Divorcing the Don, Ruining His Empire

The director called "Cut" three times, but my husband was still locked in a passionate kiss with his old-neighborhood flame.

As his house fixer, I kindly reminded them, but the old-neighborhood flame burst into tears, claiming she was too deep into the role.

In front of the entire crew on the casino nightclub stage, my husband scolded me, saying that my eyes and heart were so dirty that I saw filth in everything. That night, the tabloid photographers caught the two of them entering and leaving a five-star hotel together.

In the past, I would have been devastated, obsessing over him and scrambling to handle the damage control while crying. But this time, I realized our five-year secret marriage was utterly meaningless.

——

Right after I finished speaking with a retained family attorney about the divorce, Dante walked into the lounge. The lipstick mark left by his old-neighborhood flame, Serafina, was still faintly visible at the corner of his lips. It hadn't even been wiped clean.

The moment his eyes landed on me, the warmth in his expression vanished. His smile froze, then disappeared completely, replaced by a cold, distant look. His gaze sharpened as he spoke in a harsh tone. "Bianca, can't you figure out your place? This is a resting room for the leading performers, arranged by the crew. What are you doing here?"

His words were cutting, but I didn't react. I simply reached for the thermos on the makeup table. My fingers brushed over its still-warm surface. My thumb found the inside edge of my wedding band and pressed hard against it before I picked the thermos up. "Getting my stuff."

Dante had started on set at five in the morning. I had woken up at three to prepare the meal inside that thermos. Every dish had been carefully made. But now, just by the weight, I knew he hadn't touched it at all. Not even a bite.

As I turned to leave, he frowned slightly. His voice came again, colder and more dismissive. "Don't bother making food anymore. It's unpalatable."

It wasn't the first time he had said that. Not even close.

In the past, I would have exploded. I would have demanded, "Didn't you say you wanted to eat my cooking for a lifetime? Why is it disgusting now?" I would have clung to those words, desperate for an answer.

But this time, I didn't feel anything. No anger. No urge to argue. Just a quiet emptiness.

I simply replied with a soft "Hmm," and walked out without looking back.

Behind me, Dante called out again. His voice carried a faint, almost imperceptible unease. "There's a crew dinner tonight. The director wants me to discuss the script with Serafina."

I paused for a brief second but didn't turn around. I ignored the trace of guilt in his tone and replied coldly, "Okay."

Then I closed the door.

Once outside, I walked down the hallway and threw the thermos straight into the trash. It landed with a dull sound. The lid rattled once before going still.

The last scene had been filmed at the Family's supper club close to the compound, so Dante hadn't stayed at a hotel. He came back around one in the morning. A soldier held the gate; I heard the low exchange of voices, then the front door.

When he entered, the house was quiet. The living room lights were off. For once, I wasn't waiting for him. There was no warm meal, no greeting, no one asking if he was tired.

He pushed open the bedroom door, already impatient. "Bianca," he said, "you know I have trouble sleeping. Why didn't you brew my calming tea?"

I lay in bed without moving. I pulled the blanket over my head and replied lazily, "I ran out of tea leaves last night. If you want some, order takeout."

There was a brief silence.

Then came a loud bang. Dante slammed the door and went into the study. That was his way of showing anger. Somewhere deeper in the estate, I heard the faint shift of a guard adjusting his post, the way everyone on the property recalibrated whenever the Don's mood turned.

In the past, that sound alone would have kept me awake all night. I would have tossed and turned until I finally gave in and apologized.

But not this time.

He waited until morning. Still, I didn't knock on the study door.

The next day, production moved to a remote location outside the city, some mountainside venue the Family used for location shoots. The road was long and winding.

For once, Dante let me ride in the same car as him. I got in quietly and sat down without saying anything.

Just then, Serafina walked over. She wore a low-cut, backless dress. Her movements were graceful, her presence eye-catching.

"Dante, do you have any bug spray? I always attract mosquitoes..." she said softly. One quick finger touched the pearl at her throat.

Then she saw me. Her expression shifted slightly. "Oh, Bianca, you're here too? Then I'd better take the other car..."

Before she could finish, Dante interrupted coldly. "Bianca, can't you be sensible? Stop causing trouble. Go sit in the staff car."

His words were blunt.

For the first time, I didn't argue. I didn't even look at him. I simply got out and walked away.

My figure grew smaller as I headed toward the staff car.