My sister Chloe was blind with love. She sat on a plane for thirty straight hours just to celebrate the birthday of the boyfriend she’d kept overseas for three years. She looked at me, a martyr’s glow in her eyes. “Elena, you don’t understand. Every year, the one who gets to spend his birthday with him is never me.” “This time, I want to stand beside him myself.” I sighed and let it go. When my fiancé, Don Julian, heard, he gave a cold little snort on the other end of the line. “She flew halfway around the world just to throw a man a birthday party? Has she lost her mind?” “A woman who throws herself at a man like that—let her do whatever she wants.” The night Chloe landed at Sheremetyevo International, I stumbled onto her post on Twitter. A photograph of a man from behind, with a caption of nothing but a curt *Happy Birthday*. But my breath froze in that instant. The ring on the man’s ring finger was the Ashford family ring, set with black diamonds. The perfect match to my engagement ring. That was when I understood. The boyfriend Chloe had been dating for three years. Was my fiancé. … I sat with that photograph all night. Two days earlier, when I’d told him I wanted to fly to the Moscow estate to celebrate with him, he’d answered in that steady, unruffled voice of his: “There’s no need, Elena. When I’m back in New York, we’ll do it privately, just the two of us.” But it wasn’t that he wasn’t celebrating. It was that he already had someone to celebrate with. And that someone was my own sister. I didn’t fall apart. I took a screenshot and sent it to Julian. Ten minutes passed. My phone lit up—but the message was from Chloe, cheerful as a bell. *Elena! We met up—finally! But I didn’t have time to get him a gift. Do you think if I tied a bow around my wrist and let him unwrap me, it would be too forward?* She’d attached a photo. A three-tier dark chocolate cake beside a champagne tower. A man’s right hand rested casually on the edge of the table. The black-diamond ring on his ring finger was now unmistakable. Three years ago, when Julian decided to expand into the Russian market, he’d promised in front of every elder that the moment he returned to New York, we would marry, and I would become the Donna of the Ashford family. But now, it seemed there was no need for that wedding at all. I didn’t reply to Chloe. What was I supposed to ask her? Why did you climb into your sister’s fiancé’s bed? I’d always known Chloe was carrying someone in her heart. Through college, she was forever off traveling in Russia, saying she was “making up for the regrets of her youth.” Whenever Julian and I made small talk about it, his face would twist with disgust. “Only a fool like her would chase all the way to Russia. Serves her right if the traffickers get her.” He had never shown Chloe a shred of patience, never a decent expression. Precisely because of that, it had never once crossed my mind that Chloe’s every trip led to the very Russia where Julian was doing his market research; never once did it strike me as strange that they shared a birthday. I had never once imagined that they’d been together for three years, right under my nose. The screen lit up again. Julian. *What’s the meaning of this?* He was denying it. I leaned against the rosewood desk for support, my fingers cold as I typed out a few words: *The one celebrating that birthday with her—isn’t that you?* A long silence, long enough for me to believe he’d thrown his phone into the Volga. Then the call came through. I picked up. His heavy breathing came through the receiver. “Elena. When I’m back in New York, I’ll explain it to you myself.” A confession, dressed up as something else. My eyes fell on the leather calendar on the desk. The 26th was circled thickly in red pen, the Ashford family seal stamped beside it. The day of his return. The day after tomorrow. Julian let out a heavy sigh. “Don’t make a scene in front of Chloe. Promise me.” His tone was thick with undisguised favor and protection. My eyes stung suddenly. My throat was so dry it felt full of grit. “Why, Julian?” “Elena, wait until I’ve landed.” Before the words had fully left his mouth, a soft, delicate voice drifted through. “…Was that Elena on the phone?” Julian’s voice dropped instantly to something so gentle I’d almost never heard it from him. “No.” “Just one of my subordinates.”
