My Eight Years as the Don’s Substitute
At the Mercer family's annual dinner, I accidentally wore a couture gown that belonged to Lucian's late wife.
The eight-year-old boy I had raised myself, in front of every key member of the Family, threw a glass of expensive red wine all over my pure white dress.
He just stood there, his cold, condescending expression a mirror of his father's.
"Don't think you can become the mistress of this house just by dressing like my Mamma."
"I swear, when I'm old enough to take over the family business, I'll make you disappear for good!"
The cold liquid soaked through the fabric, clinging to my skin.
But I felt nothing. My heart had frozen solid the moment I signed my life away eight years ago.
I looked at the child I had raised as my own for eight years.
There was no anger. The faintest smile touched my lips.
I leaned down and whispered in his ear,
"You won't have to wait that long, my little lion. I'm leaving, and it will be very soon."