The Don's Good Girl Was Reborn

The moment I stepped into the living room, the master bedroom door swung gently open.

The air still carried the lingering intimacy of the night before.

Bianca walked out slowly.

She was wearing my favorite silk nightgown, her long black hair loose over her shoulders, her face soft with the lazy, sated look of a woman fresh out of a man's arms.

Her bare shoulders and collarbones were mottled with love bites.

The instant our eyes met, she didn't so much as flinch. Instead she walked straight up to me.

I kept my eyes down, trying not to look at those glaring marks.

"Good morning, Miss Moretti."

The words had barely left my mouth when a slender finger pinched my chin and forced my head up.

She forced me to stare at the intimate marks covering her, contempt curling at the corner of her mouth.

"Tell me. What do you see?"

The grievances of my previous life and the hatred of my miserable death came surging up. My fingertips trembled.

"I see that the Don adores you," I said, raising my eyes and letting my gaze rest openly on her, each word deliberate. "Your skin is fair, your figure is lovely. Of course the Don would fall for you. Nothing could be more natural."

The scorn in Bianca's eyes deepened.

She released my chin and wiped her hand, taking her time.

"So you finally learned to be a good girl." She laughed softly, her voice dripping with mockery. "I'm carrying the Don's child. I'll be his wife soon enough. Take my advice and behave. Don't go dreaming about things that were never yours."

Then she tilted her head and rubbed her shoulder, putting on a show of exhaustion.

"Rossi was insatiable last night. I'm sore all over. Come here and give me a massage."

The moment those words landed, my body went rigid. A bone-deep chill spread through my limbs.

In my previous life, after she moved into the estate pregnant, she had put on the same fragile act and ordered me to massage her.

I couldn't defy her. With no way out, I put my hands on her calf.

But the next instant, she let out a piercing shriek and clutched her leg, and drops of blood welled up on her fair skin.

By the time Rossi rushed in, all he saw was blood on the floor and her tear-filled eyes.

She sobbed that I was jealous of her pregnancy and had planted steel needles to take revenge.

That day, in front of everyone, Rossi snapped my arm in two.

Then he forbade anyone from treating me, and I nearly ended up crippled for life.

From then on, he wanted nothing more to do with me. It only hardened his decision to use me as a bargaining chip and hand me to Luca.

That bone-deep pain stayed with me, vivid, until the day I died.

When I came back to myself, the servants had already brought in a massage table, and Bianca lay sprawled across it.

At the edge of her hanging sleeve, I caught a tiny glint of metal.

The exact same trick.

I clenched my fists hard and folded my hands behind my back.

Keeping the meek look on my face, I walked toward her step by step.

When I was only three steps away, I stopped and lowered my head politely.

"I'm sorry, Miss Moretti. I'm not feeling well today. I really can't give you a massage. I hope you'll forgive me."

Bianca sat straight up, as though she had finally seen through my act. Her face filled with contempt.

"Not feeling well? You look perfectly fine to me. You just don't want to wait on me, so you're making excuses."

"I'm not trying to put you off." I made myself even more deferential. "I truly am unwell. I'm afraid I might accidentally hurt you or the baby."

Our back-and-forth echoed through the empty living room.

The master bedroom door opened, and Rossi strode out, tall and straight, his face dark.

The moment she saw him, Bianca switched to a soft, wounded look.

"Rossi, I'm just sore all over. I wanted Rebecca to give me a massage, and I thought it would be a nice chance for us to get closer. But she wouldn't help me, and she was vicious about it. She called me a shameless homewrecker who forced her way between you two..."

At that, Rossi's narrow eyes tightened, their black depths murderous and cold.

"Is that true?"

I kept my head down and offered no defense.

To Rossi, my silence was a confession.

His face darkened, and the command in his voice left no room for argument.

"Get over here. Now. Give Bianca her massage."

"Don Rossi, I really can't." I kept my eyes lowered, my voice meek. "I'm unwell. If I make a mistake and frighten Miss Moretti or harm the baby, it won't be worth it."

Bianca cut in at once, her voice sharp with sarcasm.

"You're perfectly fine! You just hate me, so you're weaseling out of it!"

Rossi strode over, and his rough, powerful hand clamped down on my arm as if he meant to crush the bone.

Pain tore through me, and a film of cold sweat broke out across my forehead.

With Rossi still gripping me, I slowly brought my hands out from behind my back.

The next instant, the living room went dead silent.

Rossi and Bianca froze at the same time, staring at my hands in open shock.

My palms were a mess of raw flesh, the skin corroded, ulcerated and curling back.

The wounds were deep enough to expose bone. Blood dripped steadily onto the marble floor, blooming into vivid red stains.