My husband's new mistress sent me a photo.

In the photo, my husband was sleeping soundly. The black rose tattooed over his heart for me was now being strangled by a menacing snake. She even added a provocative caption: "Donna, Julian is exhausted. Tonight, he's mine."

I stared at the snake for three seconds, then I smiled.

I calmly screenshotted the photo and the chat log, then sent them both to the family's elite inner circle network. My caption read: "Congratulations to Miss Cassia on securing her new position."

After hitting send, I shut off my phone.

Two days later, I turned it back on. Hundreds of missed encrypted calls and countless messages flooded in, nearly crashing the device.

————————

1

Cassia Shaw sent me a photo.

The phone screen lit up, announcing an encrypted message.

In the photo, my husband, Julian Griffin, was fast asleep, his face half-buried in a black silk pillow.

The dim glow of the bedside lamp highlighted the sharp, chiseled angles of his face.

On his chest, the black rose he’d had tattooed for me was now being strangled by a vivid red snake.

The snake’s coils were so lifelike it seemed to writhe on his skin.

Beneath the photo was a single line of text.

"Donna, your Don is tired. Tonight, he's mine."

I stared at the snake.

A new tattoo. It had appeared three months ago, covering the rose that was inked over his heart when we took our marriage vows.

Right over his heart.

I didn't reply.

My finger tapped the screen. Screenshot.

The photo and the chat log—two images.

Into the family's main encrypted channel, restricted to Capos and high-ranking members.

I found the two screenshots and selected them.

Then, I typed my message.

"Congratulations to Miss Cassia on securing her new position."

Click. Send.

The green progress bar filled.

I shut my phone down completely.

Outside the living room's floor-to-ceiling windows, the Chicago night was an ink-black void.

I strode to the liquor cabinet and poured myself a drink.

Ice cubes clinked against the crystal glass.

This was the fifth anniversary of our marriage.

On the table, the black rose-shaped cake I’d custom-ordered still sat untouched.

Julian had called that afternoon, claiming he had a critical, unavoidable sit-down with the Volkov family.

He promised he'd make it up to me in bed when he got back.

So this was his "sit-down."

And this was how he'd "make it up to me."

I carried my glass over to the cake.

The black rose bloomed elegantly, each petal as smooth as silk.

I reached out a finger and gave it a gentle push.

The rose toppled, sinking into the soft cream, its form shattering.

Such a shame.

I downed the drink in one swallow, the sharp liquid burning a trail down my throat.

Fine.

This eight-year bond—from our college campus to our rise to the top of the syndicate, from my father's last wish to the peak of our family's power.

It was time for it to end.

I walked into the closet and pulled out the largest Louis Vuitton suitcase.

I started packing.

Everything that was mine, I would take.

As for his things, I wouldn't keep a single item.

The whiskeys we collected, the jewelry he’d lavished on me, every memento of our shared past—I pulled them out one by one and tossed them into a trash bag.

It felt like a cleansing.

Throughout the entire process, my heart was a placid sea.

No tears, no roars of rage.

I felt like a surgeon performing a precise operation on myself.

Excising the rot.

It would hurt, but it had to be done.

Two hours later, the suitcase was packed.

Three large bags of trash were piled beside it.

The 24-hour private moving team I’d booked arrived at the estate at three in the morning, right on schedule.

The crew moved my belongings onto the armored truck in silent, efficient order.

I took one last look at this home I had decorated with my own two hands.

Our wedding photo still hung on the wall.

In it, I wore a Vera Wang gown, a blissful smile on my face.

The Julian in the photo was dressed in a handmade Italian suit, his gaze so gentle it could melt glaciers.

I walked over and took the photo down.

Then, I let it drop.

The silver frame shattered against the floor with a sharp clang.

I said to the crew leader, "Let's go."

The convoy pulled out of the estate and merged into the late-night Chicago traffic.

I didn't look back.

My new residence was a penthouse apartment I had purchased several months ago, with a security level on par with a government safe house.

A woman should always have an escape route, I'd told myself.

It was proving to be an incredibly wise decision.

By the time I’d settled my luggage, the sky was already beginning to lighten.

I took a hot shower, changed into a clean silk nightgown, and lay down on the unfamiliar bed.

I wasn't the least bit sleepy.

My mind began to assemble the pieces.

Cassia Shaw.

