The Mafia Don’s Broken Wife Chapter 02

The Mafia Don’s Broken Wife Chapter 02

Kyle’s head snapped up.

He put away his phone and picked up the slip.

By the time he looked at me, I had already dropped mine into the box.

He followed.

He joked with the director, “So we keep it secret until the last day of filming?”

Then he shot me a confident look. “We’re not getting divorced.”

He stood, grabbed my suitcase, and headed toward the hotel room.

Right as we reached the door, his phone rang.

A smile curled on his lips as he stepped aside to take the call.

I struggled to drag my suitcase up the steps on my own.

When he came back, I handed him his pajamas.

He shook his head. “Lost another bet to Elara. She said we can’t sleep together for the next seven days.”

My hand froze midair.

Before, I would’ve fought him.

Now, even breathing felt like work.

I didn’t have the strength to argue.

I pulled my hand back and lay down. “Do whatever you want. I’m tired. I’m going to sleep.”

Kyle had already lowered his head, glued to his phone. He didn’t hear a word I said.

The next morning, a pink hair tie circled his wrist.

There was a lipstick stain on his shirt—proof he’d left in the middle of the night.

He absentmindedly rolled the hair tie between his fingers.

I remembered when couples wearing matching hair ties was a thing. I’d once given Kyle one.

He tossed it into the trash right in front of me, not even bothering to hide his disgust.

“You’re almost thirty. Stop playing childish games.”

My eyes locked on the embroidered letter—”E.”

Sharp. Blinding.

Kyle had forgotten Elara was a year older than me.

And now, he was happily playing these childish games with her.

“I got breakfast. Eat with me.”

It was the first time since we got married that he’d bought me food—just to cover up the fact that he’d left last night.

Bringing breakfast to Elara had long become his routine.

He handed me a cup of milk.

Again.

But Elara’s preferences? Carefully logged in his phone.

I reached for an omelet, but he slapped my hand away.

A deep red mark bloomed instantly across my skin.

He pushed a bowl of oatmeal toward me. “This is for you.”

It hit me then—Elara’s post that morning, whining sweetly about craving a fluffy, golden omelet.

Now it all made sense.

I reminded him quietly, “We’re filming outdoors today.”

But he had already grabbed the food box and walked out.

Snow was falling outside.

I let out a faint, bitter laugh. For Elara, he really went all out.

Once, I got trapped in a mudslide while filming.

Panicked, I called him.

He said I was overreacting and hung up.

The rescue supplies he sent later were delivered to the wrong location.

I nearly died in that disaster.

At the time, he was at an amusement park with Elara.

Love and indifference had never been clearer.

It just took me until the end of my life to see it.

I forced the oatmeal down my throat.

The omelets were still warm—he must’ve kept them close to his chest the whole time.

I knew that feeling too well.

I’d once stood in the snow outside his dorm, carefully cradling food in my hands, waiting for him.

Now he loved someone else the way I used to love him.

It made me look pathetic. And stupid.

I didn’t find out until the director told me—Kyle would be absent for four days of filming.

I had no choice but to keep shooting with the other three couples.

For four whole days, I was invisible on camera.

No one wanted to talk to a disgraced, washed-up actress.

Meanwhile, Elara’s social media buzzed louder with each passing day.