The Don’s Discarded Bride Chapter 08

The Don’s Discarded Bride Chapter 08

He dropped his gaze, unable to meet my eyes, but the words of defense tumbled out anyway. “Clara, 

that… that was Laurel. Not me.” He grasped for a 

shred of credit, his voice desperate. “And I… I’m the 

one who called for the ambulance in the end. 

Doesn’t that count for something?” 

His words sent a cold chill through my bones. 

I couldn’t forget how he’d trampled my dignity in 

front of every single person in both families, how 

he’d forced me to apologize to Laurel like he was 

doing me a favor. 

“So I should thank you for that?” 

He shook his head frantically. 

“Clara, that’s not what I meant. I’m just saying your 

mother’s death wasn’t my fault.” 

“I never wanted this to happen. If I’d known, I 

would’ve gotten you both to the hospital the 

second she collapsed.” 

I listened to the pathetic parade of his excuses, a 

cold, mirthless smile touching my lips. “Adrian 

Moretti,” I said, the name a curse. “If‘ is a useless 

word. It changes nothing.” I leaned forward 

slightly. “My mother’s death isn’t just between us; 

it’s a wall. And if you possessed even a shred of 

sense or decency, you would have understood that 

your face is the last thing I ever want to see again.” 

Every night, behind closed eyes, the reel played on 

an endless loop: my mother’s last moments, the 

light leaving her eyes, the blood. 

It was a torture no sleep could cure. The hatred for 

Adrian was a cold, hard stone in my chest. But it 

was dwarfed by the searing, self–directed loathing. I despised my own blindness–eight years wasted 

on a stranger wearing a lover’s face. 

I cursed the softness that had made me a target, 

that had welcomed the wolf and mistaken the 

viper for a wounded bird. 

My words seemed to hit him hard, and his face 

crumpled with regret. 

“Clara, can we talk? Please.” 

Not wanting to draw stares from passersby–or let 

the family men shadowing me see this–we 

walked to a café on the corner. 

He ordered for both of us without consulting me: “Due caffè latte al caramello salato, per favore.” When they arrived, he slid one toward me, a 

tentative peace offering. “I remembered,” he said, a ghost of his old smile touching his lips. “Your 

favorite.” 

I flipped open the menu and ordered a black 

coffee, no sugar. 

“I don’t drink that anymore.” 

His hand froze for a split second, then he 

recovered quickly. 

“Clara, I’ve been wanting to apologize to you in 

person for what happened that day, but I could 

never find you.” 

“The truth is, I always wanted to marry you. 

Bringing Laurel to the wedding was just a stupid 

tantrum, I wanted to make you jealous.” 

I snapped, throwing my coffee in his face, my eyes 

blazing red with rage. 

“But Adrian Moretti, your stupid tantrum cost my 

mother her life.” 

A few patrons glanced over. In the corner, the man 

my father had sent to protect me stood up, his 

hand slipping inside his suit jacket. 

I shook my head slightly, signaling him to sit back. 

down. 

Adrian grabbed a napkin and wiped his face, muttering under his breath. 

“Clara, I never meant for this to happen, I swear. 

You have to believe me.” 

“I regretted it the second I walked out that door. I waited for you to call me back. When I got your text at the wedding, I was so happy–until I read 

what it said.” 

“I would’ve called off the wedding even without 

that text.” 

His fake sincerity made my stomach turn. 

I couldn’t help but sneer. 

“You already married her. What difference does a wedding make?” 

“No,” he said, the word sharp. He reached into his 

inner pocket and pulled out a folded document, 

smoothing it on the table between us. 

It was the final divorce decree. “I divorced her. The 

same day. As soon as I left the chapel.” 

Then he pulled a small, elegantly wrapped jewelry 

box from his bag and set it gently in front of me. 

“Clara, these are the wedding rings we designed together. Do you remember?” 

When I didn’t respond, he bit his lip and opened it 

himself. 

A pair of one–of–a–kind diamond rings stared back 

at us.