Spilled Milk

I'm at the amusement park with my husband and our daughter when my blouse—still damp from breastfeeding—catches the eye of a father from my daughter's kindergarten class. He secretly takes pictures of me and starts blackmailing me, demanding a taste. My husband and our daughter are close by, but he grows bolder by the minute and orders me to undo his belt.

During a kindergarten parent-teacher conference, a rich wife accuses me of stealing her bag. I'm baffled. I bought the bag myself abroad, and it even has my name etched on it. However, when I scrutinize the bag, I discover that my name is missing. I call my husband, and he impatiently says, "I gave your bag to Jen. She's fresh out of college and needs an expensive bag to make herself look good. Even Finn said the bag is too young for you—it suits Jen more. You're too old for these things. You should be glad to even have a fake one." I bark out an exasperated laugh. I can go without having a husband, but the bag has to be returned to me.

On the day we chose our college majors, the influencer who was the school's heartthrob held a livestream and announced that he had decided to lead the anti-rat-race movement and would choose to attend a vocational college. The whole class followed him. Seeing the rapidly increasing number of followers, he smiled smugly. "They can do these low-class jobs if they like. I'll change my choice back to Harvard University at the last minute." I tried to dissuade him, but this would cause network congestion. My girlfriend slapped me. "You nerd! Who are you to tell our idol, Zach Simpson, what to do?" In my previous life, I spent half an hour dissuading them, and only then did the students change their college choices. However, Zach failed to change his application due to network lag and was admitted to a vocational college instead. He could not bear the blow and jumped into the river to commit suicide. The students who had entered prestigious universities collectively vented their anger on me. At the class reunion, they poured 99 bottles of beer down my throat and locked me in the karaoke's freezer. "Who cares about the prestige of a prestigious university? You'll just be working for someone else after graduation anyway!" "Why did we follow Zach in the first place? Wasn't it to break this damn rule?" "Zach was leading us to realize our dreams! If you hadn't interfered, I would already have gone to a vocational college with him!" They spoke disdainfully of prestigious universities, yet not one of them chose to drop out. I froze to death in a dark, cold freezer, my eyes wide open. Years later, they became elites in their respective fields, while my parents could only weep looking at my portrait. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day Zach was livestreaming in the classroom. This time, I promised I would not interfere. Instead, I wished them a happy vocational college experience.

When the mafia heir, Marco Gallante, barged into the family vault with his mistress, I was standing before the Virgin Mary statue, cross-checking bloodstained ledgers. Fiore Albero cowered behind him, pointing at the ledgers in my hands and shrieking, "Marco, I'm scared..." I did not even bother looking up, just flicked the ash off my cigar. However, Marco kicked the desk over with one swift boot. "Chiara Moltisanti, Fiore can't stand the sight of all this blood and violence. Sign the divorce papers, now!" I stared at the mess scattered across the floor, thinking back to the pregnancy report the family doctor had handed me just ten minutes ago. The Gallante bloodline was dying out in this generation. Ever since the eldest son, Luca Gallante, died in that accident, Marco became the sole heir. The Don, Carmine Gallante, dreamed of nothing more than a legitimate boy of pure blood to carry on the family name and glory. So, I smiled, bright and sharp, with unmistakable mockery. "Perfect. Since you want true love, then the Don's throne will never be yours." Besides, I never wanted Marco, that useless fool. What I wanted was the Gallante empire, a mafia dynasty spanning three continents with 100 years of roots, and the control that left him with nowhere to run and no legs to stand on. This time, I would cut him out completely, keep the bloodline, and sit at the head of the family.

On Valentine's Day, my boyfriend invited me onto a cruise ship heading for the open sea. “Quinn, just endure it. The Godfather loves blonde, blue-eyed beauties like you. “Once you please him, all my gambling debts will be wiped clean!" At the auction, I was locked inside a golden cage. The starting bid was $3 million. Just as despair drove me to bite my tongue, the bulletproof glass of the most mysterious private box on the second floor exploded outward. The mafia godfather stepped through the shattered glass. Shards crunched beneath his feet, and smoke curled from the muzzle of his gun. He looked exactly like my ex-boyfriend from five years ago. Back then, he was a bodyguard I had once slapped in public and kicked to the curb like an abandoned dog. His eyes were bloodshot as he grabbed my chin, smiling with an icy menace. "Sophia, you're not getting away this time."

I spent five years by Casey Fusco's side, turning him from a beggar in the slums to a mafia Don. On the second day he put on the family ring, his first love came knocking on our door with an ultrasound report. Casey pushed the divorce papers toward me with a sorry look on his face. "She's pregnant. I have to give her the position of Donna." My brethren tried to talk me out of doing something foolish, since I had nearly lost my life while trying to help him climb up the ranks. But contrary to their expectations, all I did was sign the papers calmly without making a fuss. "Congratulations on having your wish come true, Don Fusco."