Chapter 4

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.