Keeper, Not Lover
I was a violin prodigy. But to pay my mother’s debts, I was forced to give up everything.
That’s when I met the man who would own me: Dante Moretti.
He was the king of New York's underworld. The Don of the Moretti family.
With a single phone call, fortunes were made. With a single glance, blood was spilled.
The world didn't just bend to his will—it broke.
And on that day… what he wanted was me.
He gave me a five-year contract. A penthouse in a skyscraper overlooking all of New York. More jewels and gowns than I could count.
Every night he needed me, I’d put on whatever lacy thing he picked out. We’d have sex.
Five years. 999 times.
There were moments—his sweat dripping on my forehead, his soft breaths inside me, the way he’d look at me—when I let myself dream he loved me.
Then the video dropped. Him. On the street. Kissing another woman.
I knew the truth. He was my keeper, not my lover.
Everyone laughed. They couldn't wait to see me lose my mind, begging him to keep me.
Instead, I turned my back on him. And married another man.