Spoiled by the Scarred Don

My life was a living hell after my mother died.

My father was the Don of the Rossi family, but you wouldn't know it from the way I lived.

My stepsister and stepmother treated me like a maid. When the family faced a crisis, they didn't hesitate to sell me off to Caspian, the heir to the Valerius family, for their own gain.

The word on the street was that Caspian was a monster—a butcher with a face torn apart by scars.

I refused, but my father threatened me with my mother's keepsakes, forcing me to sign a three-year marriage contract.

On our wedding day, Caspian didn't even look at me. He slid the ring on my finger, his touch like ice. "Remember," he said, "you're my wife in name only. Don't expect anything more."

I wasn't hurt. That was what I wanted, too.

I thought we'd spend three years as strangers, and then I'd be free.

But I never expected the day he'd look at me with those possessive eyes, kiss me hard, and declare, "You're mine. My wife. Forever."

And damn it, my heart actually skipped a beat.

"Play something happy, Alessia! Is this my birthday party or a funeral?"

Bianca's shrill voice cut through the party chatter, a dull knife scraping my last nerve.

I took a deep breath, my fingertips numb, and let my hands move on autopilot across the keys.

I was wearing a faded old dress, the hem crudely stitched, completely out of place in the glittering ballroom.

"God, look at her hands," Bianca pointed and laughed. "They're as rough as a charwoman's. And she thinks she can be a pianist? Alessia, you're better suited to scrubbing our toilets."

A wave of harsh laughter erupted around them.

I kept my head down, saying nothing, just moving my fingers faster.

Ever since my mother died ten years ago and my stepmother, Genevieve, moved in, my life had been hell.

She forbade me from touching the piano and burned my sheet music.

She made me do the dirtiest, hardest chores with the maids, torturing my once-delicate hands with endless work.

But I didn't give up.

I endured it for ten years, saving every penny from my meager allowance, all for a chance to escape this house.

Tonight was Bianca's twenty-first birthday. It was also the night I'd been planning my escape for a whole year.

When it was time to blow out the candles, and all eyes were on the huge, fancy cake, I quietly closed the piano lid and slipped into the shadows.

I hurried down the long hall and pushed open the back door.

The cold night air was a shock to my skin, jolting me awake.

Run.

I hiked up my skirt and sprinted down the dark alley.

My pre-booked taxi was waiting just two blocks away.

Freedom was so close.

Suddenly, blinding headlights tore through the darkness. A black SUV screeched to a halt, blocking my path.

The doors flew open and