Ten years of knowing each other. Five years of shared profit and shared bloodshed. Three years of me in New York, waiting for him through the days and nights. And now, to keep Chloe from being startled, I had become “just one of his subordinates.” I hung up. A second later, Julian’s message came through. *Chloe feels awful about you. She doesn’t want me mentioning you in front of her.* Awful? A woman who climbs into her sister’s fiancé’s bed knows what awful means? Late into the night, sleepless, I refreshed the feed. Chloe had posted a new photo: two hands laced tightly together, the Ashford estate in Russia in the background. The black-diamond ring on Julian’s little finger had been swapped out. On Chloe’s ring finger sat a ring that matched his. Down in the comments, several Made Men in the know were exclaiming: *Chloe! When did you and the Don get secretly married?!* Chloe replied beneath: *Not married yet—engaged~ At last night’s birthday party, he officially made his vows to me~* I stared at those words for a long time. Julian had given the vows and the tokens he’d once given me to someone else. It was time for me, the future Godmother in name only, to exit the stage. I didn’t confront Julian. I didn’t tear the mask off Chloe. I simply, calmly, tapped a like beneath the photo. Five minutes later, Julian’s message came in: *She’s still a little girl—she can be vain sometimes. She only wanted to know what it felt like to be proposed to by a Don.* *As the future Godmother of the Ashford family, you’ll need to have a bigger heart.* I stared at those two lines and answered with a single word: *Fine.* Exhaustion crashed over me. I got up and went to the fridge for a drink to clear my head. When I opened the door, I saw the note taped to the bottle. *Less iced whiskey. Warm milk helps you sleep.* Whenever I’d stayed up too late reconciling accounts and it triggered my stomach pain, Julian had always torn the iced liquor out of my hand with a stern look and taped the note here as a reminder, ordering the housekeeper to keep fresh milk stocked every day. I looked at it for two seconds. Without hesitation, I peeled the note off, threw it into the trash along with the milk. Two days later, Julian returned to New York—with Chloe. “Elena!” Chloe ran over and wrapped her arms around me, laughing. “Julian just wrapped things up with the Russian market today. I hitched a ride back on his private jet.” I nodded coolly, my eyes drifting down to her hand. The ring—the one that had symbolized his vow—was still on her finger. I looked up at Julian. The ring on his hand that had matched Chloe’s had already been swapped back for the one he’d placed on my finger before the family council. Chloe’s brow furrowed slightly. “Elena, what’s the matter?” Her face was written all over with concern, without a shred of guilt anywhere in it—as if she’d never lain tangled up with my fiancé in that Moscow penthouse. I stepped back from her. “Nothing.” Chloe’s smile stiffened for a beat before returning. Julian shot me a look of disapproval. “Chloe’s worried about you.” “Is she?” A brittle laugh escaped me, my voice rising. “If she’s worried, then why did she—” “Elena!” Julian cut me off sharply. The words *become Julian’s mistress* choked in my throat. I met his furious eyes, and something in my chest was struck as if by a blunt weapon—a huge, hollow space opening up. I hadn’t even said it. And Julian could already look at me with a face that savage. He turned back to Chloe, his expression softening. “Stay here tonight. Don’t go.” Chloe glanced at me, hesitating. “Is that… really all right?” Julian frowned. “It’s not safe traveling this late. Go tomorrow.” And so Chloe stayed. Julian had decided, without asking me a thing. I turned and went back to the master bedroom. Ten minutes later, he pushed the door open and came in. Julian lit a Cuban cigar. The ember flared and dimmed in the shadowed room. Half of it was gone before he finally spoke, his voice rough. “Chloe has never dreamed of replacing you.” “Elena, love isn’t something people choose. She’s in pain too. Can’t you find it in you to understand?” I leaned back against the sofa and looked at him. The sister I’d grown up with, who’d shared every honor of this family with me, had gotten involved with the fiancé I’d loved for five years. And what was more absurd—Julian was actually asking me to have compassion for *her* pain. “And what about me?” I asked. Julian looked away. “Elena. Give us a little more time.” “When did it start?” I asked, blunt. His eyes flickered. In the end he answered honestly. “After that firefight with the arms dealers, three years ago.” For those months, Chloe had practically lived in Russia. She’d even called me to ask how to clean the necrotic tissue out of a wound. I’d wanted to go and take care of him too—but a traitor had led men into the Ashford compound, and while I was trying to protect Julian’s mother, two bullets had gone through my shoulder blade. While I was bleeding for his rule as Don, for his family, he had wavered. Julian closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he looked at me with the eyes of a man used to being in control of everything. “At the beginning, I refused her. But she saved me…” He paused, not going further. His tone turned to something like a plea. “Elena. Give me one more month.” “Give Chloe, at least, a little time to adjust.” I looked at this man, this man who ruled an enormous empire of the night, and for the first time I felt he was a stranger. “No.” “Julian Ashford. Since she’s in so much pain, just marry her.” I slipped the black-diamond ring—the token of my status as the future Donna—off my finger and set it gently on the rosewood table. “We’re calling off the engagement. This ends here.”
