Not His Donna, Not His Anything

My husband, Lucien Moretti, had some last-minute trouble at the docks to deal with, so I had to attend the underground auction alone.

I walked into the hall in a simple black dress, no adornments.

Someone recognized me, and a low laugh cut through the air.

"Isn't that the DeLacroix heiress?"

Before I could react, more laughter rolled in from every direction.

"Made quite the scene breaking off that engagement back then, didn't she? Look at her now."

"Heard Damon's become the Don, so she's crawling back to suck up to him?"

"Give me a break. He's already found his own Donna."

I followed their gazes.

Damon Vesper sat in the front row, his black formalwear immaculate.

That face was still as sharp as ever—straight nose, thin lips pressed into a nearly invisible line.

Damon spotted me too.

But he only paused for half a second before looking away, as if I were just another guest who didn't matter.

I watched his cold profile.

And I had to admit—I really did love him once.

Seventeen, the first time I went to the Vesper estate with my father.

Damon had just come back from the shooting range, white shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, those eyes a vivid, striking blue.

One look, and I couldn't tear my gaze away.

Word spread across the whole East Coast that I was chasing him.

Lemon tarts, made by hand every single day. Waiting outside the training yard until past midnight while he practiced shooting.

He wasn't warm. But he never turned me down either.

Until one time—rival family members ambushed him at the docks.

I took a knife for him. Blood soaked through my dress.

He carried me into the car, lost his composure for the first time, his voice raw as he said, "Eileen, don't ever risk your life like that again."

That same day, he officially became my boyfriend.

Five years later, we got engaged.

He still wasn't one for sweet talk.

But on winter nights, he'd tuck my hands into his coat pockets. When the DeLacroix elders gave me a hard time, he'd stand there with that cold face and have my back.

At banquets, when someone asked me to dance, he'd step right in front of me and say flatly, "She has a partner."

Back then, I really believed he'd always stand by my side.

Then Selena came back.

She was the daughter of the Vespers' old advisor, and she'd grown up with Damon.

They were so close that I felt like an outsider.

I asked Damon about it.

Every time, he'd just frown and say, "Eileen, she's only a friend. Don't make it into something ugly."

I believed him.

I held on, and held on, all the way until the night before the wedding.

My mother went to the church to pick up the blessing bouquet. On the way, a runaway sports car sent her off the mountain road.

The driver was Selena.

When I got to the hospital, I saw her kneeling in front of Damon, crying so hard she could barely breathe.

"Damon, I didn't mean to."

"I just thought about you marrying her tomorrow, and it hurt so much—I had a little drink..."

Damon held her up, his voice low. "Don't be scared. I'll handle it."

In that moment, my heart felt like it was ripped clean in two.

That night, I called off the wedding.

And I gave the engagement ring back to Damon.

Damon narrowed his eyes, silent for a long time. Then he said:

"Her father died saving me. I swore I'd protect her."

Later, the Vespers buried all the evidence. Damon bribed the judge himself.

That drunk driving became a simple accident.

In the end, Selena got forty-eight hours of community service.

My mother became a vegetable.

My father ran himself ragged trying to overturn the case, and the stress gave him a brain hemorrhage. He's half-paralyzed now.

And me—the DeLacroix heiress who wouldn't bow—became trouble everyone wanted to avoid.

No one dared help me. No one dared take me in.

Some people even tied me up in an abandoned warehouse and set it on fire.

If I hadn't found a way to escape, I'd have died in that blaze.

To stay alive, I had to go overseas.

The memories cut deep. I pulled my gaze away and looked up at the items on the block.

The emerald brooch—the one my mother lost the day of the accident.

I had to take it home.

The auctioneer banged his gavel.

"Emerald brooch, starting bid—seven hundred thousand."

Damon raised his paddle. "Eight hundred thousand."

I arched an eyebrow and lifted mine too. "One million."

The auction hall went still for a second.

Then the laughter came back, louder.

"She's not here to buy. She's just trying to get Damon to notice her."

"Pathetic move, honestly."

Damon finally looked at me.

Those blue eyes held no warmth. Only faint irritation.

He raised his paddle again. "One point five million."

I didn't hesitate. "Two million."

Damon's face darkened little by little. "Three million."

I raised my paddle. "Five million."

This time, even the auctioneer's hand paused.

Damon turned his head and finally spoke. "Eileen, this isn't the place for you to throw a tantrum."

I smiled.

"You misunderstand. I'm getting that brooch, no matter what."

"If you don't believe me, go ask my husband—Don Moretti."

The hall went quiet.

Then an even sharper wave of mocking laughter erupted.

"Who'd marry that jinx?"

"She's making it up to save face, isn't she?"

"She's the Donna of the Moretti family? As if."

I didn't explain.

Damon didn't say anything either.

But his expression grew darker than before. His knuckles whitened as he gripped his paddle.

A moment later, he raised it coldly. "Ten million."

The room erupted.

Damon glanced at me, as if waiting for me to back down.

Instead, I set my paddle on the table and said calmly, "I'll raise by a million, no matter the bid."

All sound in the hall died.

Damon slowly rose to his feet, looking down at me.

"Eileen, that's enough. Wasn't the mess you made five years ago bad enough?"

His voice wasn't loud, but it carried clearly to everyone around.

"Underground auctions have their rules."

"You say you want to light the lantern—fine."

He paused. His eyes were cold as ice.

"Let's see your proof of funds first."