The Don’s Regret: His Obedient Donna Is the Lost Heiress! Chapter 09

The Don’s Regret: His Obedient Donna Is the Lost Heiress! Chapter 09

After that night, Alarion fell deathly ill.

A 104-degree-Fahrenheit fever sparked acute pneumonia, and an ambulance that Tavion called took him to the hospital.

I never went to see him, not once, in the two weeks he was hospitalized.

I heard he refused treatment, just stared out the window all day, clutching that surgical consent form in his hand the whole time.

The nurse said he often woke up crying in the middle of the night, calling my name.

But I didn’t care anymore.

…

My life fell into a steady rhythm.

The Sanzaro and Valenwick families teamed up to win the bid for the old town redevelopment project.

Several old money families in London were eyeing that plot of land, so Tavion and I worked late every single day.

Tavion was an incredibly thoughtful man.

He remembered every single one of my preferences.

He knew I had a sensitive stomach, so every morning he left a warm mug of milk waiting for me on my desk before I arrived.

He never tried to guilt-trip me into being “understanding”, and never

took what I did for granted.

“Virelle, there’s an exhibition this weekend. Wanna go together?”

As we were leaving work, he stood by my desk, looking at me with soft eyes.

“Sure,” I said, smiling and agreeing.

The architectural exhibition was crowded on the weekend.

Tavion slipped his hand into mine naturally, stepping in front of me to block the pushing crowd.

His palm was broad and warm, solid and comforting.

We walked up to a display booth, just about to look at the model on it, when a rough voice called from behind us.

“Virelle.”

I turned around.

Alarion wore a hospital gown under a jacket, his face paper-white.

He’d lost so much weight, his cheekbones jutted out sharply. When he saw our interlocked hands, the light in his eyes died instantly.

But he didn’t lose his temper.

His back was still straight, but his gaze was empty—he’d poured every last bit of strength just into staying on his feet in front of me.

“Mr. Morvane, you haven’t recovered yet. You shouldn’t be out wandering,” Tavion said, frowning slightly and stepping in front of me to shield me again.

Alarion ignored him. He just looked right at me.

“Virelle, I’m flying back to New York tomorrow. Something came up with the company, I have to go handle it.”

I nodded.

“Okay. Have a safe trip.”

Alarion’s mouth tugged into a bitter, crooked smile.

“I transferred half of the Morvane family’s shares into your name. All the paperwork went through.

“I know you won’t accept it. But I left the account password and authorization keys with Tavion… If you ever need anything later, you don’t have to ask anyone for anything, just take it yourself.”

He pulled a small box out of his pocket and held it out to me—it was the diamond ring he’d proposed to me with all those months before.

“I’ve carried this ring with me this whole time.

“You don’t have to come find me… if you ever put it on, no matter where you are, I’ll know.”

I looked at the sparkling diamond and didn’t reach for it.

“Alarion, just take your money and your ring with you.

“I don’t need your compensation, and I don’t need your devotion.

“The best thing you can do for me is never show your face in front of me again.”

Alarion’s hand froze in mid-air. After a long moment, he slowly pulled

it back and squeezed the box tight in his palm.

“Okay.”

He looked at me one long, deep time, his gaze full of utter, dead silence.

“I’ll do everything you asked. I agree to whatever you say.”

He turned around and walked slowly toward the exit, his steps unsteady.

His back was still straight, but his pace was much slower than before, every step heavy as lead.

The engagement ring was crushed so tight in his grip that the edge cut through his palm, and blood dripped onto the floor.

That was the last time I ever saw Alarion in London.