Mated to the Enemy: Imprisoned by Mate Bond

The green "Submitted" pop-up appeared on my screen.

A field hospital in Colombia. Five years. No returning home.

I set my phone down, my fingertips still trembling uncontrollably.

Loud, piercing laughter echoed from the hall. No one noticed the life-altering decision I had just made.

Julian was hurrying upstairs, practically buried under a mountain of designer gift boxes.

He was my fiancé. Yet right now, he looked like a devoted servant waiting on another woman hand and foot.

"Julian, let the maids carry those. Take a break," I said, my voice dry.

He didn't even pause. "Mia just got a pure white cashmere rug in her room. What if the clumsy maids ruin it? I need to put these away for her myself."

Bang. The bedroom door upstairs slammed shut.

Staring at that closed door, I suddenly remembered a massive pile-up on the highway last month. My forehead was bleeding, and I was trapped in my crushed car when I called him for help.

"Willow, call an ambulance yourself. I’m with Mia at the equestrian club, I can't just leave."

That was my fiancé.

"Willow! What are you just standing there for?" Donna Elena’s sharp voice cut through from the kitchen. "Get in here and help prep Christmas dinner!"

A bitter taste coated my mouth.

This was probably the only time my mother ever remembered I existed.

I walked into the kitchen. The marble island was covered in expensive ingredients.

I couldn't eat a single thing there. It was all Mia’s favorites.

My eyes landed on a large bowl of salad, generously topped with crushed walnuts.

"Mom, I have a severe nut allergy. Even a little bit sends me into anaphylactic shock," I pointed at the salad. My tone wasn't angry, just deadpan.

Donna Elena slammed her meat cleaver onto the cutting board. The loud thwack made me flinch.

"Mia said she wanted walnut salad! Are we supposed to make the whole family cater to your dramatic little issues?" Elena glared at me impatiently. "She lost so much because of our family. Why can't you be a little more accommodating?"

"Got it," I fell silent, picking up the bowl and walking to the dining room.

The long dining table was set like a grand royal banquet. The glare of the crystal chandeliers made my eyes hurt.

At the head of the table sat Vincent, the Don of the Sterling family and my biological Papa. He was affectionately patting Mia’s hair.

My brother, Luca, picked up a priceless bottle of Romanée-Conti and carefully poured it into Mia’s glass. "Drink slowly, Mia. I picked this from the cellar just for you."

Julian sat to Mia’s right, expertly cutting her Wagyu beef into perfect, bite-sized pieces. He meticulously removed any chewy bits before swapping his plate with hers.

"Eat while it’s hot, medium-rare, just how you like it," Julian’s voice was sickeningly sweet.

I sat at the very end of the long table. The only thing close to me was a piece of cold, hard bread.

I quietly tore off a piece and shoved it into my mouth. My stomach cramped in pain.

I stood up, my chair scraping harshly against the floor. I just wanted to go to the kitchen to get a glass of warm water.

"What is your problem now?" Elena slammed her cutlery down, her eyes cutting into me like knives. "Mia finally smiled today, and you just have to sit there with a resting bitch face?"

Mia leaned forward, looking anxious. "Willow, do you not like the food? We can have the chef make something else you like..."

"Mia, sit down! You don't need to apologize to anyone!" Luca grabbed her shoulder. "She always causes drama over nothing. Just ignore her."

My Papa, Don Vincent, shot me a cold, authoritative glare. "Willow. Apologize to Mia."

I looked at Julian.

My fiancé of three years was currently using a napkin to gently wipe a drop of sauce from the corner of Mia’s mouth. As if his actual fiancée wasn't the one being interrogated.

I didn't argue. And I didn't apologize.

I just turned around and walked to my bedroom without looking back.

It was a very ordinary room. Poor lighting, basic furniture. It wouldn't have been bad, except compared to Mia’s room, it looked like the servants' quarters.

Even though I was the Don's actual Principessa.

I pulled out my suitcase, shoved a few simple outfits and my ID inside, and zipped it up.

My phone screen lit up.

Fourteen days left.

In fourteen days, I would board a plane and vanish from this family forever.

And knowing them, it would probably take a long time before they even realized I was gone.