The Discarded Wife's Revenge On The Don

The bleeding had stopped, but the throbbing remained a dull, persistent echo.

I sat on the edge of the bed in the master suite, pressing a cold compress to my cheek.

The entire room was suffocating, saturated with his scent.

It reeked of sandalwood, expensive scotch, and the metallic musk of a man who killed for a living.

I used to find comfort in that scent.

Now, it made the bile rise in my throat.

The door opened without a knock.

I expected a maid.

Instead, Breann sauntered in, followed by a girl I had never seen before.

The girl was young.

She had wide, innocent eyes and hair the color of corn silk, and she was wearing an oversized t-shirt that I recognized immediately.

It was Brennan's.

"You need to leave," Breann said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"This is my room," I said, forcing myself to stand. "Get out."

The blonde girl stepped forward.

This had to be Debbi.

She looked around the room with hungry eyes, fingering the silk curtains and running her hand over the mahogany dresser.

"Brennan said I could pick the decor," Debbi said. Her voice was high and breathy. "He said this room was too... cold. Like a museum."

"Get out," I repeated, stepping toward her.

"Brennan ordered your things moved," Breann said, a smirk twisting her lips. "To the basement."

"The basement is unfinished," I said. "It's a storage unit."

"It's where you belong," Breann countered. "You're just clutter now, Alyssa. Expired inventory."

Debbi walked over to the vanity where my jewelry box sat.

She opened it.

She picked up my pearl earrings-a gift from my father on my eighteenth birthday.

"These are pretty," she said. "Vintage."

"Put them down," I warned.

Debbi giggled.

She looked at me, and the mask slipped. Her eyes flashed with a malice that belied her innocent face.

"Or what?" she asked. "You're damaged goods. Look at your face. Brennan doesn't want a scarred wife."

She dropped the earrings.

She stepped on them.

The crunch of the pearls shattering under her sneaker was a sickening sound.

I didn't think.

I simply snapped.

I lunged forward, grabbing Debbi by the arm.

She shrieked, a piercing sound that echoed off the walls.

I twisted her arm behind her back, forcing her to stumble.

She tripped over her own feet and fell to the carpet, twisting her ankle.

"My leg!" she screamed. "She broke my leg!"

The door slammed open again.

Brennan was there in a heartbeat.

He didn't look at me.

He didn't even glance at the blood on my bandage.

He went straight to Debbi, falling to his knees beside her.

"Debbi," he said, his voice softer than I had ever heard it. "Are you hurt?"

"She attacked me!" Debbi sobbed, clinging to his shirt. "I just wanted to see the room... she went crazy!"

Brennan looked up at me.

His eyes were black pits.

"You touched her," he said.

"She destroyed my property," I said. "She was in my room."

"This is not your room," Brennan growled. "This is my house. Everything in it is mine. Including you. And you do not touch what I protect."

He scooped Debbi up into his arms as if she weighed nothing.

"Breann," he barked. "Get the guards. Take Alyssa to the cellar. The real cellar. Not the storage room."

"Brennan," I said, my voice shaking. "You can't be serious."

"You need to learn discipline," he said, walking past me with the mistress in his arms. "You act like an animal, you live like one."

Two soldiers appeared in the doorway.

I knew them.

I had signed their paychecks.

Now they looked at me not as their Queen, but as a target.

"Don't touch me," I said, straightening my spine. "I will walk."

I walked past my husband, past the girl pretending to cry in his arms, and headed toward the darkness below.