THE DON'S SECRET OBSESSION ( His Bride, Her Prison)

CHAPTER 3

"Hey imposter, I know who you really are. And soon I will make sure he does too."

Blood drains from my entire body as I re-read the message over and over again.

Who the hell is this? And how did they know about me? Oh my god, what the heck am I going to do? I can't have Dermos find out about this.

No, it must be a prank. Without letting in too much thought, I press the delete button, and the message wipes off.

I press my hand forward, dragging myself off the floor where I stumbled. I quickly change into my nightwear, crawling into the pink, hideous bed to try and get some sleep.

The keyword being try. Sleep refuses to find me as I toss and turn around the sheets that won't stop itching me.

Thoughts fill my head with question upon question. Who sent me that message? Why did they send me such?

It didn't say anything about wanting something in return, so what was the purpose of the message? To scare me?

No, I don't think so.

If they wanted Dermos to know, then they would have just told him straight, so why send me that message?

And so the torture continued till about two am before I was finally able to fall asleep.

~~

The sound of heavy knocking has me jolting up from sleep.

What the heck?

I pry my eyes open before quickly slamming them shut to prevent the assault of the unholy pink covers everywhere.

Why the hell is everything pink? I hate pink. I love dim, dark colours. I am about to grumble when the events of yesterday come crashing down.

Shit!!

I am Ariella.

"Excuse me, Mrs Salvatore, you have to wake up now. Mr Salvatore requests your presence in the dining room for breakfast." Someone calls from outside the door, banging harder.

Damn, what time is it? I reach forward to my bedside table for my phone.

6:50 am

What the heck? Breakfast at this time? Why? Are they chimpanzees or what?

I push my palm over my lips to stifle a yawn when, once again, a hard bang has me jolting.

"I AM COMING!! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU? GET AWAY FROM MY DOOR!" I can't help the scream that tumbles out of my lips.

If there is one thing about me, it is that I hate waking up early; my earliest being ten.

After grumbling and cursing Ariella repeatedly for disappearing and putting me through this, I push my feet over the edge of the bed as I stalk out of the room.

The banging lady is still standing beside my door when I get there.

"I am sorry, Mrs Salvatore, but the don isn't patient." She mumbles, picking nervously at her fingernails.

"It's fine, lead the way." I hiss, using the back of my palm to scrub the last sleep off my eyes.

She nods and scurries off, leaving me to trail behind her. I am really too sleep-deprived to even take in the inside of the mansion, so I just trudge along, hoping for a tour later.

"Here, Mrs Salvatore." She stops in front of a huge door after taking me down a hideous number of stairs.

Urgh! I hate mornings.

I huff as I send my arm forward, pushing the door open.

"Wow!" I can't help the small gasps that tumble out of my lips at the sight of the long table with almost twenty chairs in it.

Did this man literally have a whole freaking room for just eating? Huh, mafia men are weird.

My eyes immediately find him at the head of the dining room, those eyes once again piercing my soul like he can see every hidden part of me.

I squirm under his intense gaze, raising my head high as I strut towards him.

Despite the outrageous time, Dermos is dressed in a grey Armani suit. An expensive watch decorating his wrist, my throat runs dry as I run my eyes over his hair part- Damnit, Ariel, no staring at your sister's husband.

I catch myself quickly, shuffling to sit down as a few heads turn to look at me with wide eyes.

Why, though? I am too sleep-deprived to care anyway.

My eyes scan the table filled with different dishes, but what really draws my attention is the peanut butter bagel that is placed directly in front of me as soon as I sit down.

It wouldn't be bad as it's Ariella's favourite, but I am allergic to it.

Shit! I snap my eyes forward, but he is already looking at me.

"Good morning Ariella, how was your night?" He asks, slowly taking a bite from his toast.

"It was very short." I snap, my irritation from being up so early rushing back.

"Oh well. New home, new rules. Breakfast is by seven or no breakfast at all." He states, barely glancing my way as he continues to eat.

Does he even like Ariella? He has barely looked at me or even spoken to me since we got married, except when he came to my–not mine– her room last night.

Wait? Is he pissed about that? Could he-

"Eat, I gather you love peanut butter," he instructs, interrupting my thoughts, still not looking at me.

A lump forms in my throat. Ariella loved peanut butter; there was certainly no way he hadn't seen her eat it once or twice. What would he think when I begin to turn purple in the face after a single bite?

I haven't touched peanut butter since it landed me in the hospital more than a decade ago. I am not about to start now.

I stare down at my plate for too long, only jolted when he clears his throat.

"You're not eating, Ariella." He is frowning slightly.

I bite my lower lip nervously. My hands start to shake slightly. How do I get out of this?

"Uh..."

I have to eat it. He will know I'm not Ariella if I don't.

But I can't. He will also know that I'm not her if I do.

Is this a setup? Did the unknown texter reach out to him also?

"Ariella?"

I snap back to focus. "I would like to have toast too." The words come flying out of my mouth before I can process them.

He raises a questioning eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yes." I breathe deeply, calming down my frayed nerves. "I've had enough peanut butter bagels to last a lifetime. I won't be eating another one any time soon."

The word pours out so naturally, leaving me amazed.

He nods. "Very well."

I find it hard to tell, but there appears to be a faint smile on his face. I blink, and it vanishes.

"As you wish," he adds.

"I'm grateful," I mutter. I reach forward for an empty plate.

I look up to see his eyes studying me. I'm gripped with anxiety and feel the need to explain.

"I don't know if I've said this, but I switch to a new favourite thing every now and then." I force myself into a smile, but I'm afraid it comes out as a grimace. "My system no longer agrees with peanut butter bagels."

"I don't care, Ariella. Just eat." His voice is almost cold.

I swallow. Am I doing a bad job? How did Ariella act when they had dinner together?

Oh God.