I was just a student who couldn't afford tuition. For five years, I was also the secret lover of Mafia Don Dante Costello.

Publicly, I was his personal art restorer.

In private, he spent his nights making me his, holding me close and kissing me breathless.

Then his family arranged his engagement.

To Isabella Rossi. A princess from a rival family.

At their engagement party, Isabella stabbed the back of my hand with a shard of broken glass.

He made me apologize. To her. For making a scene.

Fighting back tears, I bowed my head to Isabella.

When Isabella lost a bet and had to play Russian Roulette—one bullet, six chambers—he made me take her place.

My hand shook as I raised the gun to my head.

"You saved my life once," I told him. "Now you can have it back."

The moment I vanished from his world, the ruthless Mafia Don who had everything under control...completely lost his mind.

For five years, I was two things: Don Dante Costello’s art restorer, and his secret. His lover.

Then his family forced an engagement, and on the night of the party, I decided to leave the man I was never meant to have.

"I quit."

I handed my resignation to Antonio, his majordomo.

"Are you sure?" Antonio looked surprised. "The Don has always been pleased with your work."

Pleased?

I almost laughed.

He was Dante Costello. The Don. Head of New York's most powerful crime family.

And I was just the girl whose education he'd sponsored. The art restorer working off a debt. A life sentence.

We were from two different worlds.

"I've made up my mind." My voice was calmer than I expected. "The debt is paid. It's time for me to leave."

"This requires the Don's personal approval."

"Then tell him." I turned toward the door. "I can't wait long."

Walking out of the manor, I touched the necklace at my throat—a small palette knife charm.

Cheap, but it meant something.

I’d bought it for myself when I graduated from art school.

It was a reminder of the life I was supposed to have. A normal life.

He found me on a rainy night ten years ago. He sponsored my education.

I never imagined anything more would happen between us.

Back then, I only felt awe and gratitude. After graduation, I agreed to work for him to repay his massive "kindness."

I knew I could never belong in his world.

But one night, Dante was drunk. His lips found my skin, and I was powerless to resist.

Five years later, I had to face the truth. I was in love with him.

But I had to leave.

I went back to my apartment and carefully placed the last restored oil painting into its protective case.

As I was about to pack, a text from Dante came through.

[You promised you'd come to my engagement party. I had a dress sent over.]

A knock on the door. One of Dante’s men stood there with a white satin gown.

"The Don is waiting for you, my lady."

Did he want me to watch him be happy with another woman?

I fought back tears and changed into the dress.

This relationship needed an ending. It needed closure.

The car stopped at the venue. I took a deep breath and stepped out.

Champagne towers sparkled under crystal chandeliers. Guests in expensive clothes laughed and chatted.

Every painting on the walls had been touched by my hands, restored by me, brought back to life.

But tonight, I was just an outsider.

I scanned the room for a familiar face.

And then I saw him.

Dante stood in the center of the room, his black tuxedo making him look even taller, more imposing.

His arm was wrapped around a beautiful woman—Isabella Rossi, his fiancée.

She wore a deep red gown, like a blooming rose.

My chest tightened.

I remembered that night three months ago. He was holding me.

He moved inside me, hard and fast, kissing the tears from my eyes.

He said he didn't want to marry Isabella. That his family was forcing him. That he wanted to be with me forever.

The next morning, he acted like nothing had happened and announced the engagement.

"Look who's here." A sharp voice came from behind me.

I turned. Isabella was walking toward me with a glass of red wine, a perfect social smile on her face.

"Elara, you look absolutely...stunning tonight." Her voice was sickly sweet.

"Thank you," I answered, keeping it short.

"White suits you," she said, stopping in front of me, a flash of malice in her eyes. "A pure color for a pure profession, isn't it? Restoring old paintings. Such...elegant work."

I felt the eyes of the room turn to us.

"Isabella, I just came to—"

"Came to what?" she cut me off, her voice suddenly shrill. "To ruin my engagement party? To remind my fiancé he still has a mistress?"

The air froze.

All conversation stopped.

Everyone was staring.

Mistress.

The word was a knife in my heart.

"I didn't—"

Suddenly, Isabella threw her wine at me.

The cold liquid soaked the white satin, blooming like a blood-red flower across my chest.

