The Don's Wife's Sweetest Revenge

Chapter 2

Word Count: 687 | Released on: 10/10/2025

ella

endearing, a sign of his focus on me. Now it j

ce carefully neutral. "M

ple in his perfect domestic sea. "A week in Santorini. Just the two of us. Away from all this." He ges

It was a lie, but my life wa

added, and the casual way her name left

anniversary. I'll give it to you when we get back." The

the problem was solved.

I asked, genu

red. "Our anniv

ash in my mouth. I had been so consumed by the b

paused, a flicker of irritation in his eyes, before pressing a dry ki

ctress in the final scenes of a tragedy,

gle, long dark hair that was not mine. It was a ghost, a remnant of her presence in

pointless. My war wasn't

nt. "I have an early meeting across town," he said, adjusting his tie.

tti Family didn't have "potential issue

fe," I

econd phone, a burner, in the false bottom of his humidor. He thought I didn't

screen lit up with

t night wa

t wait until

tell her abou

leaned over his mahogany desk, my hands braced against the cool wood, and took deep, shudderin

, like a man who had successfully put out a fire. My f

he warehouse?" I asked,

ing his jacket over a chai

e. A tremor started in my hands, a violent, uncontrollable sha

it the seafood again?" He put his hand o

ness. It was the last of Isabella Morett

Chapter End

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The Don's Wife's Sweetest Revenge

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“For fifteen years, I was Isabella Moretti, the perfect wife to the city's most powerful Don. We were a power couple, a carefully curated masterpiece of influence and affection. Our life was flawless. That masterpiece shattered on our anniversary when a burner phone lit up with a picture of his assistant's hand on my husband's thigh. Soon, I found his second phone and discovered the full scope of his betrayal. His mistress, Sofia, was pregnant. He lied to my face about "work emergencies" while she began a campaign of terror, sending me photos of them together, a grainy ultrasound, and a video of her parading in my silk robe, bragging about becoming the new Mrs. Moretti. I was supposed to endure it in silence. That's the rule for a Don's wife. But all the pain hollowed out, leaving only a cold, chilling certainty. He truly believed I was nothing without him. "Where would you go, Bella?" he'd once laughed, his voice dripping with condescension. "Everything you have, everything you are, is because of me. You wouldn't last a week." He thought it was a game. "I'll take that bet," he'd said. So while he was away on a final "business trip" with her, I made my move. I liquidated our assets and hired movers to strip our mansion bare, erasing every trace of my existence. I walked out forever, but not before leaving two gifts on the empty mattress where we once slept: the signed divorce papers, and the melted, grotesque slug of gold that used to be my wedding ring.”