The Don’s Spoiled Brat Finally Left

After eight suicide attempts, everyone calls me the crazy wife who finally put the future Don on a leash, and for three months, Damian Moretti really does give up every other woman. I think I've finally won. Then I come home a day early and learn his sudden loyalty was never meant for me. After my eighth suicide attempt, Damian Moretti finally settles down. He stops going to clubs, skips the all-night private parties, and no longer pays for apartments, jewelry, or vacations for other women. Even one of the Moretti family's rivals jokes that the future Don has finally been put on a leash by his wife. Damian only laughs. Some of his own men aren't as kind. They say a woman who keeps threatening to die is too unstable to stand beside the future head of the family. Damian's face turns cold the moment he hears it. Then he looks at me and says, “Claire, don't listen to that bullshit.” “We survived worse than this together. If a few comments can break you now, what was the point of me changing?” I believe him. Until the day I come home early. When I open our bedroom door, Damian lifts his head from a young woman in our bed. The sheets are a mess. He looks at me and gives me an almost regretful smile. “I wasn't planning to let you see this.” “We had it hidden just fine. Why did you have to come back a day early?” I stare at them for a few seconds, walk to the bar, and pour myself a glass of water. Damian's first reaction is to pull the sheet higher and wrap an arm around the girl. “Lily isn't like the others,” he says calmly. “She's the reason I finally decided to stop sleeping around.” He sounds like he's discussing a business arrangement. “You can pretend you never saw this, or I can make her official. Your choice. I'll give you whichever one you want.” And just like that, I understand. I nearly died eight times. Everyone in our world knows how hard I fought to make Damian stop. But when he finally changed, it still wasn't for me. I set the glass down. “Either is fine.” Damian goes still. I look at Lily in his arms and add, “I'll make room for her.” A cigarette is still between his lips. He slowly turns his head toward me. “Either is fine?” He takes the cigarette out and laughs once. “Claire, say that again.” My hand is still around the glass. “You want to make Lily official? Fine. You want me to pretend I saw nothing? That's fine too.” “You choose.” I give him his own words back. Damian studies me for several seconds before suddenly pushing Lily away. “Lily, go outside.” She bites her lip, her eyes already filling with tears as she glances at me. Damian has never had much patience, especially with his men, but when she doesn't move right away, he only frowns before lowering his voice. “Come on, sweetheart. Just give us a minute.” Lily finally leaves. Once the door closes, Damian walks over and looks down at the glass in my hand. “You're really not angry?” I raise my eyes to him. “Do you want me to be?” He takes the glass from me, drinks from it, and puts it back in my hand. His thumb brushes over my knuckles. “You can be angry. Just don't start doing something crazy again. I don't have the energy to guess what version of you I'm getting next.” I look at the mark his mouth left on the rim and say nothing. He catches my chin between his fingers. “When you used to lose it, at least I knew what to do. You slammed your head into a wall, I stopped you. You cut your wrist, I took the blade. You climbed onto a roof, I dragged you back.” “As long as you reacted, I could handle you.” “But now you're standing here telling me everything is fine. What exactly am I supposed to do with that?” I turn my face away from his hand. “Nothing. Do whatever you want.” “In public, you're still my husband. In private, sleep in whichever house and whichever bed you like.” The smile on Damian's mouth fades slightly. “And you? What do you want?” I finally look at him. “Whatever version of me you like, that's what I'll be.” For a second, he looks surprised. Then something almost amused enters his eyes. “Good. You're finally learning.” He brushes a strand of hair away from my face. “I married you even though it hurt Lily back then. At least you're finally acting like Mrs. Moretti.” “If you really don't care, I'll move her into the house on the east side. She won't be in your way.” For years, I begged him not to touch every woman who threw herself at him. He never listened once. Now that I tell him I don't care, he's suddenly willing to listen. I turn toward the door. “One condition,” he says. I stop. Damian leans against the edge of the bed. “Have dinner with me once a week. Just the two of us.” “I haven't forgotten what I promised you. There will only ever be one Mrs. Moretti.” I glance back. “Do you hear how ridiculous that sounds?” In Damian's world, one dinner a week is apparently everything a husband owes his wife. He gives me a small smile. “Yeah, it's ridiculous. But I know what you're like when you're upset. You stop eating.” “There are plenty of women in this world. I only have one wife. Of course I have to look after you.” So this is what he calls looking after me. I have nothing left to say. I go downstairs to the guest room and close the door before checking my phone. My attorney sent me a message half an hour ago. Claire, I found what you asked for. Three properties and Damian's controlling interests in two legitimate companies were transferred out of his name three months ago. The new owner is Lily Hayes. I stare at the date. Three months ago. The same week as my eighth suicide attempt. For a long time, I don't move. Then I call my attorney. “Rachel, don't wait on the divorce plan anymore.” She goes quiet for two seconds. “Are you sure? With the way Damian has moved his assets, the financial settlement could be very unfavorable to you.” “I don't care.” I switch off the light and lie down in the dark. “I don't want any of it.” “If Lily is what he wants, he can have her.”

