Marry the Don, Forget the Man

I went home and started packing my things.

An hour later, my fiancé Brian walked through the door. He spotted my suitcase by the bed, and a scoff escaped his throat.

He hissed, "Running away again? Elena, we've been together four years. Every time we fight, you pack your suitcase and threaten to leave. Aren't you tired of that act?" His jaw tightened. "All because I pushed the wedding back? You're blowing this way out of proportion. It's ten days, Elena. Ten days. It's not like I'm not going to marry you at all."

His tone was laced with impatience.

But I didn't flinch.

"I'm not running away," I said calmly. "I'm just sorting through my things."

I finished the sentence silently in my head: So I could leave you for good.

Brian tugged at his tie, loosening the knot with a careless flick of his wrist. "Well, since you're tidying up anyway, why don't you get the guest room ready? Daisy's been feeling down, and she needs someone around. She's going to stay with us for a while."

I pushed the packed suitcase into the corner of the room, keeping my eyes lowered. "Fine. I'll have someone clean out a guest room."

My easy compliance caught him off guard. He paused mid‑motion, one hand still gripping his tie, and studied my face as if searching for hidden frustration.

Then his shoulders relaxed, and his voice softened a notch.

"Look, I know this isn't easy on you. Go to Kate's Jewelry tomorrow—pick out whatever you want. I'll cover it. By the way, I won't have much time to spend with you these next few days. Daisy bought a house near ours, and she needs help with the setup—furniture, cleaning, all that. I promised I'd oversee the crew."

He stepped closer and rested a hand on my shoulder. "Once Daisy's birthday is over, I'll make it up to you. I promise."

"You don't have to make anything up," I said evenly. "I've got plenty to keep me busy. Actually, I was planning to clear out some of my things from the music room."

Brian nodded absently, already turning toward the hallway. "Good. Daisy mentioned she loves the lighting in that room—she wants to use it as a study. Move all your useless stuff out so she can set it up."

I drew a slow breath. "All right. The music room is hers."

And so was he.

Over the next hour, I called my people and arranged for a full set of bedding and toiletries to be delivered to the villa—every single item chosen to match Daisy's notoriously finicky tastes.

I knew her preferences as well as I knew my own, maybe better, because I'd spent years cataloging the things Brian mentioned about her.

Later, I passed the kitchen.

The stove was lit, and Brian stood at the counter with his back to the doorway. He was cooking—one hand gripping the handle of the skillet, the other dropping chopped vegetables into a bubbling pot.

His shirtsleeves were rolled to his forearms, revealing the muscle beneath. The apron hung crookedly around his waist, the ties at the back dangling loose. A thin sheen of sweat glistened at his temples, darkening the hair that stuck to his skin.

Daisy leaned against the island beside him, her elbows propped on the marble, her head tilted.

She wore a loose house dress, barefoot on the cool tiles, and every few seconds she reached up to brush the damp strands from his forehead or dab the sweat from his brow with her fingertip.

The gestures were so natural and practiced. They looked like a loving couple.

I stood frozen in the doorway, my feet rooted to the floor.

The soup simmering on the stove was cream of mushroom—Daisy's favorite.

I watched for three full seconds. Then I turned and walked toward the end of the hallway.

Brian's footsteps chased after me. He caught up at the corner, still holding the ladle, a flicker of anxious displeasure crossing his features.

He explained, "Elena. Daisy hasn't had much of an appetite lately—she barely eats. I just made her a quick meal. Don't read too much into it."

I looked at the ladle in his hand. A drop of creamy broth clung to the rim.

Something squeezed my chest so tight that my breath came shallow.

Ever since we moved into this villa—ever since I stood beside him as his fiancée—I had done everything. Every meal, every grocery run, every holiday gift for both our families, every guest list for every dinner party.

I tended the garden flowers and matched his cufflinks to his ties each night, laying them out on the tray in the dressing room.

I never let him worry about a single domestic detail.

And now here he was, bent over a stove, chopping and seasoning and plating an entire meal for another woman—all her favorites—while she watched him with that soft, proprietary smile. He had even wiped a smear of sauce from the corner of her lips with his thumb.

I dropped my gaze to the floor. When I spoke, my voice came out so quiet I barely recognized it.

"She's just come out of a difficult loss. Of course she needs looking after. It's perfectly natural for you to cook for her."

Brian's shoulders visibly loosened. He stepped closer and pressed a kiss to my forehead, his lips curving into a relieved smile against my skin. "You've changed, you know. A year ago, if you'd seen me cooking for another woman, you'd have thrown a vase at my head."

He straightened and seemed to remember something. "Oh, and Daisy's birthday is in two days. Her husband used to throw her a big party every year… but now he's gone. I'd like you to help me plan a really beautiful party for her, as her friend."

I told myself not to care. Not to compare. But bitterness still rose inside me.

My birthday was also in a few days.

Brian used to book the top‑floor restaurant a month in advance. He'd pick out a necklace himself and wrap it with his own hands. He'd reserve the whole rooftop terrace for fireworks. He'd hold me by the waist and whisper against my ear, "I love you, honey. You deserve the best in the world."

This year? He'd forgotten entirely. Every ounce of his attention belonged to Daisy.

I lowered my eyes. "I'll take care of it," I said. "I'll make sure everything suits her tastes."

Brian paused, and something complicated flickered behind his eyes.

We'd fought about Daisy so many times before—he thought I was being petty, and I thought he was crossing every line.

Now I agreed to orchestrate the whole event. He clearly hadn't expected that.

He nodded. "Do what you think is best. Just don't go overboard—her health isn't great."

I swallowed the bitterness and said, "Understood."

His gaze softened, and he started to follow me toward the bedroom. I lifted a hand gently and stopped him.

"Go keep Daisy company," I urged. "She needs you."

Brian frowned. "You really don't mind me being alone with her?"

I shook my head. "Of course not. She's your childhood friend. It's only right that you look after her."

This time, I wouldn't stand between them.

His features relaxed entirely, and he reached out to ruffle my hair like I was a child who'd finally learned a lesson. "You've matured. Daisy's been through so much—we need to protect her. No more jealousy, all right?"

No. Not anymore.

I had already decided: after Daisy's birthday party, I would deliver her to him myself. I'd already rehearsed my exit—quiet, clean, without a single scene. They could have the life they'd always wanted.

Over the next two days, I threw every ounce of my energy into the party preparations. The venue would be the glass conservatory behind the villa. I changed the floral supplier three times and the pastry chef twice, all to ensure every dish and every bloom matched Daisy's preferences precisely. Even the petals floating in the three‑tier fountain at the center were air‑freighted from southern Italy. The estate manager winced at the invoices; I signed them without a word.

Nobody knew that this party was the countdown to my disappearance.