The Don’s Fake Poverty Chapter 05

The Don’s Fake Poverty Chapter 05

Aria’s POV

When the Greyhound bus dropped me off in LA, I had thirty bucks to my name.

I had no time to cry. No energy to look back at that New York blizzard.

I had to survive.

I set up a stall at Venice Beach. I used cheap copper wire and broken glass bought by the pound at the

flea market.

During those three years in the crappy apartment, to save Killian money, I turned cheap scrap into my

own jewelry.

I knew exactly how to make trash shine. Just like how I tried to make that cheap marriage shine.

My stall blew up.

The raw life and pure struggle in my designs caught the eye of a white-haired man in sunglasses.

Mr. Arthur. The most mysterious, reclusive jewelry tycoon on the West Coast.

He stood at my stall and studied my work for ten whole minutes.

Then, he handed me a gold-foiled business card. “Your work has shattered bones in it. An unbreakable

soul. Come work for me.”

I took the card. And I erased my past for good.

Three years later.

Manhattan Main Exhibition Hall, New York.

I stood in a custom black couture gown under the flash of hundreds of cameras.

Today was the first high jewelry exhibition for my personal brand, “Rebirth.”

Last night, for some unknown reason, I charged my old phone. The one I kept off for three years.

The second it booted up, the phone buzzed like crazy for five minutes straight.

4,721 unread messages.

“Aria, it’s too cold outside. Where are you?”

“I finished the cheap cake. The frosting was sour. So is my heart. Please come back.”

“I kicked Chloe out. You are the only Madam of the Moretti family!”

“Aria, I’m going crazy…”

I stared at the screen, at this tidal wave of late, hysterical affection. It wasn’t just absurd. It was insulting.

He only bothered to offer his pathetic heart after he’d lost everything else.

Too bad I didn’t care anymore.

I pulled out the SIM card. Right in front of my assistant, I cut it in half with scissors and tossed it in the

trash.

“Miss Aria, what is your design concept?” The Vogue editor held a recorder up to me.

“Breaking the chains of the past,” I smiled calmly at the cameras.

Right then, a massive commotion broke out at the entrance.

A dozen men in black suits cut a path through the reporters, shoving them aside without a word.

A man strode toward me.

My breath hitched for half a second. But my smile didn’t waver.

It was Killian.

He wore a perfectly tailored black bespoke suit.

But he looked like hell.

The once invincible mafia Don now had sunken eyes and sharp cheekbones. His eyes were horrifyingly

bloodshot.

The moment he saw me, his feet nailed to the floor.

His dark eyes were a storm of raw hunger, desperate joy, and a pathetic longing that made my skin crawl.

He reached out to me instinctively. His fingertips shook. He wanted to touch me.

My security stepped up instantly and blocked him.

Killian snatched his hand back like he was shocked.

Terrified of pissing me off, he forced himself to swallow his madness and put his boss mask back on.

He pulled a checkbook from his inside pocket.

“Hello, Designer Aria.” His voice was hoarse. “I am Killian, CEO of Moretti Ventures.”

The cameras clicked like crazy.

New York’s most powerful mafia Don was throwing money at a rising designer himself.

“Your talent is breathtaking.” He fought the shake in his voice. His eyes locked greedily on my face. “I’m prepared to offer a personal sponsorship of ten million dollars. I have one condition… ten minutes of your

time. Alone.”

The whole room gasped.

Everyone looked at me, waiting for me to nod in flattered disbelief.

I watched the performance.

Three years, and nothing had changed. Still so arrogant. Still thought money and power could buy him

anything. Anyone.

I walked up to him calmly in my red-bottom heels.

His eyes went red instantly. A spark of crazy hope lit up in his gaze.

“Ten million dollars?” I raised an eyebrow and took the check.

“Yes.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. He kept his voice so low only I could hear. “If you just come back, the

entire Moretti fortune is yours.”

I let out a soft laugh.

Riiiip-

Right in front of the New York press, I tore the ten-million-dollar check in half. Didn’t even blink.

Dead silence.

I turned to the stunned reporters and pointed at Killian.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the press, please get a good shot of this man. He’s my ex-husband. Or he would be, if our marriage hadn’t been a lie from the start.”

Killian’s body went rigid. His eyes wide with shock. “Aria! Don’t…”

“Three years ago, he played mechanic to trick me into marriage just for kicks.” I looked straight at the cameras, not hiding my mocking smile. “He made me live a life where I had to count pennies just to buy a discounted $5.90 strawberry cake for three whole years.”

“He blew cash at luxury Manhattan hotels while I froze delivering food in sub-zero blizzards.

I threw the torn pieces of the check right into his chest.

“Now, he pulls out ten million dollars to buy ten minutes of my time.”

I stared coldly at his pale, bloodless face. “So you tell me, New York. Is this man a fraud, or is he just a

pathetic monster?”