After I Finally Became His Perfect Donna Chapter 01

After I Finally Became His Perfect Donna Chapter 01

Lyra Voss’s POV

The day I caught Dorian Vane in bed with another woman, it was snowing in Manhattan.

After that, everyone in the family said I’d lost my mind.

I hired a private investigator to tail him. If he came home five minutes late, I set fire to the estate grounds. When he texted his consigliere in the middle of the night, I pressed a cold barrel between his legs.

Dorian tried to soothe me at first.

He bought me an island. He even bent those proud knees of his and said, “It was a mistake. I was wrong. You’re the only person I’ve ever loved in this life.”

Then Mireille fell down the stairs, her dress soaked in crimson.

He signed the disciplinary order. His eyes were cold and venomous. “Lyra, you’ve been very disobedient. Mireille is running a behavioral correction program. Since you enjoy tormenting people so much, you can go there and learn some restraint.”

“Learn how to be a proper, well-behaved Donna.”

Five years blinked past. The day Dorian came to the Academy to collect me, Manhattan was under snow again.

After all those years apart, his gaze swept over me with scrutiny and a faint trace of satisfaction.

The instructor beside him smiled. “Don, rest assured. Mrs. Voss has learned how to be a proper Donna.”

I kept my eyes lowered, my knees slightly bent.

That was the standard posture the Academy taught. Never look anyone in the eye. Never straighten your spine. Always be ready to submit.

Dorian let out a scoff. “She’s certainly got the act down.”

He was right. I did have the act down.

The first month after they locked me in, I hadn’t learned it yet.

The instructors called it “behavioral cognitive correction.”

It took me a long time to understand what that phrase really meant.

It meant taking a person who could cry, who could rage, who could love, and correcting her into a person who couldn’t cry, couldn’t rage, couldn’t love.

It wasn’t that hard, really.

Get hurt enough times, and you can learn anything.

On the ride back, Mireille sat on Dorian’s lap.

She looked at me with that familiar expression of concern, light and airy, like a cat studying a mouse whose claws had been ripped out.

“Lyra, were you doing all right in there these past five years?”

I stared straight ahead, both hands flat on my knees.

Mireille waited a moment. When I didn’t answer, her voice grew even softer. “If you hadn’t hurt me back then, Dorian never would have gotten angry enough to send you away. Don’t blame him.”

Five years ago, I would have lunged at her and torn her mouth apart. But now I just sat there.

Dorian’s eyes slid toward me, his tone dropping cold. “Mireille is speaking to you. Did you leave all your manners in the gutter?”

I still didn’t speak.

My chin was seized in a sudden grip, hard enough to make the bone ache.

Dorian forced me to look at him. Behind his eyes was that familiar irritation. “I told you to speak.”

It hurt. But compared to having my lips sewn shut at the Academy, it was nothing.

“Don, you hadn’t given me permission to speak.”

I looked into his eyes. My voice was very quiet, but Dorian froze.

He stared at me for a long time. Long enough that the smile on Mireille’s face went rigid.

Then he let go, a cold laugh escaping him. “Fine. You may now answer Mireille’s question.”

I turned my head and smiled at Mireille. A textbook smile, exactly eight teeth showing.

“Miss Croft, I’m not upset at all. The Don’s heart belongs to you and you alone.”

I meant every word.

At the Academy, the instructors showed me photos of Dorian and Mireille together every single day.

In the pictures they were smiling, radiant, like a perfect couple.

At first, looking at them made me ache. Made me tremble. Made me want to tear the photos to shreds.

Then the current would pass through my temples, and every emotion would briefly vanish. After enough time, I stopped crying.

The instructors called it “desensitization therapy.”

I thought they were right. See something enough times, and it stops hurting.

But for some reason, his expression only darkened.

His brow furrowed, teeth clenched.

“Lyra Voss, that passive-aggressive tone of yours, is that your idea of quiet defiance?”

“It isn’t.”

I lowered my head even further. “I’ve just learned how to be a proper Donna.”

Dorian went still for a beat.

Mireille watched the whole exchange, her voice silk-soft.

“Dorian, Lyra knows she was wrong. Don’t be so hard on her.”

He stared at me for a long time, then let out another cold laugh.

“Fine. Let’s see how long you can keep up the act.”