My Fiancé Faked His Death, So I Married The Don

The pop-up comments relayed every one of Raphael’s arrogant assumptions to me.

【A man this stupid and this much of a scumbag is a dangerous combination. Does he seriously not get that she’s over him?】

【Is this that ‘She’s-so-crazy-about-me’ syndrome I’ve heard about?】

I couldn’t help but let out a snort of derision.

Just then, an Instagram notification popped up.

Chloe again.

This time, it was a selfie from a bed. She had that post-sex glow, with fresh bruises on her skin. The man next to her was mostly out of frame, but I recognized the arm instantly.

The caption: “While he was pounding into me, he told me I was the best he’s ever had. That his fiancée never made him feel like this.”

A wave of nausea hit me.

Comments flew across my vision:

【This scumbag and this bitch deserve each other. They’re a perfect match in disgustingness.】

【Did he ever stop to think how a woman with a terminal illness has the energy for rough sex?】

【There is no illness! Chloe bribed a doctor to fake the records!】

【After you two get married, she’ll come back to New York, ‘miraculously cured.’】

【While you’re drowning in family business, they’ll be screwing on your office desk! Right under your nose!】

My stomach churned.

Fueled by pure rage, I knew exactly how to get back at Raphael.

As his fiancée, I knew too many of his dirty secrets. I used to be his shield. Now, I’d be the one to bury him.

I logged onto a dark web forum and found the Guzman Cartel—the most vicious drug lords on the Mexican border.

Raphael had recently hijacked one of their shipments, planning to sell it to an Eastern European crew for a massive profit.

His plan was solid. But I wasn’t going to let it happen.

I created an encrypted file containing the exact coordinates of the hidden shipment, the offshore account where Raphael stashed the money, and a recording of his call with the buyers.

I attached a single line of text:

“I’ve got something that’ll get you Raphael Russo’s head on a platter. Interested?”

Sent.

I knew what this meant. The Guzmans were animals. They would hunt Raphael to the ends of the earth.

After doing it, I felt a little of the weight lift from my chest.

Sofia was passed out on the couch behind me, hugging a pillow and mumbling about how “all men are pigs.”

I’d had a lot to drink myself. When I got back to the penthouse, I fell into bed and passed out.

Sometime in the middle of the night, I felt my fingertips touch something that wasn't a soft feather pillow. It was warm, hard, and rising and falling with a steady breath…

Muscle?

My hand froze.

The feeling was terrifyingly clear. Taut abs, a solid chest. I could even feel a strong, steady heartbeat beneath the skin.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The alcohol wore off in an instant.

This wasn’t a pillow. It was a man.

【Ahhh! Run, girl! Or… Jump him!】

【it's the villain! In the same bed! This is getting spicy! Can we even watch what happens next?】

Before I could pull my hand back, a hand clamped down on my wrist.

The grip was incredibly strong, an absolute show of force that yanked me across the bed.

My world spun.

I was pinned beneath him, my back against the cool silk sheets, a scorching hot body pressed against my front. An aura of pure danger enveloped me.

I couldn’t see his face, but I could feel his eyes on me in the darkness, like he was about to devour me whole.

His grip tightened, and a pained gasp escaped my lips.

Then, a low, gravelly voice—like a cello string pulled taut in the dead of night—rumbled next to my ear.

“Who?”