The Don Worth Only One Dollar Chapter 02

The Don Worth Only One Dollar Chapter 02

It was the third day after my father had sent me for “treatment”.

The supposed treatment targeted my “romance-induced delusion”, the so-called “illness” that made me insist on being with a penniless young man.

Vincent had waited in the hospital’s ventilation duct all night, and when the soldiers guarding me changed shifts at dawn, he pried open the window of my ward.

“Jump!” He spread his arms below me, his eyes blazing with unshakable resolve.

I closed my eyes and jumped.

He caught me, but fell to the ground himself, never loosening his grip even when his elbow cracked.

After we escaped to a safe abandoned warehouse, he sat down against the wall, his shirt soaked through with sweat, stained with dust and blood.

He grabbed my hand and pressed it to his chest.

It thudded fast and hard beneath my palm.

“Isabella,” his eyes were terrifyingly bloodshot, “listen to me. If I can get you out of here today, nothing will ever be able to separate us for the rest of our lives.”

He fished something out of his pocket.

It was a thin silver ring, bought from the Brooklyn flea market, covered with faint scratches.

He had crookedly carved the letter “I” on its inner band.

His fingers trembled as he slipped it onto my finger.

“Once I get a firm foothold, I will definitely replace this with the biggest diamond ring, inlaid with the finest sapphires. I will let the whole world know that you are my woman, Vincent’s woman.”

His voice cracked; he was convinced I had suffered unbearable hardship just to be with him.

The sunlight that day was just as bright and searing as it is now, gilding his young face and catching the bright, unyielding light in his eyes.

I thought that moment would last forever.

…

Not long after I returned to my office, my assistant knocked and entered, “Donna, this is the summary of specially approved family expenditure accounts for the week you were on a business trip to Miami.”

She placed the tablet in front of me, “Among them… Miss Lena’s spending records require your review.”

I swiped across the screen.

Custom private Italian lingerie, exclusive treatments at New York’s top SPA clubs, Waldorf Astoria hotel suites…

I kept scrolling, and my finger stopped at the last entry: private obstetrics and gynecology hospital medical consultation…

The assistant added carefully, “The finance department said… all these accounts are charged to ‘family welfare’ expenses, with special approval and authorization from Mr. Vincent.”

I put down the iced americano in my hand and asked her, “How long has Lena Golla been employed?”

“Three months.” I nodded and asked no more questions, “Since Vincent approved it, follow the standard procedure.”

The assistant stayed where she was, twisting the corner of her blouse with her fingers.

“Donna… there’s something I don’t know if I should say.”

“Go ahead.”

“The first day you left for your business trip, she… she dragged Don Vincent onto your seat…”

The assistant sniffed, her expression awkward, “I heard noises when I passed by, she laughed and said she wanted to push the thrill as far as it could go.”

I subconsciously looked at my office chair.

It was the chair Vincent had specially custom ordered from Italy when we first established the family stronghold.

He had said, “You always stay up late handling accounts, this chair is good for your spine.”

In fact, I had known about what the assistant told me for a long time.

Lena was in her early twenties, unlike those women before her who feared angering Vincent, losing their jobs, and most of all, retaliation from me, the Donna of the family.

She was arrogant and flamboyant, wishing she could take close-up photos of every hickey to flaunt.

How could she not send me such an exciting “trophy” as having an affair in my office to show off as soon as possible?

It was 2 a.m. last Wednesday.

I was staying up late at a Miami hotel cross-checking arms smuggling accounts when my phone screen suddenly lit up.

A strange number had sent a photo.

The moment I opened it, I didn’t even realize what it was at first.

Until I made it out—it was my office.

The girl with her face blocked was sitting on my very chair, and Vincent was leaning down to kiss her.

The sender had also added a line of text, “Sitting on this chair… it really is extra comfortable!”

I didn’t see her face, but I already guessed who it was.

I didn’t reply.

But at that moment, something solid in my chest crumbled completely.

That was why I decided to come back to handle the urgent matter of “divorce”—

And he had not noticed at all the divorce agreement hidden under the “Queens Arms Funding Request Form”.