man's primal instinct."

The sound of his belt buckling pulled me back to reality. The crisp, cold click felt like the final sound of a transaction.

"Go back to your room," Julian said without turning around. His hoarse voice held an authority that permitted no argument. "Don't sleep here."

He said it again. The same words for over a thousand nights.

No matter how frenzied our passion, the moment it ended, his coldness returned.

It was as if he despised my very presence in his space. Once he was sated, he wanted me gone.

Gritting my teeth against the ache in my lower back, I lowered my eyes, hiding the spark of hope that had been ignited only to be brutally extinguished.

I never learned.

I snatched the torn silk robe from the floor, wrapped it around myself, and silently left the room that reeked of his possession.

The door clicked shut behind me.

What I didn't see was the moment the door clicked shut, the famously composed Don collapsed onto the pillow I’d just left, burying his face in the silk to greedily inhale my lingering scent.

Back in my room, I sank into the bathtub.

I was so tired. I have my needs, sure, but who the hell could endure this, night after night, for three solid years?

If this kept up, that insatiable man would have me in an early grave.

Just then, my phone, resting on the vanity, lit up.

It was a text from my sister, Scarlett Callahan. I froze.

My hands trembled as I opened the message.

It read: "Ava, I'm furious! That bastard actually picked a fight with me over some other woman! I’m coming home to give him the silent treatment for a while. My flight lands tomorrow. Don't tell Mom and Dad; I want you to pick me up."

In a single moment, all my exhaustion, pain, and frustration vanished.

I shot up in the tub, splashing water everywhere.

Scarlett was coming back? As in, Julian’s actual, official fiancée?

Everyone knew their engagement was a strategic alliance between the Salvatore family and our Callahan family.

Three years ago, just before the engagement was formalized, Scarlett had eloped with her boyfriend, Blake Anderson. That was why Julian had taken me as "collateral" to ensure the alliance held.

But if they fulfilled the contract now, it would cement the alliance between the two families!

Did that mean…

"I'm free?"

I leaped out of the water.

Suddenly, my back didn't ache, my legs weren't trembling. The bone-deep exhaustion was swept away by a pure shot of adrenaline.

I grabbed my phone and kissed the screen, wishing I could reach through and give Scarlett the biggest hug of her life.

"Hahaha! I can finally retire!"

The sorrow of a jilted lover? Nonexistent!

For a glorified sex toy who hadn't had a decent night's sleep in three years, there was nothing more exhilarating than the thought of "resigning."

Of course, Scarlett was only coming back to spite Blake, but once she was within Julian's sphere of influence, the marriage contract would be back on the table.

When that happened, I, the "former collateral," would gracefully pack my bags and make my exit!

But… Julian was stubborn, with an unnervingly strong sense of ownership.

What if, after marrying Scarlett, he still forced me to stay on as his secret mistress for the sake of "family honor"?

Then I would have to keep performing my "duties."

No! I would never let that happen!

I had to sever any hold he thought he had on me. I had to make him utterly disgusted with me, right now, at this critical moment.

Only when he believed I was "unclean," tainted by another man, would he kick me to the curb without a second thought and go fulfill his marriage contract.

A brilliant, terrible idea flashed in my mind.

I rushed out of the bathroom and searched online for the emblem of the Salvatore family's sworn enemy.

A coiled serpent.

Just like that, I had my "new master."

Tomorrow, when Julian leaves to meet Scarlett… while he’s on edge…

I clutched my phone, staring at the serpent on the screen. A provocation? Hell yes.

But it was also my ticket to freedom. A victory cry for my glorious return to singlehood!

I flopped onto the bed, kicking my feet in the air and humming a tune of pure, unadulterated joy.

It was the kind of euphoria you only feel after being freed from a long, dark prison.

In this moment, I was the mastermind of a grand escape, the prisoner about to be pardoned.

I whispered to the serpent on the screen, "My dear ‘new master,’ you’d better not fail me tomorrow."

The next morning, I drove to a tattoo parlor tucked away in a back alley.

I pointed to the serpent design on my phone and told the tattoo artist, "This one, right below my collarbone. And be quick about it."

I hissed as the needle pierced my delicate skin. It hurt, but it had to look real.

Julian was the Don of New York; only a mark this raw and inflamed, as if freshly branded, would pass as evidence of a rough night with another man.

Next came the main event—the photo.

As a piece of collateral looking to "resign," my goal wasn't to hide my betrayal, but to broadcast it. I had to create an undeniable illusion of being possessed.

I undid the second button of my shirt.

The swollen tattoo was partially visible, a shameful yet defiant secret peeking out.

Now, for the final touch.

I leaned back in the chair, a dazed look in my eyes, and raised my phone, adjusting the angle. The picture had to capture the perspective of a new "master" documenting his prize.

I snapped the picture and saved it.

Changing into a turtleneck sweater and armed with my "evidence," I hummed a little tune as I drove to the train station.

…

At the station, Scarlett was radiant as she emerged with her suitcase.

No wonder she was his intended. Just by standing there, she had an allure that made it hard to look away.

"Ava!" she called, running toward me. But in the next second, her gaze snagged on the collar of my sweater, which hadn't fully covered the mark.

She pointed at the angry red swelling, stunned.

"Oh my god, Ava! What happened to your neck? Who did that to you? With Julian's possessiveness, how could he let that happen?"

I shrugged nonchalantly. "You wouldn't get it. This is the mark of freedom."

Scarlett gave me a complicated look but didn't press.

In the car, she fidgeted nervously, her face etched with worry.

"Ava, I'm actually terrified to see Julian. I ruined the Salvatore family's honor when I ran off with Blake. I only came back this time to make him jealous. What if Julian still hates me?"

"Don't be scared." I gripped the steering wheel, speeding as I tried to cheer her on.

"Don't forget, you two have a marriage contract! What if sparks fly when you meet? You might find out he's your destiny! Julian's the Don! He's a million times better than that brat Blake, who does nothing but piss you off! Besides…"

I glanced in the rearview mirror with a sly smile. "I'm also hoping someone more suitable can take over."

Scarlett was dumbfounded. "Re-really? But he already has you…"

I flashed a brilliant smile and said breezily, "As long as you two fulfill the contract, I don't mind him becoming my brother-in-law."

…

Soon, we arrived at the manor.

Perhaps it was fate, or perhaps Lady Luck herself had arranged this perfect scene.

Not long after I parked, a black, armored sedan pulled up behind us. The vehicle itself seemed to radiate a deadly stillness.

Julian was back.

The air seemed to freeze.

Scarlett's face turned pale. "It's him… he's in the car… I can feel it… that suffocating presence of his."

I stared at the black sedan, my heart pounding, but not with fear.

It was excitement. A thrill. The rush of dynamite about to blow the prison gates wide open.

To my left sat his rightful fiancée, exuding an innocent charm.

To my right, I—his lover, now marked as a betrayer—held a nuclear bomb in my phone.

This was the perfect time.

I pulled out my burner phone and brought up the "tattoo photo."

I typed in Julian's number and attached the image. Then, I composed the most provocative, infuriating text I could imagine—a direct assault on a Don’s pride.

"Salvatore, your little collateral is even tighter than she looks. Cried like a siren beneath me. Heard her sister’s back. Good. Go play house with your fiancée and leave Ava to a real man. Can't wait for another taste."

The car door slowly opened. A long leg clad in tailored trousers stepped out, slicing through the air with lethal grace.

Now!

I slammed the "send" button.

I turned off the phone, a wide smile spreading across my face.

"Bring it on, Julian," I thought.

Let the games begin. Time for the Don to face the ultimate humiliation.