The Mad Donna He Never Really Married

The Mad Donna He Never Really Married

For three years, I was Donna of the rising Valenti family.

One day, Enzo was holding a meeting at a private cigar club. I worried about his stomach issues, so I went to bring him his usual antacids.

Standing outside the private room, I heard his men laughing.

“Don Enzo, are you really going to keep Clara hidden away at the Silver Lake villa forever?”

“That mad Moretti heiress in the main house is still parading around as Donna of the Valenti family.”

Enzo rubbed the bridge of his nose and scoffed.

“If she hadn’t taken a bullet to the head for me and gone insane, and if I hadn’t desperately needed her family’s capital, I never would have married a woman with no blood ties to the life.”

“But Clara is my legal wife. The family trust, the marriage certificate at City Hall, it’s all in her name.”

“Stella’s just a plaything I keep at the main house. Once Clara gives birth to an heir, I’ll bring her home for good.”

My knuckles turned white as I squeezed the small box of medicine, the cardboard crumpling in my hand.

He had exchanged blood oaths and rings with me in the church, yet it was Clara who had signed the papers at City Hall.

He played me for a fool, all to keep Clara’s reputation clean.

Clutching the box, I turned and melted back into the shadows.

He had no idea my sanity had returned three days ago.

He would never guess I had already sent an encrypted message to my brother, who runs a business empire from our home in Solaria, far across the sea.

I was done with this goddamn Valenti title.

In my third year as Don Enzo’s wife, and my third year deemed insane, I discovered the name on his marriage certificate wasn’t mine. It belonged to his so-called adopted sister.

While Enzo gloated, he had no idea I had already pulled the financial backing I brought to the marriage, or that I had sent a message to my brother.

What he didn't know was that three days ago, my mind had fully recovered.

I tossed the box of antacids into the roaring fireplace. My maid, Sofia, steadied my arm and walked me back to the main house.

Three days ago, the best doctor in Solaria secretly flew in to administer the final antidote. I could think and perceive everything perfectly now.

The doctor advised me to wear a black silk veil for a few more days to prevent sensory overload. The black veil became my best disguise.

Just as I stepped into the grand hall, Enzo approached, trailing the faint scent of gunpowder and cigars.

He grabbed my wrist. “Stella, what are you doing in the front hall alone? Where are your bodyguards?”

I let him hold my arm, playing the part.

Three years ago, these same calloused hands had lifted me from a pool of my own