The Don's Deadliest Obsession

We drink for a while, but my evening is already ruined.

Honestly, the man has a special talent for ruining things.

If being insufferable were an Olympic sport, he’d have enough gold medals to build himself a throne.

The worst part is that I was actually having fun before he decided to appear like some deranged husband from hell.

I take another sip of my drink.

At least I’m tipsy as hell. The alcohol has softened the edges of my anger, making it easier to ignore the fact that Lysander is sitting directly opposite me, looking as though he’d rather be anywhere else in the world.

Good. The feeling is mutual.

”Rissa, are you listening to me?” Bella asks.

I blink and turn toward her.

”Of course.”

She narrows her eyes. ”What did I just say?”

”Something incredibly fascinating, I’m sure.”

Victoria bursts out laughing.

Bella throws her hands into the air. ”You’re impossible!”

I grin and reach for my glass.

Lysander makes a quiet, irritated sound from across the table.

I glance at him.

”Something to say, husband?”

”No.”

”Wonderful. Let’s keep it that way.”

Bella kicks me lightly under the table and I wince.

”You’re one more drink away from forgetting your own name.”

I consider that.

”At least then I wouldn’t have to remember him.”

Then I make the mistake of looking across the table again.

He’s watching me.

Not with the same murderous expression he wore when he caught me dancing with that man, but with something just as irritating. His eyes move over my face, lingering briefly on my glass before returning to mine.

I raise the drink in a mock toast when he doesn’t react.

I take a sip anyway.

Because honestly, what does he want from me?

He made it perfectly clear that our marriage means nothing to him. He can entertain women in his office, tell me he can do whatever he wants, and then act like I’ve committed a crime because I danced with a stranger.

The hypocrisy is astounding.

The room feels warmer now. The lights blur slightly whenever I turn my head too quickly, and the music seems to pulse through my bones.

I’m not completely wasted, but I’m definitely past the point where I should be making any important decisions.

Which is unfortunate, considering I have several very important decisions to make.

Such as whether I should throw my drink at my husband or his face.

I’m leaning toward his face.

Luckily.....

Lysander pushes his chair back and stands.

I watch him from the corner of my eye as he adjusts his jacket.

He turns away from the table. Probably going to the bathroom.

I silently pray that he’s going to the bathroom.

Because the alternative is that he’s going after the poor man I was dancing with earlier, and I genuinely don’t have the energy to deal with another one of his ridiculous displays of possessiveness tonight.

I watch Lysander disappear into the crowd.

Then I slowly exhale.

”Where’s he going?” Isabella asks.

”Hopefully, to take a long walk off a short cliff.”

She gives me a disapproving look.

”What? You asked.”

I reach for my drink again, but my eyes keep drifting toward the direction Lysander disappeared.

If he goes after that man, I’ll be furious. If he comes back and starts ordering me around, I’ll be even more furious.

And if he dares to tell me who I can and cannot dance with one more Time, I might actually commit the crime I’ve been considering all evening.

Lysander’s POV.

I need to use the bathroom.

This is exactly why I hate drinking beer. I should have stuck to whiskey like I always do, but no. Tonight, I decided to drink beer like a fucking idiot.

And now, I’m paying for it.

Beer makes me wanr to take a piss every five minutes.

I stand in front of the urinal, doing what I came here to do, when the bathroom door swings open and a group of men stumble inside.

I barely pay them any attention.....Until I hear a familiar name.

”Yooooo, is that Nerissa out there?”

My ears perk up.

I remain where I am, my expression unchanged, but my attention shifts entirely to the conversation behind me.

”Yes, I’m pretty sure it is. What the hell is she doing all the way here?”

Another man laughs.

”Didn’t you hear? She’s married to the Sanchez Don.”

”Those fucking dogs.” One of them say.

My fingers curl slightly but I don’t turn around. Not yet.

”Hey, that’s the Don you’re talking about,” another man interjects. ”And I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t like to know what you did to his wife.”

They burst into laughter and my jaw tightens.

What they did to my wife?

I finish up, reach for the paper towels, and listen.

”Relax, man. It’s not like he will ever know.”

”Maybe not, but I’d hate to be you if he ever finds out.”

”Finds out what?” someone asks, sounding amused.

The man chuckles.

”I still have those pictures...you remember the one from High school? I still use them to get off sometimes. Her body is a sight to behold.”

Everything inside me goes still.

The running water from the sink becomes a distant sound. The laughter behind me fades into something ugly and indistinct.

Pictures of Nerissa.

My vision narrows as rage pours through me so quickly that, for a second, I can barely think.

Who the fuck is this man? And what pictures is he talking about?

I slowly turn off the tap.

Behind me, the men are still laughing.

One of them says something I don’t catch, followed by another round of snickering.

I dry my hands, then I turn around and walk toward the door.

They barely notice me until I reach the door and lock it.

The click echoes through the bathroom.

Their laughter dies as four pairs of eyes turn toward me.

I look at each of them in turn, taking my time, letting the silence stretch until one of them shifts uncomfortably.

Then I hold out my hand.

”Hand over the pictures.”