Julian's assistant. She’d been with him for a year and a half.

Young, gorgeous, a resume that claimed Stanford, and exceptionally capable.

That's how everyone in the family described her.

She would greet me respectfully whenever I came to the estate to bring Julian dinner, sweetly calling me "Donna Aurelia."

She would carefully remember my preferences, brewing my favorite Earl Grey before I arrived.

She would subtly flaunt her professional chemistry with Julian right in front of me.

A single look from him, and she’d know which file to hand over.

He wouldn't even finish a sentence before she could complete his thought.

She once said to me, her tone joking, "Donna, sometimes I think I know the Don better than you do."

At the time, I just laughed it off.

I’d always believed a man’s capable assistant and his soulmate were two different things. They weren't supposed to intersect.

Now, it seemed I had been naive.

Or rather, too confident.

So confident that I'd ignored all the signs.

Like Julian coming home later and later.

Like the occasional scent of a perfume that wasn't mine clinging to his clothes.

Like how he began to subconsciously challenge my decisions, echoing Cassia's arguments.

"Aurelia, your idea is too idealistic. Cassia's proposal is more sound."

"Cassia said the risk on this deal is too high. We should hold off."

Cassia, Cassia, Cassia.

Her name surfaced with increasing frequency.

And I, foolishly, had always dismissed it as "work talk."

Until that photo, like a shard of glass, shattered the illusion of peace.

I closed my eyes, and the image surfaced again in my mind.

Julian's sleeping face, my black rose, and Cassia's triumphant snake.

Why would she dare?

She was sure I wouldn't dare make a scene.

She was sure I would choose to swallow my pride, to endure the humiliation for the sake of Julian's prestige and the family's stability.

She was sure I'd confront her or Julian privately, cry, and scream, and then accept some flimsy excuse about him "making a mistake any man would make."

And then, she could continue to victoriously coil herself around Julian's life until she replaced me completely.

Unfortunately for her, she miscalculated.

I, Aurelia Rhodes, never make a losing deal.

You want a war? I'll give you the grandest coronation.

Let every core member of the Griffin family witness your love story.

I don't know when I finally fell asleep.

All I knew was that it was a deep and dreamless slumber.

...

Two days later.

I woke on my own.

Sunlight streamed through the gaps in the bulletproof windows, casting dappled patterns on the Italian marble floor.

An unfamiliar room, but the air held the familiar scent of my Jo Malone perfume.

I sat up and reached for the backup phone on the pillow.

It had been off for two days. Time to see how far the storm had spread.

I took a deep breath and pressed the power button.

The phone vibrated, the screen flaring to life.

After the familiar startup animation, the signal bars filled instantly.

And then, my phone went berserk.

The phone buzzed violently, over and over, threatening to jump right out of my hand.

On the screen, missed calls, encrypted messages, and app notifications flooded in like a tidal wave.

Hundreds of missed call alerts.

Dozens of unread messages.

The notification badge for the family channel was just a blur of red that read "99+".

The phone grew scorching hot as it struggled to process the data dump, the interface beginning to lag.

I glanced at the call list.

At the very top was Julian.

99+ missed calls.

Below his were the family's core members, my friends, and a few unfamiliar numbers.

I switched the phone to silent and tossed it aside.

I got up and went to the kitchen to make myself a simple breakfast.

A fried egg, toast, and a hot latte.

I ate slowly, methodically.

As if the hurricane raging outside had nothing to do with me.

After breakfast, I washed the dishes.

Only then did I pick up the scalding phone again.

I ignored all of Julian's messages.

Instead, I opened the core circle within the family's encrypted channel.

Two days was plenty of time for things to fester.

The channel had exploded.

The "congratulatory" message I'd sent had landed like a depth charge.

It was followed by several minutes of dead silence.

Then, the first to react was the family's head Capo.

He posted a single wide-eyed emoji, then quickly deleted it.

Immediately after, the whispers began.

"What's going on? What happened?"

"Did the Donna's account get hacked?"

"That's the Don in the photo, right?"

"My God, that's a lot to process."

"Did Cassia finally overplay her hand?"

After the initial shock, opinions began to diverge.

Some were waiting for the fallout.

Some were secretly enjoying the drama.

And others started taking sides.

A female assistant who was close to Cassia spoke up:

"Everyone, let's not jump to conclusions. I'm sure Cassia isn't that kind of person. There must be a misunderstanding."

