My Ex Ran Off with His Mistress, So I Married Her DonChapter 3

Damian Russo doesn't answer right away.

Around us, the church steps go silent.

His men stop talking.

Even the older capos turn to look at me.

My mother reaches me first.

“Rachel, have you lost your mind?”

She grabs my arm.

“Mom—”

“You are not marrying a mafia boss because Ethan humiliated you!”

My father comes up behind her, breathing hard.

“This isn't something you do angry.”

I look back at Damian.

He hasn't moved.

His eyes stay on me.

“You know what you're asking?” he says.

His voice is low.

“Yes.”

My mother makes a broken sound.

“No, you don't.”

She pulls me into her arms.

“You're hurt. You're furious. I get it. But you don't throw away your whole life because Ethan Bennett is a bastard.”

Dad puts a hand on my shoulder.

“We're taking you home.”

I let them.

As we walk away, I look back once.

Damian is still standing on the church steps.

Watching me.

He doesn't call after me.

He doesn't have to.

By the time we reach the apartment Ethan and I were supposed to share after the wedding, my phone buzzes.

A voice message.

Ethan.

I almost delete it.

Instead, I press play.

“Rachel, I know you're mad.”

His voice is softer now.

“The reception thing was shitty. I get that.”

A pause.

“Just stay home with your parents tonight. There are strawberries in the fridge. I had them washed for you.”

I stare at the phone.

Strawberries.

He blows up our wedding, humiliates my parents, kisses another woman in front of half the city—

and thinks strawberries fix it.

“Once Sophie calms down, I'll come home,” he continues. “We'll talk.”

The message ends.

I walk inside.

Red roses cover the living room.

Our engagement photos line the wall.

On the coffee table sits the wedding stationery I designed myself.

I pick up one of the invitation cards.

The wording inside has been changed.

Not by me.

Thank you for bringing back the part of me I thought I'd lost.

My stomach turns.

Seven years ago, Ethan told me I made him feel alive.

Back then, I believed him.

I had stepped in when a street vendor was being harassed. Ethan happened to be there and took a hit meant for me.

Later, when he saw me quietly pay for the damage to her cart, he looked at me differently.

“You're fucking impossible,” he said.

Then he smiled.

“But you're alive. Really alive.”

I thought that meant he loved me.

Now I wonder if he only loved being needed.

I tear the invitation in half.

Then again.

Then I drag my suitcase out of the closet.

Clothes.

Shoes.

Jewelry.

Anything Ethan bought stays.

I only pack what belongs to me.

In the office, I find the shared account card and the access key to my floral company.

I open the bank app.

Seven years of shared savings.

I transfer exactly half into my personal account.

Then I log into the company system.

ETHAN BENNETT — ADMIN ACCESS

I remove him.

No hesitation.

No second chance.

When I'm done, I place the card, the key, and my engagement ring neatly on the coffee table.

Seven years.

That's what I leave behind.

My phone lights up again.

Ethan.

I turn it face down.

Then I zip my suitcase.