Dead silence.

"Oh, my goodness, I'm so sorry," Isabella gasped, covering her mouth in a theatrical show of surprise. "My hand slipped. Just like how some people are prone to 'slipping' into places they don't belong. Like the Don's bed."

People started whispering.

I could hear the words "Don's mistress" and "paying off her debt with her body."

I just stood there, feeling the wine drip from my dress onto the floor.

Just then, the crowd parted.

Dante walked over.

My heart pounded.

Would he defend me?

Would he tell everyone I wasn't some mistress, but the woman he'd loved?

He stopped in front of us, his gaze shifting between me and Isabella.

"What's going on?" His voice was calm. Cold. The same coldness from the morning he woke up next to me.

"Darling, I am so sorry," Isabella immediately threw herself into his arms. "I was just trying to say hello to Miss Vance, and I accidentally bumped into her."

Dante's eyes, the same ones that had stared into mine in bed and whispered words of love, were now ice.

"Mr. Costello," I began, my voice trembling, "I can explain—"

"There's no need." He cut me off, then addressed the crowd. He paused, his gaze sweeping over the silent room. Then he spoke the words that shattered what was left of my heart.

"Miss Vance is an employee," he said, his voice dangerously calm. "Nothing more. Her relationship with this family is strictly professional. She has no right to disrupt this evening, or to upset my fiancée."

The world started to spin.

His eyes were so cold, they felt like they could tear me apart.

But he was the one who asked me to come...

"Security," Dante’s voice cut through the room. "Get her out."

Isabella smiled smugly in his arms.

I looked at them. At the man I told myself not to love, but fell for anyway over five long years.

He was holding another woman, turning a blind eye to my humiliation.

The guards started toward me.

"Don't bother," I said, straightening my back. "I can see myself out."

I turned and walked away.

Behind me, I heard Isabella’s sweet voice. "Darling, let's dance."

I pushed open the doors and was met with a wall of cold rain.

I stood there, letting it wash away the tears on my face and the wine on my chest.

Ten years ago, I’d stumbled into the street. His car hit me.

I remember lying on the wet asphalt, the rain washing over me, ready to die.

He had stood over me like a god, a dark savior pulling me from the wreckage of my life.

Tonight, he was the one who threw me back into the fire.

Back at my apartment, I'd just changed out of the wet dress when my phone buzzed.

A text message:

[Don't ruin my union with Isabella. You know the consequences. Those nights were a mistake. Forget them. —D.C.]

I stared at the screen, my heart turning to ice.

A mistake.

Everything we had was just a mistake.

My finger hovered over the screen for a long time before I finally replied:

[Don't worry, Mr. Costello. I'm done loving you.]

I thought last night was the worst it could get.

I was wrong.

The next morning, my phone exploded with calls.

"Elara, have you seen the news?" my friend Sarah's voice was panicked.

I opened my phone. A high-definition photo stared back at me.

Me, in a wine-stained white dress, standing miserably in the rain.

The headlines were sickening.

COSTELLO'S MISTRESS HUMILIATED AT ENGAGEMENT BASH.

FROM ART STUDIO TO BEDSHEETS: INSIDE THE DON'S AFFAIR.

My face was everywhere. Blown up, analyzed, shared.

The phone rang again.

"Miss Elara Vance? This is a reporter from the New York Herald. I'd like to ask about your relationship with Dante Costello—"

I hung up.

Another call.

"When did you and the Don get together?"

Hang up.

"Do you think Isabella Rossi's actions were justified?"

Hang up.

I turned off my phone and collapsed onto the sofa.

For five years, we'd been so careful. Never a single public touch.

Overnight, all of it was for nothing.

By the afternoon, the news had vanished.

Every article, every photo, gone as if it never existed.

I knew it was Dante’s work. He had the power to make anything that hurt his family disappear.

But another story quickly took its place.

COSTELLO DON AND FIANCéE'S STEAMY CAR KISS, WEDDING DATE APPROACHES.

The photo showed Dante pinning Isabella against the inside of a car in a passionate kiss.

Her legs were wrapped around his waist, her skirt hiked high.

His hand gripped her hip, pulling her hard against him.

They were devouring each other.

I stared at the picture, a knife twisting in my chest.