Someone immediately chimed in:

"Exactly. The Don and Donna have such a great relationship. How could this be possible?"

"Maybe the Donna was just joking."

Such feeble defenses were quickly drowned out by more damning observations.

"A joke? Who jokes about something like this?"

"Are you blind? Did you see Cassia's own text? 'Tonight, he's mine.' How is that fake?"

"I always thought there was something off about her. She's always dressed to kill, her mind is clearly not on work."

"Exactly. At the last family gathering, she kept taking drinks for the Don, got completely wasted, and he had to take her home in the end."

Once the first crack appears, everyone is eager to help bring the whole thing down.

In that moment, the "loyal assistant" image Cassia had so carefully cultivated crumbled to dust.

And Cassia, the woman at the center of it all, finally surfaced about half an hour after my post.

She posted a long block of text in the channel.

It was a tearful, pitiful, perfectly crafted piece of public relations.

"To all family members, I apologize for taking up public resources with a personal matter."

"Last night, the Don was forced to drink heavily at a banquet to close an important deal, and he could barely stand."

"As the Don's assistant, I have a duty to ensure his safety, so I took him to a nearby hotel to rest."

"The Don was drunk and had soiled his shirt, so I removed it. To keep him from catching a cold, I covered him with a jacket—one the Donna had left in the office, which I keep in my car."

"I left after getting him settled and tried to call the estate, but no one answered."

"In my panic, I remembered the Donna's contact information and wanted to let her know he was safe."

"Perhaps my wording was clumsy and caused a misunderstanding. I truly didn't mean anything by it."

"I don't know why the Donna would post such a message. I'm genuinely terrified."

"There is nothing but a professional relationship between the Don and me. Please, I beg you, stop the rumors."

"Donna, if you see this, please come out and explain. I'm begging you."

"A woman's reputation is everything. How am I supposed to go on in the family after this?"

Finally, she even tagged me.

A textbook performance of victimhood.

She painted herself as a diligent, responsible, and innocently wronged subordinate.

She shifted all the blame onto me.

I had "misunderstood." I was "making a big deal out of nothing." I had ruined "a woman's reputation."

As soon as her statement went out, the tide in the channel did begin to shift.

Some people who didn't know the truth, their sympathies overflowing, began to rush to her defense.

"Oh, so that's what happened. I knew there had to be a misunderstanding."

"The Donna was a bit impulsive this time. Posting that without getting the facts straight has really hurt Cassia."

"Yeah, she's just a young woman. How can she face anyone in the family after this?"

"I feel so bad for Cassia. Sending hugs."

Reading their words, the cold smile on my lips only widened.

Playing the PR game? You're not in my league, Cassia.

Just then, an encrypted call came in.

The name on the screen made my blood run cold.

It wasn't Julian.

It was my mother-in-law, Eleanor Griffin.

I let it ring, pressing answer just a second before it would have gone to voicemail.

"Hello."

My voice was devoid of emotion.

A sharp, furious roar immediately erupted from the other end.

"Aurelia! You finally answer your phone! Are you insane? What do you think you're doing?!"

...

"Do you want every crime family in Chicago to laugh at the Griffins?!"

Eleanor's voice was hoarse and cracking with rage.

In the background, I could hear the crash of something being smashed.

I held the phone slightly away from my ear, my tone flat.

"Eleanor, I don't understand what you're talking about."

"You're still playing dumb with me!" Her volume shot up another octave.

"Look at what you've done! Now the entire inner circle knows!"

"Where is Julian supposed to show his face! What about the Griffin family's prestige! You vicious woman!"

I listened in silence, letting her vent.

When she finally seemed to exhaust herself, panting heavily into the phone, I spoke, slowly and deliberately.

"Eleanor, you should be asking your dear son what he's done."

"What could he have done! He's a man. Isn't it normal for him to have a few drinks at a business dinner?"

"That sweet girl Cassia was kind enough to look after him, and you repay her kindness with this vicious attack! Where are your manners? Your dignity as the Donna?"

"My idea of manners is my husband not sleeping in another woman's bed on our anniversary."

I enunciated every word with chilling clarity.

"And they certainly don't involve that woman getting a snake tattooed over my rose and then sending me a photo to gloat about it."

There was a beat of silence on the other end.

Then, Eleanor's tone shifted from fury to a kind of righteous entitlement.

