The Don Who Called Me Dirty, Begged Me Back Later Chapter 10

The Don Who Called Me Dirty, Begged Me Back Later Chapter 10

The laughter grew louder. Hollow. Mad. 

“Heir?” He grabbed the reports off the desk and 

hurled them at Mrs. DeLuca’s face. Papers 

scattered across the floor. 

“See for yourself. See what kind of mongrel that 

is.” 

Mrs. DeLuca froze. She bent down and picked up 

the reports. 

Seconds later, her face went white. Her legs gave 

out, and she collapsed to the floor. 

The winter in Rivermont came earlier and harder 

than usual. 

In just a few weeks, DeLuca Holdings was on the 

verge of collapse. Without Elena, every hidden 

crack became a fatal wound. Salvatore was 

consumed by the chaos. Rival families circled, 

waiting for their chance to strike. 

He threw Bianca and her bastard out of Rivermont 

like garbage. When she knelt at the villa gates, crying and begging for forgiveness, he did not 

even look at her. 

He finally understood. The dirty one was never her. 

It was his own self–righteous, arrogant, ignorant 

heart. 

Sterling Heights. It had started snowing. 

I stood outside my apartment building, suitcase in hand, ready to head to the airport. Today, Julian 

and I were launching a new project. 

Today was also the day the court would finalize 

my divorce. 

A black sedan was parked at the curb. Snow had 

piled up on the roof. It had been there for a while. 

The door opened. Salvatore stepped out. 

He was gaunt. Hollow–eyed. Wearing only a thin 

coat, shivering in the snow. 

When he saw me, his eyes lit up. He stumbled 

toward me. “Elena.” 

He stopped in front of me. His knees buckled, and 

he dropped onto the snow. 

People on the street turned to stare. He did not 

seem to notice. 

“I am sorry.” He looked up at me. Tears and melted 

snow mixed together as they hit the ground. 

“I checked everything. You were not lying. I was 

blind. I was a bastard.” 

“I threw Bianca out. I will give up everything. Elena. 

Just give me one more chance. I will spend the 

rest of my life making it up to you.” 

His hand reached out, trembling, toward the edge 

of my coat. 

I stepped back. 

That single step shattered the last hope in his 

eyes. 

I looked down at the man I had once loved until I 

lost myself. I felt no satisfaction. No pain. Just a 

profound, infinite calm. 

“Salvatore.” I looked at him from above. “Three 

years ago, on our wedding night, you sentenced 

me to death.” 

“Three years later, I am returning the verdict.” 

I took a document from my bag and dropped it 

onto the snow in front of him. 

The divorce decree, freshly stamped by the court. 

“We are even now.” 

I turned and walked toward the business sedan 

parked nearby. Julian stood by the car, holding a 

black umbrella over me. 

“Let us go,” he said gently. 

I nodded and got in. 

The car pulled away. I did not look back at the 

man kneeling in the snow, sobbing. 

Three hours later. 

The flight to Paris climbed through the clouds. 

I sat by the window, watching the blinding sunlight. 

The light streamed through the clouds and fell on 

my left hand. 

There used to be a deep mark on that ring finger, where a ring had sat for three years. 

I touched the spot gently. 

For the first time, I realized it did not hurt anymore.