Julian froze. Disbelief flashed across his eyes. “You’re calling off the engagement?” I withdrew my hand. “That way she won’t have to sneak around showing off anymore. That ring of yours—you can go ahead and swap it for the one that matches hers.” “Elena, don’t talk like that when you’re angry.” Julian’s voice went cold. “Chloe has never once tried to steal your place as Godmother. You don’t need to put on this act. I told you—in a month, everything will go back to the way it was.” I couldn’t help laughing. But the place where my heart sat felt as if a blade were sawing back and forth through it, the pain almost enough to strangle me. “Back to what way?” I stared at this man who controlled half the underworld of North America. “After the two of you have had your fill of tangling in some foreign country, then I’m supposed to walk into St. Patrick’s Cathedral like a fool and swear that we will never betray each other?” “Julian, it makes me sick.” “I can’t pretend nothing happened.” I couldn’t accept that my fiancé had betrayed me, and I couldn’t begin to understand what role I was supposed to play as the stumbling block in their forbidden, agonized love. Julian looked exasperated. “Chloe is emotionally unstable right now! As her older sister, can’t you show a little consideration?” Consideration? For them? For Chloe flying to Russia every month for a date with him? For Julian proposing to her in front of the whole family? I drew a slow breath. “Julian Ashford. You slept with my sister, and you want *me* to be considerate?” The stabbing pain in my chest almost drowned me. I spoke slowly. “Let’s just end it here.” The bedroom door was suddenly pushed open. Chloe stood outside, her eyes red, her body trembling, tears falling one after another. “Elena… it’s my fault, none of it is Julian’s fault! I was the one who fell for him, I was the one who wouldn’t let him go…” “But I really never meant to replace you! I know it’s a betrayal of you and of the family, but I couldn’t control myself…” “It’s all my fault…” Julian moved on instinct, closing the distance in a single stride and pulling her into his arms. Chloe wept against his chest, pleading. “Elena, I promise—I’ll leave New York right now, I’ll never appear in front of him again!” Her voice was shaking violently. “I’m begging you… don’t call off your engagement…” Julian looked down at her, tenderness aching in his eyes. “Don’t talk nonsense. Silly girl.” I looked at Chloe, numb. From childhood onward, as the older sister, I had given in to her about everything. Fine food, couture gowns, family resources—the first thought I ever had was of her. We had never fought. In those first years after I met Julian, Chloe had even lifted her chin at him with all the imperiousness of a spoiled child: “Who do you think you are? *I* am Elena’s most loyal guard. I take better care of her than you ever will!” And back then, Julian would only ruffle my hair fondly and shoot back, “No one loves Elena more than I do. Not even you.” The two who had once quarreled over the right to look after me, who had sworn in front of me to protect me for a lifetime, had now, in the cruelest possible way, entangled themselves behind my back. “You don’t need to put on this scene. The engagement—I’m calling it off. It’s decided.” “Elena, enough!” Julian’s patience snapped. His voice was harsh. “Can’t you see what state Chloe is in right now?” I didn’t say another word. Something must have told him his tone had gone too far. Julian forced his emotions down. “When you’ve calmed down, we’ll talk. Get some rest first.” He didn’t look at me again. He put his arm around Chloe and walked out of the room. The heavy slam of the door rattled through the walls. I turned and looked at the black-diamond ring on the rosewood table. Once it had stood for absolute power and eternal favor. Now it looked like nothing but the punchline of a ridiculous joke. I walked to the window, drew the curtain back, and hurled the ring into the storm-battered dark of Lake Michigan. The token that marked me as Donna—I didn’t want it. And Julian Ashford—I didn’t want him either.
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