After the call ends, I close my eyes. Footsteps soon move through the master bedroom upstairs, followed by Lily's quiet crying and Damian's low voice as he comforts her. “Sweetheart, she saw us. So what? What are you scared of?” “The way she looked at me... it gave me chills.” Damian laughs. “Relax. If Claire wants to make someone suffer, it'll be me or herself. She won't touch you.” “If she really wanted to get rid of every woman around me, she wouldn't have needed eight suicide attempts to do it.” He pauses, sounding almost certain of himself. “She knows that when a relationship breaks, the real problem isn't the other woman.” “Claire's biggest problem is that she has too much of a conscience.” I lie in the dark without opening my eyes. My mouth curves slightly. So after everything I've done, that is what he thinks of me. Too much of a conscience. Fine. Let him keep believing that for now. Early the next morning, Damian opens the guest-room door just as a photo appears on my phone. Lily sent it. An ultrasound image. Damian leans against the doorframe and watches me for a moment. “Didn't sleep well?” He walks over and bends closer to study my face. He is still unfairly handsome, even from this distance. “Your eyes are swollen.” He reaches for me. I turn my face away, and his fingers miss. Damian pauses before smiling again. “Still angry?” Then his eyes drop to the phone on my lap. The ultrasound is still on the screen. The smile on his mouth freezes for half a second before returning. “So we're doing this again? Digging into everything about her?” I don't look up. “She sent it to me.” Damian studies me for two seconds and straightens. “Sure. She sent it.” His tone says exactly what he means. Whatever you say, Claire. He doesn't believe me. In his mind, Lily has already suffered enough by having to meet him in secret. A soft-spoken girl who cries easily and never causes trouble couldn't possibly send an ultrasound to his wife just to provoke her. That kind of thing belongs to me. I'm the one who investigates, calculates, and makes scenes. After all, I've done it eight times. The calmer I am, the more Damian assumes I'm preparing something worse. He loosens his collar and sits across from me. “I was going to tell you in the next few days anyway.” His eyes move to the screen. “The baby is two months along.” For a moment, neither of us speaks. I look at the ultrasound before turning to him. “Damian, do you remember what you said we'd name our children?” He doesn't hesitate. “Noah if it was a boy. Nora if it was a girl.” “You said you wanted simple names. You didn't care what we had as long as the baby was healthy.” So he remembers. I smile faintly. “Do you also remember promising that if I never wanted children, you would never have one with anyone else?” Damian goes quiet for a moment. Then he rests his elbows on his knees and leans toward me. “Claire, promises matter, but I'm going to be honest. Don't hear this and do something extreme again.” I look at him. “You've tried to kill yourself eight times.” “You don't even know how to protect your own life. How could I trust you with a pregnancy?” His voice is calm, almost reasonable, as if this is nothing more than a responsible decision he has already made for both of us. He reaches over and brushes the back of his fingers across my cheek. I don't move away. I only watch him. “Lily is different.” “She's healthy, and she's stable. She doesn't gamble with her life every time something goes wrong.” “If she has the baby, I won't spend every day wondering whether she's about to end up in a hospital.” Then he looks at me as if he's about to reassure me. “But don't worry.” “After the baby is born, you're still Mrs. Moretti.” “If you want, the child can call you Mom.” “Lily won't take your place.” I stare at him for a long time. So Damian has already arranged everyone's future. Lily gives him the child. I remain the Moretti wife. And someday, he may even place another woman's baby in my arms and expect me to play mother while thanking him for protecting my position. He probably thinks this is generous. I slowly uncurl my fingers. “You've really thought of everything.” Damian doesn't hear the sarcasm. Or maybe he simply doesn't care. He smiles and reaches over to ruffle my hair. “That's why I'm your husband, right?” I lift my eyes and look at him properly. “Yes.” I smile too. “You planned it very well.” “I just hope every step goes exactly the way you expect.” Damian raises an eyebrow, apparently convinced I've finally accepted it. He has no idea I'm no longer planning to be part of any of it.

