The Don's Deadliest Obsession

I wake up the next morning with my eyes so swollen I can barely open them.

Wonderful.

Absolutely fucking wonderful.

I drag myself out of bed and stumble toward the bathroom, catching sight of my reflection in the mirror along the way.

My eyes are red, puffy, and practically begging me to sue whoever invented crying. My face looks like I’ve spent the entire night fighting bees, and judging by the state of my hair, I might have lost that fight too.

”Beautiful,” I mutter sarcastically. ”Absolutely breathtaking, Nerissa.”

I turn on the tap and splash cold water over my face.

I bath, put on a simple dress, brush my hair, and grab my phone.

I need to catch Lysander before he leaves for work.

Getting him to agree to anything is usually harder than convincing a brick wall to develop feelings, but I have to try.

Besides, this is my first step toward having something of my own in this house.

I refuse to spend my days wandering around like an unwanted guest in my husband’s mansion.

I head downstairs, mentally rehearsing what I’m going to say.

I expect to find the dining room empty, with Lysander already gone to whatever meeting or criminal activity occupies his mornings.

Instead, I find him sitting at the dining table.

He’s dressed in a crisp black shirt, the sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms. His hair is perfectly styled, and he’s looking at something on his phone while a cup of coffee sits beside his plate.

And he looks really good.....Apparently, the universe has decided that one of us should suffer, and unfortunately, it’s me.

I push the thought away and turn toward Linda, who is arranging breakfast on the table.

”Good morning, Linda.”

She looks up and smiles warmly.

”Good morning, my child. I hope yer slept well.”

I nearly laugh.

If only she knew.

”Like a baby,” I lie.

Her gaze lingers on my face for a moment, and I suspect she notices my swollen eyes, but she kindly decides not to comment.

Bless her.

I take my seat across from Lysander.

”Good morning,” I say curtly.

He lifts his eyes from his phone.

”Morning.”

I pick up my fork and stare at my breakfast, debating whether to tell him about my idea now or wait until he’s finished eating.

The longer I sit here, the more nervous I become.

Which is ridiculous.

I’m Nerissa Luciano. I’ve argued with dangerous men, faced people who would happily see me dead, and survived enough family drama to write a bestselling series about it.

Yet here I am, nervous about telling my husband I want to make to be a skincare influencer.

Ridiculous.

I clear my throat.

”I want...”

”I wanted to...”

We both stop. I look up to find he’s looking at me too.

Lysander gestures toward me.

”Ladies first.”

I blink.

Well, that’s new.

”Thank you,” I say cautiously.

I clear my throat again.

”I want to be a skincare influencer.”

Silence.

Lysander slowly lifts his eyes from his plate.

”What?”

I straighten in my chair.

”I want to be a skincare influencer,” I repeat. ”I told you I wanted something to do here. That’s it.”

He stares at me for another moment.

I begin preparing myself for the inevitable questions.

Why? What’s the point? Why can’t I find something more productive to do?

Or perhaps he’ll laugh.

Honestly, I wouldn’t put it past him.

Instead, he says, ”That’s kind of odd, but okay.”

I stare at him.

”Okay?”

He raises an eyebrow.

”Do you want me to repeat myself?”

”No, I heard you.” I narrow my eyes suspiciously. ”I’m just wondering if you’ve been replaced by an alien overnight.”

His expression remains unreadable.

”Would you prefer that I say no?”

”Well, no, but...”

I trail off.

This is strange.

Lysander Sanchez does not just agree to things this easily.

And now, when I tell him I want to build a business, he simply agrees?

Something is definitely wrong.

I lean forward.

”You do understand what this entails, right?”

”Enlighten me.”

I ignore the sarcasm.

”I’ll need skincare products, equipment, lighting, a proper space to film, and probably someone to help me with editing once things get serious. I’ll be creating content regularly, reviewing products, and eventually receiving brand deals.”

He listens without interrupting.

”I’ll also need to meet people, attend events, and collaborate with brands. That means I’ll be in and out of the house quite often.”

He sets his phone down.

”I can get you a workspace here.”

I pause.

”Here?”

”There’s a section outside the main building that we don’t use anymore. It has enough room to turn into a studio. You can have it. I’ll have someone arrange it for you.”

I stare at him.

For the second time in less than five minutes, I’m left without an immediate response.

A whole workspace? Just like that?

I was expecting a negotiation, perhaps a few unnecessary arguments, and at least one comment about how ridiculous my idea sounded.

Instead, he’s offering me a place to work.

”Well,” I say slowly, ”great. That’s great.”

He studies me.

”You sound disappointed.”

”I’m not disappointed.”

”You look disappointed.”

”I’m trying to figure out what the catch is.”

His mouth twitches.

”There is no catch, Nerissa.”

”That’s exactly what someone with a catch would say.”

He gives me a flat look.

And i turn my focus to my plate.

I don’t know what he wants to say to me, and frankly, I’m not ready to hear it. Whatever happened last night is still too raw, and I don’t trust myself to discuss it without falling apart or saying something I’ll regret.

”Thank you,” I say quietly.

He looks at me for a moment before nodding.

”You’re welcome. I’ll have someone show you the space today.”

I look up.

”Today?”

”Unless you’d prefer to wait until next year.”

I roll my eyes.

”There he is. I was beginning to worry you’d become tolerable.”

He picks up his phone.

”Don’t get used to it.”

He starts toward the dining room entrance, but pauses before leaving.

”Nerissa.”

I lift my eyes.

For a second, I think he’s going to mention last night.

My stomach tightens.

Instead, he says, ”Think about what equipment you’ll need. Have a list ready. Also I left a gift on your bedstand.”

Then he turns and walks out.