He Gave Her the Ring I Wanted. I Gave Him Hell. Chapter 01

He Gave Her the Ring I Wanted. I Gave Him Hell. Chapter 01

I knew something was wrong the moment I came across that anonymous post on an encrypted forum.

“How do you quietly drive a woman crazy?”

The pinned top comment came from a verified high-level account: “No matter what she asks for, make her wait. Don’t do anything. Just feed her empty promises.”

“Even if she’s cornered in an alley by a rival family, crying and calling me for help, I still tell her to wait.”

“I was bored out of my mind anyway, spending time with my childhood friend shopping on Fifth Avenue.”

“Do that a few times, and she won’t bother you anymore. I dragged her along for eight years, draining her youth, and she still begged me to marry her.”

A chill ran down my spine.

My fiancé, Leo Costa, the heir to the Costa family—one of New York’s five major mafia families—had the exact same catchphrase: “Wait.”

Marriage? “Wait, Angie.”

The bag I wanted? “Wait until the next auction.”

When my mother had a sudden heart attack and was rushed to New York-Presbyterian Hospital, I asked him for a loan with tears in my eyes.

His answer remained, “Wait until tomorrow. The guy in charge of the money isn’t available today.”

My burning heart slowly turned to ice.

By the time he finally transferred the thirty thousand dollars to my account, I had already scoured all my relatives and friends to gather enough for the surgery.

After my mother was out of danger, I went home to grab some fresh clothes and caught the story that a woman named Sophia had just posted.

She was the goddaughter of Leo’s father, Don Costa, his so-called childhood friend.

“I casually complained about wanting a romantic proposal, and his execution was off the charts.”

In the photo, Leo was down on one knee, holding up the six-carat pink diamond I had once seen in his safe.

I had naively thought it was meant for me.

The door pushed open, and Leo walked in, his tone as casual as if he wasn’t the man kneeling in that proposal.

“How is your mom? Why didn’t you accept the money? Still angry?”

I stared at him quietly and said the words I had practiced a thousand times in my head:

“I’m not waiting anymore. I don’t need it.”

Leo frowned, a bit puzzled. “Why are you throwing a tantrum again?”

He still looked calm and composed, which was the exact reason I had chosen him eight years ago—I thought this future Don could give me a sense of security.

I unlocked my phone, brought up Sophia’s story, and held it right before his eyes.

Just a second before he entered the room, he had even left a comment: “Anything for you, Leo.”

His expression changed instantly, his brow furrowing deep. “It’s not what you think.”

“Then what is it?” I sneered.

“My mother is fighting for her life in the ICU, and you have the mind to kneel down to another woman?”

A flicker of guilt flashed through Leo’s eyes before he gave a stiff explanation. “That was just a joke at a family gathering… Besides, didn’t I transfer the money?”

Thirty thousand dollars. It wasn’t even a fraction of what he spent on Sophia’s custom necklace.

I looked at him, tears flowing uncontrollably.

Yes, every single time it was “wait.”

Our marriage planning had been a one-woman show.

I bought the bag I liked with my own money because he said he needed to save up to buy the New Jersey docks.

I covered all the expenses for this Brooklyn apartment and even had to handle the cash envelopes for his crew.

Yet the ring he gave Sophia cost sixty-five thousand dollars, and he hadn’t blinked an eye when signing the check.

Leo sighed. “Angie, I look at her as a little sister. Stop making a scene.”

“Just wait a little longer, and we’ll get married.”

I took two steps back.

He always remembered Sophia’s birthday right on the dot, gifting her limited-edition Hermès bags.

When Sophia caught a cold, he would personally drive to Chinatown to fetch medicine for her.

Because she casually mentioned wanting to try that hard-to-book restaurant, he pulled strings overnight just to skip the line.

But for me, there was only “wait.”

He handed me a tissue, his voice growing impatient. “I know you’re unstable because your mother is hospitalized, but that’s no excuse to fight with me.”

Looking at this man I had been with for eight years, the deep-seated coldness in him was suffocating.

Except for his family and Sophia, no one could ever pull at his heartstrings.

I turned around to pack my bags.

He offered no comfort, merely sitting on the couch while his fingers tapped rapidly across his screen.

Eight years ago when we argued, he would coax me, “Don’t cry. It breaks my heart.”

Later, he would say, “All you do is cry. You’re so annoying.”

Last month, I was rushing to an important business dinner and asked him for a ride.

He told me to wait. I ended up taking an Uber, and that night he blamed me for waking up late.

It wasn’t until yesterday that I heard from one of his soldiers that he had actually gone to pick up Sophia for a manicure appointment that day.

As I dragged my suitcase toward the door, his voice came from behind. “I’ll drive you.”

The ride was pure silence. As we neared the hospital, he suddenly spoke, “I’ll bring you breakfast tomorrow morning.”

I didn’t reply, keeping my eyes fixed outside the window.

My phone lit up, the caller ID showing: Sophia.

Leo made a move to reject it, but I reached over and hit the speakerphone button.

A sweet, whiny voice echoed through the car. “Leo, why aren’t you here yet? We agreed to go to the barbecue!”

His expression turned awkward. “I’m on my way.”

It turned out I was just a pit stop along his way.