Regrets of the Don: His Beloved Walked Away

The moment I stepped back into our bedroom, I fished out my phone and called my lawyer.

“I need you to draft the divorce papers. Right now.”

A stunned silence crackled down the line. “Divorce papers? Does Don Vitale know you’re doing this?”

“He knows,” I said. The lie scraped my throat raw, but I pushed it out anyway. “Please, just send the documents.”

Half an hour later, I stood by the small console table, the printer still warm. I signed the divorce papers. Then I slipped the entire stack underneath a pile of utility bills.

I had barely smoothed my expression when Alessio walked in, and the second his eyes landed on me, surprise flickered across his chiseled features.

“Ivy? I thought you weren’t back from your business trip until Friday.”

I forced a smile. “I wrapped things up early. Wanted to surprise you.”

He crossed the room in three long strides, cupping my face with both hands. The warmth of his palms used to be my favorite thing in the world. Now it made my skin crawl.

“You’re finally back. I miss you so much,” he murmured, his thumb brushing my cheekbone.

His affectionate words made me wonder if the coversation I overheard was nothing but my imagination.

Before I could crumble, I grabbed the stack of papers from the console and held them out. “While you’re here, could you sign these? Just some household bills. I want to get them out of the way.”

“Sure.” He took the bundle without a shred of suspicion, pulled a pen from his jacket, and began signing on the flagged lines.

One after the other, his signature flowed—elegant, commanding, utterly unsuspecting.

I watched the pen glide across the divorce papers hidden near the bottom. He didn’t even look at the headers. He trusted me that much. Or perhaps he simply never imagined I would do something like this.

He finished and handed the papers back with a small smile. “Done. Anything else, or can I finally kiss my wife hello?”

Before I could respond, he pulled me into his chest. His lips descended toward mine, and I panicked.

I turned my face away at the last moment, so his kiss landed awkwardly on the corner of my mouth.

Alessio pulled back, confusion darkening his gaze. “What’s the matter?”

I ducked my head, letting my hair curtain my expression. “Nothing. I’m just… wiped out from the trip. Traveling always exhausts me.”

His brow smoothed with immediate concern. “Then why didn’t you say so? Sit down.”

He guided me to the sofa. His thumbs worked slow circles into the base of my neck, then drifted up to massage my temples.

He cooed, “You push yourself too hard, sweetheart. I’ve told you a hundred times—if the job is making you miserable, just quit. I’ll take care of you.”

In the past, words like those would have melted me into a puddle of gratitude. I would have turned around and kissed him. But now every syllable crushed my chest.

I just nodded, mumbling, “Maybe you’re right. I’ll think about it.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “Good girl. Now let me grab a quick shower. Don’t move—I’ll be right back.”

The moment the bathroom door clicked shut and the water started running, I let my mask slip. I sagged against the cushions, my eyes burning but stubbornly dry.

A sharp buzz cut through the room. His phone, resting on the nightstand, lit up with an incoming call.

I walked over, thinking I’d hand it to him in case it was urgent. Then I saw the name blazing on the screen: Hazel.

My stomach plummeted.

The phone vibrated twice more before going silent. I stood frozen, the device heavy in my hand.

Just as I was about to place it back, a new text preview flashed across the lock screen.

“Can’t wait for you to see this.”

My fingers moved before my brain gave permission. I typed in my own birthday. The phone unlocked instantly.

I navigated to Hazel’s thread. The most recent message contained a single image.

A sonogram.

I opened it. There, in grainy black and white, was the tiny, curled silhouette of a baby. I could already make out the curve of a head.

That was my sister's child. And my husband was the father.

I pressed my fist against my mouth to keep any sound from escaping.

For eighteen months, I had been trying to conceive with Alessio—but nothing happened. His relatives grew more vocal about the need for an heir.

Yet Alessio had always stood in front of me like a shield.

“We have time,” he’d say, kissing my forehead. “I don’t need a baby. I just need you. We’ll have our own little world, just the two of us.”

But it was Hazel who had given him what I couldn’t. My own sister, the one our parents favored while I faded into the wallpaper. She had always gotten everything I wanted. And now she had this, too.

The pain was blunt and deep, like a knife twisted into my heart.

I closed the image and locked the phone. Then I arranged myself on the bed, propped against the pillows, scrolling idly through my own phone as though nothing had happened.

Alessio emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, a towel slung low on his hips, droplets still glistening across the hard planes of his chest.

He glanced at his phone and I saw it—the brief flicker of tension in his jaw, the way his eyes cut to me and then away.

I looked up with practiced casualness. “Everything okay?”

He tucked the phone face-down on the nightstand. “Just business. Some gang from the south is trying to muscle in on one of our warehouses. I’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

I felt my heart sink. He was lying again.

He slid into bed beside me, his body curving around mine. I forced myself to relax, to play the part of the oblivious wife for just a few more days.

The next morning, Alessio mentioned my family gathering while he was knotting his tie in front of the mirror. “Day after tomorrow, at your parents’ estate. You don’t have to come, Ivy. I know how much you dread those things.”

I looked at him. “Why would you say that?”

He met my eyes in the mirror. “Because your parents barely look at you when Hazel’s in the room. I hate watching you go through that.”

Every word was true, and once I would have been so grateful for his protectiveness.

Now I saw the real reason behind it: he didn’t want me there because Hazel would be there, her belly just beginning to show beneath her designer dress.

I suppressed my bitterness. “I’m going. It’s a family occasion. Everyone will be there. It would look strange if I didn’t show up.”

Something flickered behind his eyes—guilt, maybe, or unease—but he smoothed it over quickly. “All right. If that’s what you want.”

I would go to that gathering and look at my parents, who had always showered Hazel with affection while I stood in the corner. I would see my sister, who had taken everything from me.

Then I would walk away forever.