My Don Paid Me 800. His Secretary Stole Millions Chapter 03

My Don Paid Me 800. His Secretary Stole Millions Chapter 03

A month passed.

My food cart blew up. Completely.

Every night before I even opened, people were already lined up.

I was pulling in over a thousand a night.

After costs, I cleared seven or 800.

Way better than being some mafia don’s miserable mistress.

I deposited every dollar I made. Watched my savings creep toward fifty thousand.

One customer said, “You’re pretty and your hot dogs are good. You should start a livestream.”

Someone else chimed in, “Yeah! You’d get way more business.”

“Like 2 Broke Girls. Start small, grow big. You can do it!”

That night, I set up my phone and went live.

Title: #Mafia Don Paid Me $800 to Be His Mistress—So I Left and Got Rich Selling Hot Dogs.#

I didn’t expect much. But the hook worked.

I blew up overnight.

Thousands of people watched every night.

Fans showed up with their phones to take pictures.

I was so busy I couldn’t even drink water.

Tonight, the viewership hit fifty thousand.

Chat was flying.

[You’re so pretty. Why put yourself through this?]

[Yeah, just marry rich.]

[She’s just doing this for attention. Such a fake.]

I saw that and laughed out loud.

For attention?

I stood here for hours every day. The steam burned my eyes.

“Attention?” I rolled my eyes at the camera, “You try standing here for five hours.”

“And to all of you telling me to find a rich guy—drop it.”

I flipped a sausage, and the words just poured out.

“You think you’re smarter than them?”

“They look good in suits, flash cash around. But when it comes to keeping a mistress?”

“All they do is calculate. They want everything for free.”

“Even if he’s worth billions, I couldn’t even make minimum wage.”

The chat went crazy.

[Wait, which rich guy is that cheap?]

[Tell us more! How low was the hourly rate?]

[There are too many rich guys in NYC. Can’t be a real boss.]

I thought about Knox. His empire was everywhere.

He owned both sides of the law.

His name meant guns, piles of cash, and a ruthlessness that made people disappear.

I couldn’t say his name. Even in a rant.

“Can’t say who he is. But I can tell you how he squeezed me dry.”

“3000 a month. Twenty-four-seven on-call.”

“Text me at 2 AM? Five minutes late to reply? Five hundred off.”

“Gala? Didn’t drink for him? 800 off.”

“Didn’t even pay my utilities. My fridge was empty.”

I was getting heated now.

“Then he cut it from 3000 to 800. 800! I’d make more as a waitress.”

“So I left. Women need to stand on their own. So here I am, selling hot dogs.”

“Making in one day what I used to make in a month.”

The chat exploded.

[3000 for a mistress? Even a capitalist would cry.]

[And they cut it to 800? Economy’s bad but not that bad.]

[How is she a gold digger? Other mistresses get cars and penthouses. She got nothing.]

[I feel so bad for her. I’m buying ten hot dogs!]

I watched the gift animations flood my screen. Felt good.

“Thanks to the top donor for the rocket! You’re the real MVP.”

I was mid-sentence with the chat.

Then the crowd behind me went wild.

“A Rolls-Royce Phantom!”

“Holy shit, there’s a whole convoy behind it!”

Everyone pulled out their phones.

They thought some CEO had come for a hot dog.

I looked up.

That car—the one worth more than my life—parked right in front of my cart.

The cars behind it opened first.

A bunch of men in black got out. Armed.

They pushed the crowd back. Cleared a path straight to me.

The Rolls-Royce door opened.

A pair of polished dress shoes hit the pavement.

Knox stepped out. Black suit, perfectly tailored.

His face was dark, like a storm about to break.

Everyone recognized him. His name was famous. He’d crushed every rival gang in the city.

I stared at him. Two months since I’d seen him.

He looked… tired.

The crowd went quiet. Only the sizzle of sausages on the griddle broke the silence.

Knox’s voice was low. Disbelief dripping off every word,

“Rae. I thought you were on an island somewhere.”

“And you’re here… selling hot dogs?”