The Don’s Fake Poverty Chapter 09

The Don’s Fake Poverty Chapter 09

Aria’s POV

I stared coldly at the man sobbing like a madman at my feet.

His tears mixed with his blood, staining my white couture gown.

But I just took a disgusted step back. I yanked my dress out of his bloody grip.

“Aria…” Killian’s hands froze in the air. He stared at the ice in my eyes in disbelief.

“Don’t touch me with your bloody, lying hands.” I looked down at him, my voice flat.

“For three years, you made me look like a clown, pinching every penny for you in that crappy apartment.

While you stayed in luxury hotels, trampling my love and pride under your shoes.”

“You kept saying you were protecting me. But you were the one who almost killed me in that blizzard.”

Killian twitched violently, shaking his head in despair. “No… I didn’t know it was fake… Aria, give me a

chance to fix it…”

“Fix it?” I sneered, cutting him off ruthlessly.

“You owed her brother your life. You used three years of mine to pay it off.”

I stared right into his severely bloodshot eyes, fueled by pure regret, and delivered my final sentence:

“But what you owe me… you can never pay back. You don’t get the chance. You don’t deserve it.”

I didn’t spare him another glance. I pushed the glass doors open and walked away for good.

A month later, back on the West Coast, I saw the New York news.

That terrace assassination attempt became the final spark that destroyed the Moretti family.

Chloe was convicted of attempted murder and years of massive medical fraud. Stripped of all her assets,

she was sent straight to a maximum-security federal prison.

A long, hopeless sentence awaited her.

And Killian. The once all-powerful New York godfather.

The realization that he’d been played for a fool-that he had traded me for a pathetic lie-finally shattered him.

He gave up all resistance during the FBI’s massive crackdown.

He stood silent in court, offered no defense, and pled guilty to every charge.

He let the empire he built burn to the ground, devoured by rival gangs.

In the end, he was sentenced to four years in prison for money laundering and gang violence.

I turned off the TV and deleted him from my life forever.

Ten years later. Los Angeles, California.

The December sun was bright and warm. No trace of that suffocating New York blizzard chill.

Today was my son Leo’s birthday.

“Mommy! I want that limited-edition Lego set!”

Leo held my hand, pointing excitedly at the display window of a boutique toy store in Beverly Hills.

“Alright. The birthday boy gets what he wants.” I smiled and ruffled his blonde hair.

Standing next to me was my current husband, Julian, who shared my love for art.

He gently wrapped his arm around my waist and kissed my forehead. “Let’s go, my queen. Time to buy a gift for our little prince.”

The three of us laughed and turned to enter the shop.

Just then.

“Aria…”

A fiercely hoarse voice called out from behind.

I turned my head. A hunched man stood in the sunlight, five steps away.

He wore a cheap, faded jacket. His hair was a messy, ashy gray. His face and neck were covered in hideous scars from prison and gang fights.

It was Killian.

He stared blankly at me. At Julian. And at the boy hugging my leg, calling me Mommy.

“Aria… I finally… found you…”

He cried tears of joy. They washed over his weathered face.

Trembling all over, he reached out his rough, bony hands, desperately trying to touch me.

“Excuse me, sir.”

Julian’s eyes turned sharp. His tall frame stepped forward without hesitation, shielding me completely behind him.

He blocked Killian’s path coldly, radiating an untouchable protectiveness.

Killian’s feet froze.

He looked at Julian’s hostile, guarded eyes, then looked past his shoulder at me.

His lips trembled violently. He was waiting for even the tiniest response from me.

Anger. Mockery. Anything.

Just so he could look at me again.

But there was nothing. I just looked at him calmly.

“Mommy, who is this poor mister?” Leo tugged at my dress curiously.

I smiled slightly. I didn’t let my gaze linger on Killian for even a fraction of a second.

“Just a stranger, honey. He has the wrong person.”

I took my son’s hand and hooked my arm through Julian’s.

“Let’s go. It’s windy out here. Let’s go pay.”

We turned around and pushed open the boutique doors without a second thought.

“Aria-!”

Behind us, I heard a single, broken sound. The sound of a man utterly destroyed.

He collapsed on the glamorous Beverly Hills street. He covered his scarred face and sobbed uncontrollably.

I stood in the brightly lit boutique, handing over my black card to pay.

Amid the crisp ring of the cash register, holding the husband who loved me and my child’s hand, I pushed the doors open and walked straight into a brilliant future.