My Rival Bragged About Her Don Husband, But He Was My Secret Husband

On the drive to the city, I scrolled back through the group chat.

The wedding preparations had apparently started a month ago, roughly when Julian and I had last seen each other.

The thread was wall-to-wall flattery and showing off.

"Selena, is that gown really from a Milan designer? It's stunning!"

"The groom has such a presence. He really does look like a Don."

I almost laughed. Julian had a decent face, but his presence was nothing special. He was a second son who'd climbed up on my family's coattails.

Three years ago, our family needed to open up a freight corridor. Sandro had looked at a dozen small crews and landed on the Moretti. The eldest son was already married, so they sent their second boy, Julian, as the offering.

The first time I met him, he'd shaved clean, wore a faint hint of cedarwood cologne, and had a face that was, genuinely, very good.

He'd arranged 999 fresh tulips flown in from Holland, plus a sapphire necklace, the very symbol of a Donna. Not even the eldest brother's Donna had received one.

The Moretti family was serious.

I accepted the necklace. That meant I accepted him.

We'd built real trust over the years, and I'd given him plenty to work with.

Recently, family business had reached a critical turning point, and I'd had to step away to handle it personally. That must have been when he started having second thoughts.

Someone in the chat asked Selena how their love story started.

Her pride practically bled through the screen. "He said he knew I was the one the moment he first saw me. Said I was beautiful, feminine, exactly his type. He's always buying me the most expensive dresses — says he loves seeing me in nice clothes and heels, that it's sexy. He wants me to be his perfect wife."

And the most disappointing thing about him was that he'd completely forgotten who he was.

Among the photos Selena had shared, there was a skiing shot.

Someone gasped: "Is that a private ski slope?" It was. A place Julian couldn't have touched before the alliance.

There was another photo, taken at the estate I'd bought after our marriage. Selena was on Pony, my white horse, while Julian led the horse for her, gentle as anything.

Everyone in my world knew: no one touched Pony. He was mine.

Julian had already crossed every line there was.

What I had valued most about Julian when I chose him as a husband was his sense of boundaries. He'd proposed on one knee, eyes steady. "You have a depth to you that I want to spend my life discovering. Your light is unlike anything I've ever seen and you are the person I admire most. I hope I may have the honor to become Miss Costanzo's husband."

He'd said he wouldn't insult me with roses, so he flew in black tulips from Holland. Only the rarest, proudest flower was worthy of me.

After we married, whenever we couldn't meet in person, he called every night without fail, good morning and good night. He knew I was particular about food, so he'd taught himself to cook and sourced every ingredient personally.

None of that was required in an alliance marriage.

I'd tried to give something back — that was why I'd gone to the trouble of having those cufflinks made.

But a second son is still a second son. He wasted all that effort in exactly the wrong direction.

These past weeks while I was occupied, Julian had volunteered to look after Pony for me and had apparently used that time to arrange dates with his woman.

Fortunately, we'd never gone public with the marriage, kept it private for operational reasons, so ending it would be just as clean.

Julian, apparently anxious at my silence, sent another message. "Ava, hope I'm not bothering you. Maybe I could bring the food to you? I've been missing you."

My driver said quietly, "Miss, we've arrived."

I typed back to Julian: "No rush. We'll see each other very soon."