Failed Escape

Divorced and remarried—I've lost count of how many times Aaron and I stepped in and out of marriage.

He once treated me like something precious, but less than a year after our wedding, he asked for our first divorce.

The reason was simple, Vivian was coming back.

"Vivian's a public figure," he told me. "I don't want anyone thinking she's involved with a married man."

That third-tier actress had nothing but her father's sacrifice to her name.

He had taken a bullet for Aaron—a life for a life.

And because of that, Aaron believed he owed her everything.

Every time Vivian returned to the country, Aaron divorced me.

And every time she left, we remarried.

The first time we split, I drowned my tears in whiskey and stumbled back to his house half-drunk.

The lights inside were warm. He was with her.

And I stood outside, shivering through the night.

The second time, I tracked his every move—restaurants, auctions, charity galas—just to "accidentally" run into him again.

Later, I learned better.

The moment he mentioned divorce, I would quietly pack my suitcase and disappear from his mansion.

My love and humiliation kept me trapped in that endless cycle of breaking up and coming back together.

But this time, when Aaron waited for me at City Hall to remarry, I never showed up.

Claire POV

That night, Aaron was different.

Wilder.

Harder.

The absolute ruler of the Moretti mafia empire drove me to the edge again and again, as if he meant to empty every ounce of strength he had inside me.

The air was thick with a heavy mix of desire, sweat, and aged Cohiba smoke.

The flames of passion had yet to cool on my skin.

He leaned down, his breath hot and ragged against my ear.

"Claire," he murmured, voice low and rough, "Vivian's due back in a few days."

For a heartbeat, my lungs froze.

But the stillness lasted only seconds. I forced my composure back.

The man who held the reins of the underworld, his power absolute.

A faint sheen of sweat clung to his sculpted chest, catching the light, radiating a raw, primal allure.

Tempting, yet dangerous.

But soon, all of it would be nothing to me.

Vivian was the daughter of Aaron's driver—the man who took a bullet for him and never made it home.

Since then, Aaron had taken special care of her—out of guilt, out of a sense of debt he could never repay.

She was just a minor actress, barely known beyond a few glossy magazines, yet Aaron insisted her reputation was untouchable.

He said she couldn't afford a single scandal, not even a whisper.

So every time she came back to the city, he would divorce me, so the world would see him as single, and her as innocent.

And when she left, he'd find his way back to me again, like nothing ever happened.

The first time he asked for a divorce, I completely broke down.

I screamed, cried,