My Don Boyfriend Belongs to the Heroine

Isabella’s POV

I loved clinging to my boyfriend, Nate, and soaking up as much of his attention as possible. But then I saw those strange comments—claiming that Nate hated me, that his true love was about to appear, and that I was going to get dumped hard—I decided to keep my distance from him.

“Why’d you stop?” The second I leaned away from his chest, Nate’s voice came from beside me.

I'd just pulled away in the middle of making out with him.

It wasn't that I didn't want to keep kissing him. God knew I loved kissing Nate and those soft lips of his.

But right in the middle of it, strange words had suddenly appeared before my eyes, drifting through the air like comments scrolling across a screen.

Every single comment said the same thing—that Nate, my boyfriend of three years and family friend of more than twenty, had never really wanted me. Soon, he'd meet the woman he was truly meant to be with and dump me without a second glance.

I forced a smile. “I’m just tired. Why don’t we go to sleep?”

Nate looked at me, his brows drawing together.

For an entire year, I'd been the one glued to his side, making out with him almost every night. I'd even given our little nightly routine a name—our goodnight snuggle time.

Usually, Nate would be the one to end it, reminding me that it was late and we needed to get some sleep. Of course he'd find it strange when I suddenly stopped tonight.

But after a few seconds, Nate didn’t press further, he simply rolled onto his back. “Alright then. Let’s sleep.”

I stared at his broad back and took a slow breath.

Nate seemed completely unaffected by whether we made out or not.

Maybe those comments were right. Maybe he'd been waiting for me to stop clinging to him all along.

Turning onto my side, I edged closer to the edge of the bed, putting as much distance between Nate and me as possible.

I used to love curling up against him. Falling asleep in his arms always made me feel safe, protected, and loved.

But those comments … according to them, Nate hated being close to me.

Maybe this way... if I put some distance between us first, he'd hate me a little less when he finally met the woman he was truly meant to be with.

…

After what it felt like forever, I still couldn’t fall asleep. My head was a mess.

One side of it, I don’t want to admit those comments were true, one side…I couldn’t help but started to replaying how Nate and I were being like when we were together, the way Nate would subtly lean away whenever I got too close, and how his brows would furrow whenever I wanted more than a simple kiss.

I was the one who pursued Nate.

Our families had known each other forever. Both were part of the mafia world, so we'd practically grown up side by side.

When I was six, I'd been crying my eyes out, and no one could get me to stop. Then Nate showed up. The moment I saw him, I ran straight into his arms and broke into the biggest smile.

After college, I started pursuing Nate openly.

By then, Nate had already taken over his family's casino business. People called him half a Don already, and everyone knew he had an even bigger future ahead of him.

No one thought he'd say yes to me. I was just an heiress who'd grown up spoiled and sheltered. Nate was powerful, respected, and far out of my league.

But somehow, Nate agreed. And just like that, he became my boyfriend.

No one knew that when we started dating, Nate hadn’t been the boyfriend I'd imagined.

He was dependable and mature, but he was also distant, even cold sometimes.

He never rejected me when I wanted to hold his hand, hug him, or stay close to him. But he never seemed particularly excited about it either.

It often felt like he was indulging me rather than wanting the same things himself.

As for me, staying close to Nate had become second nature.

When we were kids, I followed him around because he was like an older brother. After becoming his girlfriend, I followed him because he was the man I loved.

If I could spend twenty-four hours a day glued to his side, I would. I was basically the dictionary definition of a velcro girlfriend.

So I never felt discouraged when Nate was cold or distant. I convinced myself he was just shy, or maybe a little too rigid. I tried my best to show him how I wanted to be treated.

I even lied and told Nate I was scared of the dark and terrified of ghosts just so I could move in with him.

At first, Nate prepared a separate bedroom for me. But after weeks of shameless pleading, endless excuses, and refusing to give up, I eventually won.

I moved into Nate's room, into Nate's bed. And for the last year, I'd fallen asleep beside him every single night.

Every evening before bed and every morning when we woke up, I'd find an excuse to cling to him. Sometimes it was just a few kisses, a hug, or me curling up against his side. Sometimes it became something more, a heated sex.

Those were the rare moments when I saw cracks in Nate's usual calm. His eyes would darken, his restraint slipping just enough for me to catch a glimpse of something raw underneath.

I took it as proof that Nate liked me—that he wanted me and needed me just as much as I wanted and needed him.

Now that I thought, maybe I had been fooling myself all along. Maybe that wasn't love at all. Maybe it was simply instinct—a man responding to a woman.

Nate's first reaction had always been to create distance, to take a step back and leave a little more space between us.

I had simply been too shameless to give up, too determined to stay by his side. I wanted him so badly that I'd ignored all the little signs along the way.

Tonight, as those comments showed up. I knew I couldn’t lie to myself anymore.

Those hateful words forced me to admit something I'd spent years avoiding.

My boyfriend—my childhood crush, the boy I'd loved for as long as I could remember—might never love me the way I loved him.

A sharp pain settled deep in my chest.

The more I thought about it, the worse it felt. Every memory that had once made me happy suddenly seemed different, like I had been reading the wrong story all along.

I lay awake for hours, staring into the darkness, replaying everything in my head.

By the time sleep finally came, it was well past midnight.