Too Late: The Don's Regretful Pursuit

I sat at the head of the mahogany table, the heavy heirloom emeralds around my neck marking me as the future Queen of the Cosa Nostra.

But the man beside me—Jax Viles, the most feared Don in New York—had his hand resting possessively on the thigh of the woman sitting to his right.

She wasn't his fiancée. I was.

The humiliation didn't stop at dinner. Jax moved her into my home, turned my dance studio into her closet, and when she pushed me down a flight of stairs, he stepped over my broken body to comfort her because she was "shaken up."

He started a bloody gang war just to defend her honor, yet ignored my desperate calls warning him of an ambush.

To him, I wasn't a partner. I was furniture—a fixture that was expected to be silent and useful. He would burn the world to ash for her, but for me, he wouldn't even skip a meeting.

So, while he was out celebrating his victory for her, I didn't wait for him to come home.

I left the engagement ring in the trash can next to the toilet.

On his desk, I left a single note: "I release you from the oath. I hope she's worth the war."

By the time he realized his mistake and came looking for his shadow, I was already gone, ready to become the Queen of my own life.