Chapter 3: The Woman in My Home

I pushed the door open—and stopped.

Ava Ashford was sitting on the couch in silk pajamas, snacks spread casually across the coffee table, like she belonged there.

I paused on purpose.

“Didn’t you say you had a mixer tonight?” I asked lightly. “That you wouldn’t be coming home?”

She looked up, lips curving into a shy smile that made my stomach tighten.

“Oh—right,” she said softly. “I forgot to tell you. I actually had a fight with my boyfriend. I went to the party just to make him jealous.”

She laughed, almost embarrassed.

“When I told him, he didn’t seem to care at all. But the moment I arrived, he showed up and dragged me away.”

As she spoke, she casually tugged at her collar.

A kiss mark bloomed against her skin.

My nails dug deep into my palm.

Pain spread, sharp and unforgiving.

“When did you get a boyfriend?” I asked quietly. “Why didn’t I know?”

She tilted her head, unbothered.

“About five months ago.”

Five months.

She had moved into this house five months ago.

So from the very first day she walked through that door—he had already been hers.

My breathing turned uneven. I was about to speak—

A hand landed gently on my shoulder.

Dominic.

“Arabella,” he said softly, as if nothing was wrong. “You’ve had a long day. I’ll run you a bath. Go rest.”

And just like that, I was guided into the bathroom.

I had just begun to undress when I realized I’d forgotten clean clothes.

I opened the door—

And everything shattered.

Down the hall, Dominic had Ava by the chin, his grip possessive, dangerous.

“Try seeing another man again,” he warned coldly.

She smiled.

Her eyes flicked past him—straight to me.

“Alright,” she said sweetly. “I won’t go anymore. I’m yours. Isn’t that enough?”

I shut the door.

The bathwater swallowed me, but it couldn’t drown the image burned into my mind.

When I came out, only Dominic remained.

On the table were cut fruit—and a steaming glass of milk.

He rushed toward me, all tenderness.

“You haven’t been sleeping well. Warm milk helps.”

I held the glass.

It didn’t warm me at all.

How could someone be this good at pretending?

Moments ago, he had claimed another woman like property—and now he stood before me, playing the devoted husband.

That question kept me awake all night.

Sometime before dawn, Dominic suddenly jolted awake.

“Arabella!”

His hands searched wildly until he found me, pulling me into his arms like he was afraid I’d disappear.

“Don’t leave me,” he whispered.

I stiffened.

“What’s wrong?”

His voice shook.

“I had a nightmare. You left. I couldn’t find you.”

I lowered my gaze.

I almost told him.

Tomorrow, I really would be gone.

Because of that dream, he insisted on taking me to work with him the next morning.

I refused.

He begged.

I didn’t want to waste energy arguing.

My flight was that night. It wouldn’t take long.

The moment I stepped into his office, I saw it—

Photos of me. Everywhere.

He wrapped his arms around me from behind, nuzzling my neck.

“Too many women try to climb into my bed,” he murmured.

“Since I put these up, it’s been much quieter. Don’t worry, Donna. Your husband behaves.”

I said nothing.

When his men knocked to remind him of the meeting, he held me a moment longer before leaving me to wander.

I didn’t wander far.

Then I heard my name.

“Arabella?”

I turned.

Suise—an old colleague.

She smiled, then hesitated.

“I just transferred to Immigration. I heard you filed papers to leave the country. Is that true? Does Dominic know?”

I opened my mouth—

A voice behind me went sharp with panic.

“Leave the country?”

Dominic stood frozen.

“What do you mean—immigration?”

My heart skipped. I gestured toward Suise.

“She’s the one leaving,” I said calmly. “She wanted to treat me to dinner before she goes.”

Suise glanced at me in surprise, then quickly nodded, sensing it wasn’t her place to ask questions. She excused herself and left us alone.

The moment the door closed, Dominic pulled me into his arms. His breathing was uneven, his grip far tighter than usual.

“I thought it was you,” he whispered against my hair. “You scared me.”

I smiled faintly.

“It’s just immigration,” I said softly.

His heart was pounding—wild, unsteady beneath my palm.

“You know my family,” he said, his voice low and strained. “The Contis don’t leave. Bloodline rules.”

He swallowed.

“Anyone born into the name is bound to this city. No exceptions. No exits.”

Then he added, almost urgently, as if afraid I might misunderstand—

“Spouses can go. Wives can leave. But not us. Never us.”

He tightened his arms around me.

“If I’ve done anything wrong,” he said hoarsely, “you can hit me. Yell at me. Even kill me.”

His voice broke on the last word.

“But don’t leave. If you go abroad, I’ll never find you again. That would be worse than death.”

In his arms, I smiled gently.

“I understand.”

That afternoon, Dominic took me to a friend’s newly opened French restaurant.

The moment we walked in, everyone stood.

“Donna.”

“Donna Conti.”

“Please enjoy your meal. No one will disturb you.”

“We cleared the restaurant just for you.”

“Everything’s prepared exactly how you like it.”

His inner circle—men who had grown up with him, fought beside him—hovered close, respectful, familiar.

Dominic raised a brow.

“Since when did you all become this considerate?”

One of them laughed.

“The whole city knows the Donna is your heart. If we don’t treat her right, how are we supposed to stay in your good graces?”

Another chimed in, grinning.

“Ever since you got married, you forgot your brothers. We had no choice but to spoil the Donna with you.”

Laughter filled the room.

And then—the door opened.

A petite figure stepped inside.

Ava Ashford.