Yesterday, he said we were "strictly professional."

Today, he was all over Isabella.

Maybe I was just a toy from the beginning. He never cared about my feelings at all.

My phone rang. It was Antonio.

"Miss Elara, the Don wants to see you. Now."

I hesitated. "I've already resigned."

"This is not a request, Miss," Antonio's voice turned firm. "The car is already downstairs."

I knew I couldn't refuse.

In Dante's world, no one refused him.

Twenty minutes later, I was on the top floor of Costello Tower.

His private office. The place we first made love.

The faint scent of Isabella's perfume still lingered on the desk.

My stomach churned.

His secretary led me to the office door but stopped me just outside.

"Wait here, please," she said. "Miss Isabella is inside."

I stood outside the door.

It wasn't closed all the way.

Their voices carried, sharp and clear.

"That woman is still working for you. I don't like it." Isabella's voice was ice. "Dante, I want you to deal with her. Right now. In front of me."

"She's my best restorer." Dante's voice was flat.

"A restorer?" Isabella scoffed. "What is she restoring, Dante? Your art, or your body?"

A long silence.

"I'm not an idiot, Dante." Her voice was shaking with rage. "Last night, you made me and my family a laughingstock. And your solution? To throw the press a photo of us? You think I don't know what you're really thinking?"

Her voice turned venomous. "I see the way she looks at you. She loves you."

"That has nothing to do with me."

"Nothing to do with you?" Her voice was a shrill cry. "What about you, Dante? Do you have feelings for her? I want her out. I want her gone. Forever."

More silence. A long silence.

Then, his answer came, each word a shard of ice.

"She's an asset. Nothing more."

Something slammed into my heart.

Just then, the door opened.

Isabella walked out and saw me standing there.

A triumphant smile spread across her face.

"Oh, Elara, you're here." Her voice was sickeningly sweet. "Perfect timing. There's something I wanted to say to you."

She walked to the nearby drink station and deliberately knocked over a crystal glass.

CRASH. Shards scattered across the floor.

"Oops, how clumsy of me," Isabella faked a gasp. "But it's for the best. Some things are meant to be broken, aren't they?"

She bent down and grabbed the shard. Her hand flashed out, slicing open the back of mine.

Blood welled up instantly.

"Isabella!" I cried out.

"What? Does it hurt?" she sneered. "This is nothing. Do you have any idea how much it hurts to see your fiancé tangled up with another woman?"

I clutched my bleeding hand, glaring at her.

"There's nothing between me and Dante—"

"Nothing?" Isabella cut me off, her voice like nails on a chalkboard. "A poor girl who couldn't afford school, sponsored by the Don, who then willingly stays by his side for five years. Do you think anyone is stupid?"

She moved closer, her eyes filled with venom.

"Did you really think your pretty face and your body could make Dante fall in love with you? Wake up, Elara. You're just a toy he's tired of."

"Enough." Dante's voice came from the office.

He walked out, his gaze sweeping over us.

His brow furrowed when he saw the blood on my hand.

But his expression quickly returned to a cold mask.

"Isabella, go home. I have work to discuss."

"Work?" Isabella looked at him suspiciously, her tone dripping with displeasure. "Just get rid of her for good. Dante, choose. Her, or me."

Dante looked at me, then back at Isabella.

"She still has projects to finish," he said coldly. "I can't let personal feelings interfere with business."

"Personal feelings?" Isabella's voice turned dangerous. "You have personal feelings for her?"

"That's not what I meant," Dante clarified. "I was talking about your feelings, Isabella. Don't project."

Isabella’s eyes narrowed. "You can't fire her, or you won't?"

"I'm giving you three days. Get rid of this woman."

Isabella yanked her hand from Dante’s. The sweet, clinging fiancée was gone.

Clearly, the mafia princess had little patience for her husband-to-be's affairs.

She strode out on her high heels.

As she passed me, her purse brushed against my cut hand. Hard.

A sharp pain shot through me. I bit my lip to keep from screaming.

After she left, Dante closed the office door.

He stared at me, his eyes devoid of their old warmth.

"Antonio said you want to resign? I don't approve. But after what happened today, I'll give you two options."

He walked to the bar and poured himself a whiskey. He didn't pour one for me.

