From Betrayed Wife to Nobel Queen

Tonight, my husband burned hot again.

His grip locked on my waist, whispers spilling against my skin, sinful enough to set my cheeks on fire.

After, I sank into Giovanni's arms, tracing lazy circles across his chest.

"Gio..." My voice was raw, worn from the heat.

A quiet "Mm." Eyes shut, arms pulling me tighter.

I smiled anyway.

Three years in, and he finally showed me passion.

Two months straight, our nights burned with it.

I stole a glance.

Under the dim lamp, Giovanni's face cut sharp, his throat branded with the bite I'd left. Nothing like the cold man I married.

He was the Don—untouchable, unstoppable. My fate was sealed before I even breathed my first, promised to him by his mother.

For as long as I can remember, I knew I'd end up his wife.

On our wedding night, he lifted my veil with dead eyes.

"Liliana, this is just an alliance." Even as he claimed me, his tone was pure business. "I'll handle my duties as a husband. Don't expect anything more."

He took what tradition demanded, never once looking me in the eye.

But now...

I smiled, leaning in for a kiss.

He turned away.

"Don't get cute." His arm stayed heavy around me, but his stare was cold steel. "You know I don't like kissing."

I froze. Whatever softness he'd shown vanished like smoke.

Then his fingers slid through my hair, a light rub on my head. "I'm gonna shower. Be good."

He rose and disappeared into the bathroom.

Water rushed. The sting eased, and I pressed my burning face into the pillow.

I grabbed my phone, scrolling through the menu I'd tweaked a dozen times.

Three years married, and I'd never once stepped inside the Corleone Tower. Giovanni kept me locked out of Family affairs, and I'd played the obedient wife.

But tomorrow, I'd surprise him.

A muffled voice slipped past the running water. I didn't mean to listen, but Giovanni's low chuckle cut clear.

"Got it. See you tomorrow at my office. No, she won't know... yeah, I can't wait to see you."

The rest blurred under the shower. I pretended not to hear.

He was the Don—secrets came with the crown. I wasn't supposed to ask.

My phone buzzed.

A shirtless pic of Giovanni—from an unknown number.

Even when he slid back into bed, the image burned in my head.

"Good night, Lili."

"Good night, Gio."

I told myself it was just a prank and let myself fall asleep in his arms.

***

The next day, I stood outside the Corleone Tower, clutching the lunch I'd packed like it was armor, heart racing.

First time stepping into his world.

The elevator carried me to the top floor. I moved down the hall, quiet, toward the last door.

It was cracked open.

I reached for it—then froze. A woman's breathy moan slipped out.

"Ah—Gio, slower."

Helena.

The late Don's widow. Giovanni's stepmother. My mother-in-law.

I froze at the doorway, peeking through the crack—Giovanni had Helena pinned against his desk. They kissed like they'd die without it, lips pulling apart with a slick string between them.

Last night, when I leaned in, he'd told me, "Swapping spit is disgusting."

So it wasn't the kiss that repulsed him. It was me.

"Much better than last time," Helena panted. "Yes, good boy... right there—ah!"

Giovanni slammed his hips forward. "Of course. I've been practicing on her for months."

Helena let out a breathless laugh. "Poor Lili... You're so rough with her. Doesn't it hurt?"

"She loves it." His chuckle was cold. "Acts like it kills her, but she moans like crazy."

My fists tightened until my nails split skin. I didn't even feel it.

So he knew.

He knew my shaking wasn't pleasure, it was pain.

He knew my moans weren't want—they were mercy.

And he kept going anyway. Not for love. Just practice.

Their affair had never been a secret—just something I pretended not to see.

At last month's banquet, Helena "accidentally" dumped her drink all over my dress.

Giovanni shot up right away, handkerchief ready—

For her.

"You're always so clumsy," he said, soft in a way he never was with me.

Helena giggled, taking it.

I stood there, dress ruined, while they spun across the dance floor like husband and wife.

And Giovanni? He brushed it off. Said they were just close. Like friends.

Helena's moans yanked me back to the present.

I couldn't listen anymore. I spun away, stumbling into the elevator, jabbing the close button like my life depended on it.

Tears blurred everything. My whole body shook as sobs tore out of me.

So all that affection... nothing but a lie.

Every move he made in bed was practice—for her.

Every time he dodged my kiss, he was saving his lips.

And now I knew why he always rushed for the shower.

Not to clean off sweat. To wash away me. To stay loyal to her.

I don't think I can survive this.