The Don’s Eternal Loss Chapter 01

The Don’s Eternal Loss Chapter 01

I got into a massive fight with Michael when he left me stranded on the side of the road for Isabella yet again.

Half an hour later, I saw his post on Instagram.

“One like and I’m dumping this psycho Vivian Rossi.”

His usually bustling feed had zero likes.

Or rather, nobody dared to.

Everyone knew Michael loved me to death.

Even though we had fought endlessly over his new secretary, Isabella, throughout the past year.

Yet the day after every single fight, Michael always pulled off some city-wide stunt to apologize.

My finger hovered over Michael’s post for a long time.

Finally, I tapped the like button.

Michael was right. I was a psycho.

Otherwise, how could I have let a man turn me into this version of myself that I despised so much?

So Michael, I’m setting us both free.

Let’s end it here.

After hitting like, I drove back to Rose Manor alone.

Michael bought this place for me three years ago.

He told me back then, “Vivian, you’re the proudest woman I’ve ever met, and I need the finest cage to lock you down.”

I thought it sounded romantic at the time.

Looking back now, he was spot-on about one thing.

It really was a cage.

It locked up every ounce of my pride and self-respect.

It also turned me into a stranger.

The warm yellow light in the entryway illuminated an off-white knit cardigan hanging on the coat rack.

It wasn’t mine.

I never wore slouchy styles like that.

It even carried a whiff of the perfume Isabella always used.

This time, I calmly hung the cardigan back up.

I didn’t toss it on the floor or shred it with scissors.

If this were the old days, I really would have done that.

When I found a dusty-rose lipstick mark on Michael’s collar last time.

I knew it wasn’t mine; I never wore shades that lacked a punch.

So I cut his shirt into strips, packed them in a gift box, and mailed it to Michael’s office.

When Michael saw it, his voice shook with rage over the phone.

He said, “Vivian, you’re out of your mind.”

Thinking about it now, I suppose I really was out of my mind.

My sickness was loving him too much.

Just as I stood there staring blankly at the jacket, my phone went crazy in my pocket, buzzing nonstop.

The second I picked up, I heard Michael’s voice suppressing his anger.

I knew that tone way too well.

He always spoke like that whenever he thought I was making a scene over nothing.

“What’s the deal with that like on my IG?”

I let out a faint, dry laugh. “Didn’t you post it to get likes?”

“Vivian, what are you losing your mind over again?”

“Bella is just my secretary, will you stop dragging her into this?”

“I today…”

Before Michael could finish, I hung up right in his face.

I never used to hang up on him.

I used to listen to the end, then cry, then fight, then smash things, and finally bombard him with long paragraphs of texts until 3:00 AM.

The next day, he would show up with flowers and apologize, saying his tone was off last night.

Yet he never brought up Isabella, nor did he ever mention how he planned to deal with her.

I slumped against the entryway wall and slid down to the floor.

For some reason, a crushing wave of exhaustion hit me right then.

My phone screen was still lit, and I accidentally opened my notes app.

It was filled with logs of every single fight we had over Isabella.

Dates, times, triggers.

Zero resolution.

May 7th. He took Isabella to a business dinner and didn’t come back until dawn.

I waited on the couch until 2:00 AM, only to get a brief text from Michael: “Bella had too much to drink, I’m dropping her off first.”

August 20th. I found a tube of lipstick in his car.

Not a brand I used.

He said, “Isabella’s young and clumsy, she loses things. Don’t read into it.”

September.

October.

November.

As I scrolled through, a sudden, bitter laugh slipped out.

Michael called me a psycho.

He was wrong.

I wasn’t crazy. I was just stupid.

I actually believed that a man needed repeated reminders to notice when he was crossing boundaries, as if it were all accidental.