Unwanted Wife: The Mafia Boss's Regret

Bailey POV

I woke up to the rhythmic, monotone beep of a monitor.

The light was harsh and fluorescent, burning against my retinas.

It wasn't a private suite at the Blair family clinic, with its high thread-count sheets and discretion.

It was a curtained partition in a public city hospital.

"She's awake," a soft voice said.

Maria.

The housekeeper.

She was sitting in a hard plastic chair, clutching her rosary so tightly her knuckles were white.

Her eyes were red and swollen.

"Maria?" I croaked.

My throat felt like shredded sandpaper.

"I found you," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I came to clean the kitchen. You were on the floor. Foam at your mouth."

She reached out, her calloused, warm hand stroking my hair.

"I called the ambulance. Not the family doctor. The ambulance."

"Where are they?" I asked.

I already knew the answer.

"With Haleigh," Maria said, looking away. "She... she told them she had palpitations."

"And me?"

Maria looked down at her lap.

"Mr. Jameson said you were seeking attention."

A tear leaked out of my eye.

It was hot and angry, burning a track down my cheek.

"How long?" I asked.

"Two days," Maria said.

"Today is my birthday," I whispered.

Maria squeezed my hand.

"I know, bambina. I know."

She reached into her bag and pulled out a cupcake.

It was smashed against the wrapper, but it had a single unlit candle stuck in the ruined frosting.

"Happy birthday, Bailey."

I ate the cupcake.

It tasted like salt and grief.

I signed the AMA forms an hour later.

The doctors protested, warning me about residual toxins and cardiac stress, but I walked out.

I had a flight to catch tomorrow.

I had to get my passport.

I took a taxi back to the estate.

The bass was thumping from the house, vibrating through the soles of my shoes as I stepped onto the pavement.

Luxury cars lined the driveway.

It was a party.

I walked through the front door.

The living room was packed with soldiers, associates, and high-ranking mobsters.

A massive banner hung across the staircase.

Welcome Home Haleigh.

Not Happy Birthday Bailey.

Just Haleigh.

Haleigh was in the center of the room, holding court.

She was wearing a scandalous red dress.

She was opening gifts.

Diamond earrings from Derrick.

A new car key from Blake.

Jameson stood behind her, his hand possessively on her shoulder.

The perfect Don.

The perfect husband.

\ The room went quiet when they saw me.

I was still wearing my hospital clothes—scrubs and a thin jacket.

I looked like a wreck.

"You're alive," Kane said.

He sounded disappointed.

"Stop making a scene, Bailey," Jameson said. His voice was low, dangerous. "Go change."

"It's our birthday," I said, my voice hollow.

Haleigh laughed, a tinkling, cruel sound.

"Oh, Bailey. Always making it about you. I almost died of a heart attack because of your prank."

"My prank?" I asked.

"The spider," she said, rolling her eyes. "Everyone knows you collect weird things."

The room murmured.

They believed her.

Of course they believed her.

She was the star.

"Let's watch the video!" Haleigh squealed, clapping her hands. "Jameson made a montage of my time in Europe!"

She pointed the remote at the massive screen on the wall.

Jameson smiled.

He had edited it himself.

A labor of love.

The screen flickered to life.

But it wasn't Haleigh in front of the Eiffel Tower.

It was grainy footage.

A bedroom.

Haleigh was there.

And so was the son of the Russian Bratva leader.

Our sworn enemies.

The audio crackled through the surround sound speakers.

"The Douglas family is a joke," Haleigh's voice rang out, crystal clear. "Jameson is a boring stiff. I'm just waiting for the old man to die so I can sell the territory codes."

The room froze.

The air was sucked out of the space.

Haleigh dropped her wine glass.

It shattered, the sound like a gunshot in the silence.

Jameson stared at the screen.

His face went pale, then dark red.

This was treason.

This was a death sentence.

I stared at the screen.

I didn't do this.

I didn't switch the video.

Haleigh spun around.

Her eyes locked on me.

Panic flared in her gaze.

She pointed a shaking finger at me.

"She did it!" Haleigh screamed. "She faked it! It's AI! It’s a deepfake! She's trying to frame me because she's jealous!"

Jameson turned to me.

His eyes were black holes.

The logic didn't matter.

The truth didn't matter.

He needed a target for his rage.

He needed to protect the image of his wife, even if she was a traitor.

"Bailey," Jameson said.

It was a growl.

"What have you done?"

Derrick stepped forward.

"She's trying to destroy the family honor," he said.

"She needs to be taught a lesson," Blake added.

They were closing in on me.

Like wolves.

I backed up until I hit the wall.

"It's her voice," I said, my voice shaking. "Jameson, listen to it."

"Silence!" Jameson roared.

He grabbed my arm.

His grip was bruising.

"Get everyone out," he ordered the guards. "Now."

The guests scrambled for the exits.

They knew what happened behind closed doors when the Blair family was angry.

I looked at Jameson.

"Please," I whispered.

"You wanted attention, Bailey?" he hissed, dragging me toward the basement door. "Now you have it."