"So what! Men will be men, it was just a bit of fun! Did you have to blow it up for the whole world to see? Can't you just endure it for Julian's prestige, for this family?"

"Endure it?" I laughed. "Eleanor, this is Chicago, not nineteenth-century Sicily."

"You! What is that attitude!" She was sputtering now. "Aurelia, let me tell you, the Griffin family will not have a woman of questionable character!"

"You get back to the estate right now, get on that channel, and explain to everyone that you were just joking! Then you will apologize to little Cassia, and we'll let this matter drop!"

"Apologize?" The curve of my lips grew colder. "Is she even worthy?"

"You ungrateful bitch! Don't you think for a second that Julian can't live without you! Let me tell you, women are lining up to marry into this family! Women who are younger, prettier, and more sensible than you!"

"That's wonderful," I replied lightly. "You should have him find one immediately. I won't stand in his way."

"You just wait! I'm going to have Julian dissolve this marriage! A woman like you deserves to be thrown out on the street with nothing!"

"Fine by me," I said. "I'll be waiting for the summons to the family meeting."

With that, I hung up.

Then, I blocked her number.

Never asking for the truth, twisting right and wrong, always protecting her son.

That was my dear mother-in-law. A lesson I had learned long ago.

My phone vibrated again. This time, it was the familiar icon of my best friend.

I answered.

"Aurelia! You finally turned on your phone! Are you okay?" Sloane Donovan's anxious voice crackled through the speaker.

Sloane was my college roommate, my best friend, and now one of Chicago's top private investigators.

"I'm fine." Hearing her voice, my coiled nerves relaxed a fraction.

"Good, you scared me to death! That was a ruthless move, detonating it right in the family channel. The entire underworld is talking."

"Your family headquarters must be a madhouse today," Sloane said, her tone laced with gleeful excitement.

"I wanted it to be a madhouse."

"Brilliant move!" Sloane made no secret of her support. "You can't go easy on cheating bastards and their mistresses!"

"But what's your next move? I hear this assistant, Cassia, is no pushover."

"She's been crying all over headquarters, telling anyone who will listen that she was framed and that you misunderstood her. She's painting you as the vicious, crazy wife."

"I know. I saw her novel in the channel."

"So? What's your plan? You're not just going to let her spin the narrative, are you?" Sloane sounded concerned.

I picked up the latte from the table and took a sip. The warm liquid was a small comfort.

"Don't worry," I said. "Let her perform."

"The bullet has been fired. Now we just wait for it to land."

In a PR war, the worst thing you can do is let your opponent dictate the pace.

If Cassia wanted to play the victim and win sympathy, I'd let her.

The higher she built her pedestal of pity, the harder she would fall when the truth came out.

I wasn't looking for a temporary victory in a war of words.

I wanted to nail her to a cross of shame she could never climb down from.

"What about you? What are you doing today? Just hiding out in the apartment?" Sloane asked.

I looked out at the bright sunshine, speaking slowly.

"No."

"I'm going to headquarters."

"There are some things I need to retrieve myself."

"And besides, it's time I had a chat with our two leads."

"Alright!" Sloane's voice was thrilled. "Want me to come? For backup! I'm free today, I can be there in a flash."

"No need," I declined. "This is my battlefield. I'll handle it myself."

After hanging up, I walked into the bedroom and opened the wardrobe.

Inside were my new clothes, tags still attached.

I chose a pristine white haute couture suit.

Slim cut, structured shoulders, with a skirt slit to the knee.

I paired it with a pair of five-inch black stilettos.

Then, I sat at my vanity and applied a sharp, sophisticated look.

The final touch was a slash of crimson lipstick—sharp and unapologetic.

Looking at the radiant, cold-eyed woman in the mirror, I smiled with satisfaction.

Aurelia Rhodes, welcome back.

The show has only just begun.

I grabbed my car keys and walked out the door.

Destination: family headquarters.

I was curious to see what kind of drama they had managed to stage without me, the "vicious, crazy woman," on set.

My car was a white, bulletproof Cadillac Escalade.

It was the last gift my father had left me.

He said it would protect me while displaying my status as the Principessa of the Griffin family.

Thinking about it now, he truly saw the future.

The car drove smoothly toward the Obsidian Club in the city center.

There lay the empire Julian and I had built together.

And I knew a trap was waiting for me there.