Married to the Wrong Donovan Brother

The fire ate our home. And my husband walked right through it. To her.

His back turned to me. It crushed the last five years of hope.

I woke up in a hospital. All white. Blinding.

Every breath was shattered glass in my lungs.

My right arm—my cello arm—was wrapped in thick bandages.

The door opened. Maria, the head maid from my childhood home, walked in.

“Find out who Jenna really is,” I said to the ceiling. My voice was a rasp.

As the Donna, it was my duty to vet everyone who got close to the Don. Even his whores.

And Jenna had been with him for four months straight.

I had to make sure she wasn’t a rat from a rival family.

Maria just stood there. Frozen.

Then, her face crumbled. She started shaking, sobbing by my bed.

“I’m sorry, Donna.” She trembled. “Jenna… she’s my daughter.”

The air left the room.

I stared at the woman who’d worked for my family for twenty years.

“Your daughter?” My lips cracked into a cold smile. “Congratulations, Maria. You’ll be a guest of honor soon. The new Donna’s mother. Now get out. I don’t want to see you.”

She looked up, her face a mess of tears and snot, crying even harder.

I waved my good hand, ready to call security to drag her out.

The door slammed open.

“Miss Aveline!” Jenna burst in, crying.

Cillian was right behind her.

Even with ash on his white shirt, he looked like he owned the world.

“If you’re angry, punish me!” Jenna rushed to my bed, putting on a show of a scared little girl. “My mother has served your family for so long, she’s always been loyal, please don’t—”

She didn’t finish.

A strong hand grabbed her waist.

Cillian lifted her up, pulling her against his hard chest.

His face was tight. He held her like she was his whole world.

“Drop the high-and-mighty act.” Cillian finally looked at me, his eyes burning with a cold warning. “Aveline, you were a reject in a business deal. Damaged goods. Neither of us wanted this marriage. Don’t pull rank on anyone.”

Jenna looked at me from the safety of his chest.

Her eyes were wet, but they shined with victory.

“Oh, and Miss Aveline, there’s something you might not know. The girl who ran off with Finn all those years ago… that was my sister.”

My blood ran cold.

This was insane.

One sister steals my fiancé. The other steals my husband.

“What a fucking show,” I stared at them, a laugh crawling up my throat. “The sisters taking turns with the Donovan brothers. You really keep it in the family.”

Cillian’s brow lowered. Danger.

His eyes flickered to my bandaged arm. I saw something there—something complicated—but it was gone in a flash.

I ignored the searing pain in my arm and sat up straight. The last shred of dignity I had as Donna.

“I’m not firing you,” I said, my voice ice cold as I looked at the two of them pressed together. “After all, the head of the Donovan family is protecting you now. How could I dare touch you?”

Cillian’s dark eyes narrowed.

He wasn’t used to this. This quiet, sharp version of me.

He was used to my hysterics, my tears over his women. He didn't get them today.

A flicker of something strange crossed his face.

But he said nothing.

“I’m tired.” I closed my eyes. A dismissal. “Get out of my room. And take your people with you.”

The heavy footsteps left. The door clicked shut.

Silence.

I opened my eyes. They felt dry and raw.

No one knew. Since I was sixteen, Cillian was the one I’d wanted to marry.

But five years with him just made everything worse.

The smoke in my lungs turned into a fever. My body was on fire.

I stumbled to the window.

Chicago in December. Snow everywhere. The wind cut right through you.

Down below, by the black armored car, Cillian stopped.

I watched him take off his coat. His own expensive, warm coat. He wrapped Jenna in it. Gently.

He leaned down. Kissed the top of her head, shielding her from the snow.

A tenderness he never once showed me. Not even in bed.

Felt like a giant hand was crushing my heart.

My vision blurred. My breathing got heavy.

I fumbled for my phone. My fingers shook as I opened my inbox.

An email. It had been sitting there for three days.

An offer letter. Principal Cellist. Vienna Symphony Orchestra.

Before I passed out, I used my last bit of strength.

I hit “Accept.”