Don, the Lover Who Obeyed You for Five Years Has Turned You In

I was the Don’s most obedient lover.

When my family collapsed, he was the one who pulled me out of the wreckage.

On the fifth anniversary of our relationship, I discovered I was pregnant.

I was about to tell him.

About the baby.

About the future.

About the life I had waited five years to earn.

Then I heard the truth outside his office door.

My father’s death.

My family’s bankruptcy.

My five years of submission, silence, and obedience—

all of it had been nothing more than a game he arranged

to please his first love.

And I heard him say, lightly, to someone else:

“She’s just a piece on the board.

A tool to punish my first love.”

So I took the child growing inside me,

and with my own hands,

I dragged the Don straight into hell.

***

I stared at the pregnancy test in my hand.

Two red lines. Clear. Merciless.

Joy exploded inside my chest.

Five years.

For five years I had endured his near-violent possession in bed,

and outside of it, I played the perfect, obedient lover.

He never used protection.

After every time, he would bite my earlobe and whisper:

“If you get pregnant, we’ll get married.”

He had said it for five years.

And I had waited for five years.

My hands were trembling as I wrapped the test stick in a velvet handkerchief.

In the mirror, my cheeks were flushed,

my eyes glittering with a light I barely recognized.

I pressed a hand over my still-flat stomach.

A life was already growing there.

The Don’s child.

Would he be happy?

Would he take me to church, place the Family’s ring on my finger,

and finally make me his wife?

He would.

He had promised me.

I changed into the dark-green velvet dress he loved most.

My fingers shook as I applied lipstick.

I smeared it twice.

In the end, I wiped it all off.

Better this way.

Pale. Fragile.

Easier to awaken his instinct to protect.

The driver took me to the Corleone Tower.

Only the Don and I had fingerprint access to the top-floor office.

As the elevator rose, I clenched my purse.

Inside it lay the velvet handkerchief.

I imagined opening the door.

He would be behind his massive ebony desk—

perhaps in a meeting, perhaps reviewing documents.

I would walk up, place the handkerchief on the desk, unfold it.

He would lift me in his arms, already planning the wedding.

Or he would kneel, press his ear to my belly,

listening for the tiny life inside me.

The elevator chimed.

I stepped toward his office.

The door was slightly open.

He was inside.

I raised my hand to enter—

and the voices stopped me cold.

“Seriously, Don,” someone laughed,

“you’ve been sleeping with Elena for five years without protection,

and she never got pregnant.

How the hell did you pull that off?”

Laughter erupted.

My heartbeat stuttered.

Then I heard his voice.

“She’s obedient,” he said lightly.

“After every time, she makes sure to take the pill.”

A whistle.

“Damn. A woman that obedient is rare.”

Another voice added:

“The pill isn’t foolproof.

What if she really gets pregnant?

What will you do then?”

Silence.

My hand pressed against my stomach.

Then he said:

“Then I’ll marry her.”

My eyes burned.

Just as I reached for the door—

another voice asked:

“And what about Sophia, when she comes back?”

The world stopped.

He hesitated.

Then he said:

“My choice has always been Sophia.

As for Elena…”

“She won’t get pregnant.”