"Option one: you pay the Rossi family fifty million dollars for the damage to their name."

I stared at him.

"What?"

"Last night's scandal hurt both of our families' reputations," he said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "Someone needs to take responsibility."

"I didn't do anything!"

"Your presence there was the mistake." He took a sip of his drink. "Option two: you apologize. Publicly. To Isabella. To my capos. You admit you seduced me. You swear you'll disappear. In return, I'll transfer you to my estate on the West Coast. You can continue your work there."

I felt my blood run cold.

Work?

He just wanted to lock me away forever.

He wanted me to apologize... to say everything between us was my fault...

"Are you insane, Dante?" My voice shook. "You want me to apologize? For what? For loving you? You were the one who—"

"Choose, Elara."

His eyes flickered for a second, but then they turned to ice again.

"And if I refuse?"

He put down his glass and walked toward me.

"Then you'll lose everything. Even if you leave me, I'll make sure you can never work in this country again." He stopped in front of me. "You know I have that power."

I stared at him, this man I thought I knew.

"I'll take the second option," I said through gritted teeth. "But this is the last time."

"Family meeting. Tomorrow, 3 PM."

...

The next day, I stood in the Costello family meeting room.

About a dozen men in expensive suits, the core of the family, sat around a long table.

Isabella sat to Dante's right, a victorious smile on her face.

"Gentlemen," Dante stood up. "We are gathered today to resolve an...unpleasant misunderstanding."

His eyes met mine. "Elara, please."

I took a deep breath and stood.

"I... I want to apologize for what happened," my voice was a whisper. "It was my fault. I shouldn't have been there."

"Louder," Isabella commanded. "Let everyone hear you."

I clenched my fists.

"I apologize for my actions," I raised my voice, the words tasting like ash. "I was the one who pursued Mr. Costello. I acted inappropriately. It was a mistake, and I couldn't control myself."

The room was silent.

A few of the old men exchanged glances. Some shook their heads, others sneered.

"I promise... I will never bother this family again," I forced the words out. "I will leave. And I will not be back."

"Good," one of the white-haired men nodded. "It's not a crime for a young person to make a mistake, as long as they learn from it."

I remembered two years ago, in this very room, Dante had shown them a Renaissance painting I'd restored.

"Elara is a genius," he'd said then. "She can bring dead art back to life."

The pride and admiration in his eyes back then felt like a cruel joke now.

"Meeting adjourned," Dante announced.

As everyone left, Isabella brushed past me. Her shoulder knocked into mine. She leaned in, her perfume thick and suffocating. "Good girl," she whispered. "Next time, cry. It makes the act more convincing."

Soon, only Dante and I were left.

"Does the cut still hurt?" he asked, gesturing to my bandaged hand.

I stared at him, unable to believe he had the nerve to ask.

"Are you pretending to care?"

"After you finish your projects, I'll give you a week of paid leave. Then you can pack for the West Coast estate." He ignored my question. "Get some rest."

"Thank you for your mercy, boss," I sneered. "Can I go now?"

He nodded.

I turned to leave, but stopped at the door.

"Dante," I said, looking back at him. "Do you remember the 'Sleeping Venus'? I spent three months restoring it, and you said it was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen."

His expression tightened.

"I finally get it." A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "You never loved me. You loved what I could do. I fix your broken things. I bring them back from the dead."

I met his eyes. "The difference, Dante, is that a painting can't love you back. And it can't cause you trouble."

I didn't wait for his answer. I just walked out.

Back in my apartment, I started packing.

I threw everything related to Dante into a trash bag.

The books he gave me, the photos we took, even the files from my work projects.

I was cutting all ties with my past.

The next day, I stood at the grand opening of a new hotel funded by the Costello Group.

It was my last project before leaving New York. I was in charge of the restoration and display of all the hotel's art.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the host's voice boomed. "Please welcome our chief art consultant, Miss Elara Vance, to introduce the hotel's art collection."

I took a deep breath and walked onto the stage.

This was the peak of my career, and also my farewell.

"Thank you all," I adjusted the microphone. "Tonight, we are thrilled to present..."

But a sudden stir rippled through the crowd.

Guests started whispering, giving me strange looks.

Confused, I looked back at the large screen behind me.

My heart stopped.