At three that afternoon, Frank knocks on the guest-room door with a folder of documents. “Mrs. Moretti, Damian asked me to bring these over. Just routine papers he wants you to review.” “Leave them on the desk.” Frank sets them down but does not leave. “There’s something else. That black SUV you asked me to watch has been parked outside the same apartment building several nights in a row.” I look up. “I checked. Lily Hayes lives there.” He steps back slightly, probably expecting me to lose my temper like before. I only nod. “Got it. Stop watching it.” Frank blinks. “Stop? I thought you believed whoever was using that SUV might be a problem for Damian.” “It was a misunderstanding. You can go.” He leaves looking confused. I open the files. Most are routine documents from the family’s legitimate businesses. A blank check is tucked under the last folder, already signed by Damian with the amount left empty. He has always been generous with money. I slip the check into my purse. Damian comes home early for dinner. He pauses when he sees me at the table, then sits across from me and watches me for a moment. “You’re unusually calm today.” He pulls the stack of papers toward him, flips through them, and notices the missing check. “You took it?” “Wasn’t it for me?” He laughs. “It was.” He closes the folder. “I need you to do something tomorrow. There’s a project meeting at Moretti Development. Go in my place and say whatever needs to be said.” Before I can answer, his phone rings. He takes the call and leaves soon after. Ever since he supposedly settled down, he has been like this—coming and going, never staying long. For three months, no one caught him with another woman. I told myself he was finally focusing on business instead of clubs and parties. Now I know the truth. He did stop sleeping around. He simply chose one woman and kept her. The next morning, I attend the meeting in his place. Several managers are already there. At the far end of the table sits a younger man I do not know well. Evan Cole. Halfway through the meeting, the project manager turns on him. “Evan, your data is three days late. What am I supposed to tell Damian?” Evan stays calm. “The numbers need to be checked again. I’m not submitting bad data just to meet a deadline.” The manager slaps a hand on the table. “This isn’t your research lab. Mr. Moretti wants results, not excuses.” I say nothing and glance at my phone. These managers have always been good at pushing blame downward, and Damian skipping the meeting only means he expects me to deal with the trouble for him. A message from Rachel appears. The paperwork is ready. I left it in the private storage locker beside your parking space. The divorce agreement is finally here. I lock the screen and look up. “Give Evan three more days. If something goes wrong, I’ll take responsibility.” The manager hesitates. “Mrs. Moretti, but Damian—” “I’ll deal with Damian.” The room goes quiet. Evan looks at me briefly. “Thank you, Mrs. Moretti.” After the meeting, I am the last to leave. Evan is waiting outside. “The review is almost done. I found a discrepancy yesterday and wanted to confirm it before I reported anything.” “Then confirm it first.” I nod once and leave. That evening, I am making tea when Damian sits down at the table. Without looking up, he says, “I heard you defended some young guy in a meeting today.”