I Became the Wife He Wanted

The heavy iron doors of the Chicago Police Department slammed shut behind me.

The freezing wind whipped icy rain against my face. I pulled my coat tighter, keeping my expression perfectly calm.

Down the steps sat a striking black Maybach. Cillian leaned against the door, the cigarette between his fingers flickering in the dark.

The feared Mafia Don stared daggers at me, his brows knitted tightly together.

"Seventy-two hours, Alessia," he said, striding up the steps. His tall frame carried that usual, suffocating dominance. "You get detained for a minor fender bender, and when the cops ask if you have family to bail you out, you say no? You’d rather sit in a holding cell for three days than make a single phone call to me?"

I met his gaze coldly, my eyes immediately catching the faint smear of lipstick on his collar.

If this were before the miscarriage, my eyes would have welled with tears. I would have demanded answers.

But now, I just felt bone-tired.

I gave a soft laugh. "If I called, would your phone even be on?"

His interrogation died in his throat. A flash of regret quickly crossed his handsome, ruthless face.

"Zelda had a high fever," he said, looking away. His tone softened, carrying a rare hint of explanation. "She was crying in the ER, shaking from fear. I turned my phone off to comfort her. I’m sorry, Alessia."

A weightless apology.

When my baby turned into a pool of blood and slipped away from my body, he was with Zelda, too.

"It’s fine," I murmured, brushing right past him toward the car.

My calmness clearly caught him off guard. He reached out and gripped my wrist. His grip was astonishingly tight.

"Why aren't you mad?" Cillian stared down at me, confusion and a trace of unease swirling in his eyes.

"You gave me a reason, Cillian, and I gave you my understanding." I pried his fingers off my wrist one by one. "No screaming, no crying. Isn't this the sensible wife you've always wanted?"

He froze, a flicker of panic in his gaze.

The heater in the car blasted hot air, but it couldn't melt the suffocating silence.

I stared out the window at the blurring Chicago skyline, treating Cillian like he didn't exist.

Being completely ignored made him increasingly restless.

"How long are you going to keep this up?" he finally snapped, loosening his tie. "I told you, this time was only because Zelda was sick. Do you have to punish me with the silent treatment? Are you still holding a grudge over what happened?"

I turned to look at him, my eyes dead. "No. It's in the past."

"Then why are you—"

"What exactly do you want me to do, Cillian?" I cut him off. "Do you want me to scream at you like a madwoman like before, or keep my mouth shut and know my place like I'm doing now?"

He choked on his words. "You’ve changed," he muttered, frowning. "You never used to be like this."

Just then, a sharp ringtone broke the tension.

Zelda flashed across the screen.

Cillian glanced at the phone, then at me, and answered it in frustration.

"Cillian! Where are you?" Zelda’s whiny voice echoed in the tight space. "Come drink with me!"

He subconsciously checked my reaction, lowering his voice. "Zelda, stop it. You're an adult. Don't depend on me for everything. Besides, we don't have that kind of relationship anymore."

"But you’ve spoiled me for years. I’m used to it," she said, sounding utterly entitled. "You never rejected me before."

"Before is before," his voice turned glacial. "You were my girlfriend then. But I'm married now."

"Married?" Zelda scoffed. "Do you even have her in your heart? Cillian, stop lying to yourself. If you don't come, I'll just leave with some random guy. Plenty of men want me anyway."

It was his ultimate weak spot. The struggle in his eyes lasted barely a second.

"Stay exactly where you are. I'm on my way," he gritted out, hanging up.

He turned to me, desperation bleeding into his voice. "Alessia, the club is too chaotic. It’s dangerous for her to be there alone. I have to—"

"Pull over," I said, my voice pure ice.

"What?"

"I said pull over!"

The driver slammed on the brakes. The tires screeched against the wet pavement. Before the car even fully stopped, I shoved the door open.

The freezing wind poured in. Cillian grabbed my arm, genuine panic flashing in his eyes. "Are you crazy? We're under an overpass! Let me take you back to the estate first, then I'll go get her!"

"No need." I ripped my arm out of his grasp. "Go get your Zelda. I'll take a cab."

"Alessia!"

I didn't look back. I hailed a passing taxi and slammed the door shut.

Through the window, I watched the untouchable Mafia Don standing in the freezing rain, staring blankly at my departing car. For the first time, the man who always held all the cards looked completely unhinged.

As the cab merged into traffic, my phone buzzed. It was my boss.

"Alessia, great news," he said, barely containing his excitement. "The senior partner position you applied for at the top firm in Paris? They passed it with a unanimous vote! Congratulations. You can start whenever you're ready."

I leaned back against the leather seat and let out a long breath. Staring at the blurred neon lights, a genuine smile finally touched my lips.

"Thank you, boss."

"But..." he hesitated. "Moving to France is a big deal. What about your husband? Does he have any issues with this?"

I looked at my own reflection in the rain-streaked window. My voice was quiet, but crystal clear.

"I don't have a husband. The same day I applied for the job in France, I filed for divorce. The second the papers are finalized, I'm gone."