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For five years, I was two things: Don Dante Costello’s art restorer, and his secret. His lover.

Then his family forced an engagement, and on the night of the party, I decided to leave the man I was never meant to have.

"I quit."

I handed my resignation to Antonio, his majordomo.

"Are you sure?" Antonio looked surprised. "The Don has always been pleased with your work."

Pleased?

I almost laughed.

He was Dante Costello. The Don. Head of New York's most powerful crime family.

And I was just the girl whose education he'd sponsored. The art restorer working off a debt. A life sentence.

We were from two different worlds.

"I've made up my mind." My voice was calmer than I expected. "The debt is paid. It's time for me to leave."

"This requires the Don's personal approval."

"Then tell him." I turned toward the door. "I can't wait long."

Walking out of the manor, I touched the necklace at my throat—a small palette knife charm.

Cheap, but it meant something.

I’d bought it for myself when I graduated from art school.

It was a reminder of the life I was supposed to have. A normal life.

He found me on a rainy night ten years ago. He sponsored my education.

I never imagined anything more would happen between us.

Back then, I only felt awe and gratitude. After graduation, I agreed to work for him to repay his massive "kindness."

I knew I could never belong in his world.

But one night, Dante was drunk. His lips found my skin, and I was powerless to resist.

Five years later, I had to face the truth. I was in love with him.

But I had to leave.

I went back to my apartment and carefully placed the last restored oil painting into its protective case.

As I was about to pack, a text from Dante came through.

[You promised you'd come to my engagement party. I had a dress sent over.]

A knock on the door. One of Dante’s men stood there with a white satin gown.

"The Don is waiting for you, my lady."

Did he want me to watch him be happy with another woman?

I fought back tears and changed into the dress.

This relationship needed an ending. It needed closure.

The car stopped at the venue. I took a deep breath and stepped out.

Champagne towers sparkled under crystal chandeliers. Guests in expensive clothes laughed and chatted.

Every painting on the walls had been touched by my hands, restored by me, brought back to life.

But tonight, I was just an outsider.

I scanned the room for a familiar face.

And then I saw him.

Dante stood in the center of the room, his black tuxedo making him look even taller, more imposing.

His arm was wrapped around a beautiful woman—Isabella Rossi, his fiancée.

She wore a deep red gown, like a blooming rose.

My chest tightened.

I remembered that night three months ago. He was holding me.

He moved inside me, hard and fast, kissing the tears from my eyes.

He said he didn't want to marry Isabella. That his family was forcing him. That he wanted to be with me forever.

The next morning, he acted like nothing had happened and announced the engagement.

"Look who's here." A sharp voice came from behind me.

I turned. Isabella was walking toward me with a glass of red wine, a perfect social smile on her face.

"Elara, you look absolutely...stunning tonight." Her voice was sickly sweet.

"Thank you," I answered, keeping it short.

"White suits you," she said, stopping in front of me, a flash of malice in her eyes. "A pure color for a pure profession, isn't it? Restoring old paintings. Such...elegant work."

I felt the eyes of the room turn to us.

"Isabella, I just came to—"

"Came to what?" she cut me off, her voice suddenly shrill. "To ruin my engagement party? To remind my fiancé he still has a mistress?"

The air froze.

All conversation stopped.

Everyone was staring.

Mistress.

The word was a knife in my heart.

"I didn't—"

Suddenly, Isabella threw her wine at me.

The cold liquid soaked the white satin, blooming like a blood-red flower across my chest.

Dead silence.

"Oh, my goodness, I'm so sorry," Isabella gasped, covering her mouth in a theatrical show of surprise. "My hand slipped. Just like how some people are prone to 'slipping' into places they don't belong. Like the Don's bed."

People started whispering.

I could hear the words "Don's mistress" and "paying off her debt with her body."

I just stood there, feeling the wine drip from my dress onto the floor.

Just then, the crowd parted.

Dante walked over.

My heart pounded.

Would he defend me?

Would he tell everyone I wasn't some mistress, but the woman he'd loved?

He stopped in front of us, his gaze shifting between me and Isabella.

"What's going on?" His voice was calm. Cold. The same coldness from the morning he woke up next to me.

"Darling, I am so sorry," Isabella immediately threw herself into his arms. "I was just trying to say hello to Miss Vance, and I accidentally bumped into her."

Dante's eyes, the same ones that had stared into mine in bed and whispered words of love, were now ice.

"Mr. Costello," I began, my voice trembling, "I can explain—"

"There's no need." He cut me off, then addressed the crowd. He paused, his gaze sweeping over the silent room. Then he spoke the words that shattered what was left of my heart.

"Miss Vance is an employee," he said, his voice dangerously calm. "Nothing more. Her relationship with this family is strictly professional. She has no right to disrupt this evening, or to upset my fiancée."

The world started to spin.

His eyes were so cold, they felt like they could tear me apart.

But he was the one who asked me to come...

"Security," Dante’s voice cut through the room. "Get her out."

Isabella smiled smugly in his arms.

I looked at them. At the man I told myself not to love, but fell for anyway over five long years.

He was holding another woman, turning a blind eye to my humiliation.

The guards started toward me.

"Don't bother," I said, straightening my back. "I can see myself out."

I turned and walked away.

Behind me, I heard Isabella’s sweet voice. "Darling, let's dance."

I pushed open the doors and was met with a wall of cold rain.

I stood there, letting it wash away the tears on my face and the wine on my chest.

Ten years ago, I’d stumbled into the street. His car hit me.

I remember lying on the wet asphalt, the rain washing over me, ready to die.

He had stood over me like a god, a dark savior pulling me from the wreckage of my life.

Tonight, he was the one who threw me back into the fire.

Back at my apartment, I'd just changed out of the wet dress when my phone buzzed.

A text message:

[Don't ruin my union with Isabella. You know the consequences. Those nights were a mistake. Forget them. —D.C.]

I stared at the screen, my heart turning to ice.

A mistake.

Everything we had was just a mistake.

My finger hovered over the screen for a long time before I finally replied:

[Don't worry, Mr. Costello. I'm done loving you.]