Respawned Without the Don

The second I opened my eyes, I knew.

I was twenty-seven again.

Back when I was the Leone heiress. The golden girl of Arezzo. Engaged to the Don of the Grimaldis—Marco Grimaldi.

Handsome. Loaded. Time magazine's "No.1 Most Desirable Husband in the World." Even the royal family of Inglane had tried to marry a princess off to him.

Everyone called me the luckiest woman alive.

Yeah. Right.

The first thing I did after coming back?

I grabbed the marriage contract and walked straight to my father's affair daughter—

the fiancée Marco had actually wanted all along.

Bella Leone.

I slid the contract across the table. "It's yours. You're marrying Marco."

She just stared at me.

Six years. That's how long I'd chased him. And now I was handing over the contract like it meant nothing.

"Everyone thinks you're the better match anyway," I said. "So go ahead. Convince Dad to get the Grimaldis to switch the contract. You can have the Grimaldi Donna title."

Not this time.

I'm not becoming that suffocated, invisible Don's wife ever again.

Bella's sweet little smile almost split when she heard me. Excitement flashed—then she snapped back to fragile and pitiful.

"Lara, what are you even saying? How could I compare to you? How could I take Marco—or his wife's place—from you?"

I caught the switch and kept my voice steady. "Dad's dumped a fortune turning you into a socialite. Sounds perfect, right? You marry into the Grimaldi Family, play Donna. And relax—you didn't steal Marco. I'm just done with him."

Her mask finally cracked. "That's insane! Girls would kill to marry into the Grimaldi Family! Do you even get how exceptional Marco is? And you're 'done' with him?"

I took a slow sip of tea. "If he's that amazing, he's all yours. You've always liked hand-me-downs anyway."

"Fine. I'll talk to Dad right now. Don't come crying when you regret this." She ripped the contract from my hand.

I smiled. The anger was obvious. The glee under it? Even louder. "Relax. I won't."

I already paid the price for marrying Marco once.

When I was single, I loved freedom. I burned bright. I lived loud.

Marco? He was a machine. No warmth. He demanded perfection—from himself, from me.

I loved noise. Drinks. Dancing. Checking out cute guys. He had every bar and club in the city blacklist me.

I loved traveling—the savannas, the northern lights. He took my passport and locked down my world.

I loved art. He called it useless. Smashed my paints. Broke my camera. Let his people trash my work until it meant nothing.

I was losing my mind. But I loved him. So I memorized every house rule like gospel. Filed down every sharp edge. Tried to be the perfect Donna for him.

Still wasn't enough.

At a banquet, one of Bella's little friends took a shot at me—said I was wild, unruly, nothing next to sweet, obedient Bella.

I snapped.

Then we were on the floor, limbs tangled, fighting.