His Unwanted Wife, The Rival Don's Queen

Haven POV

The next morning, the sun was blindingly bright.

It mocked the heavy darkness that clung to the inside of the apartment.

I walked into the kitchen for a glass of water, only to find Connor waiting for me.

He stood by the marble island, gripping his phone so tightly his knuckles had turned white.

He looked furious.

Not guilty.

Furious.

He shoved the screen into my face.

"Explain this," he snapped.

I focused on the screen. It was a text thread from a number saved as 'Haven.'

I will kill you, you little rat. Watch your back. I know where you sleep.

I looked up at him, bewildered.

"I didn't send that."

"Don't lie to me!" he shouted.

He slammed his hand onto the counter, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the quiet kitchen.

"Gemma showed me. She was shaking, Haven. She is terrified of you."

"She faked it, Connor," I said, my voice steady despite the adrenaline spiking in my blood. "Just like she faked the panic attack. Just like she faked the kidnapping."

"Stop it!"

He lunged forward and grabbed my upper arm.

His fingers dug painfully into my flesh.

In ten years, he had never touched me in anger. Not once.

And now, here he was, bruising me for a woman he met six months ago.

"You are jealous," he spat, his face inches from mine. "You are vindictive and cruel. I didn't think you were capable of this. Bullying a victim?"

A victim.

I laughed.

It was a dry, cracking sound devoid of humor.

"The only victim here is the child you let die yesterday so you could buy her earrings."

He recoiled as if slapped.

He released my arm, stumbling back a step.

"What are you talking about?"

I didn't answer.

I didn't owe him an explanation.

I certainly didn't owe him my grief.

"You need to apologize to her," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. "You will go in there, and you will apologize for threatening her. Or so help me God, Haven, I will kick you out of this house."

This house.

The house my money bought.

The house my strategies paid for.

I looked at him.

I really looked at him.

I saw the weak chin I used to think was gentle.

I saw the indecision in his eyes I used to mistake for thoughtfulness.

He wasn't a King.

He was a pawn who thought he was a player.

And I was done moving him across the board.

"I will not apologize," I said softly.

"Then get out of my sight."

He turned his back on me.

He walked toward Gemma's room without looking back.

He chose her again.

He would always choose her.

Because she made him feel big, and I made him realize just how small he really was.

I watched him go.

And in the silence that followed, I felt the last thread of the rope finally snap.