The Mafia’s Substitute Bride Chapter 02

“Forget it, Claire,” I said. “Let her have them.”

Mara’s father had died saving Callum during a shootout.

For two years, Callum had used that one debt as a key to every door.

“She’s our benefactor’s daughter. We can’t offend her.”

My achievements? Given to Mara.

My pet? Given to Mara.

My favorite clothes and jewelry? Given to Mara.

And now, my husband.

Eight years beside Callum Shaw had earned me one thing: a betrayal planned with the precision of a family operation.

Mara slipped into my wedding shoes and smiled like they had always belonged to her.

“Callum, they fit perfectly,” she said, all honey and poison. “It’s like they were made for me. Where did you buy them?”

He had not bought those shoes.

He made them.

By hand, when he was twenty.

Cotton thread. A crochet hook. Fingers pricked until they bled.

The future Don of the Shaw Family had learned needlework for me.

That was when I truly believed Callum was my one and only.

He had said, “Vivienne, when we get married, you’ll wear these. I’ll make you the only pair in the world.”

He had said, “I’ll give you the best of everything.”

Back then, he meant it.

Back then, he couldn’t stand to see me hurt.

Then Mara appeared, and every promise he ever made became something he could hand to another woman.

Now Callum was putting rough cloth shoes on my feet.

The coarse fabric scraped my skin.

The bridesmaids didn’t notice. They only clapped and chanted, “Kiss! Kiss!”

Callum leaned toward me.

Mara tripped.

She fell straight into his arms.

He caught her.

Their lips met perfectly.

The room went dead silent.

Claire’s face turned white with rage. “Mara, you did that on purpose!”

Mara blinked with wet eyes. “I’m sorry. I just lost my balance.”

“You could have fallen anywhere. Why into the groom?”

“Enough,” Callum snapped, helping Mara stand. “She twisted her ankle. It’s normal.”

His gaze cut to Claire. “It’s nothing. Why make a scene?”

Nothing.

That was always his favorite word when Mara hurt me.

Last year, she stole my work. Nothing.

Six months ago, she ruined our anniversary date. Nothing.

Last month, she fed something to my cat of six years and left me holding its cold body. Nothing.

Every time, Callum told me not to make a fuss.

This time, I really didn’t need to.

Then Mrs. Shaw walked in carrying a pink cake.

“Vivienne,” she said warmly, the way a mother should. “I’ve waited so long to see you married.”

She lifted a piece to my mouth. “Eat this, and your life will be sweet.”

I looked at the cake.

I had lost my parents as a child. The Shaw Family had raised me for more than a decade. They called me their own. I believed them.

And now, the people I trusted most were pushing me into the fire and calling it sweetness.

I knew exactly what was in that cake.

Still, I opened my mouth and swallowed.

Someone shouted from downstairs, “Time to get in the car!”

Callum picked me up like a princess and carried me down the stairs.

He used to carry me like that when we were children.

When I was twelve, after my parents died in a car accident, I hid for three days without food or water.

Callum found me. He carried my half-dead body home.

He held my thin hand and said, “V, from now on, my home is your home. My parents are your parents. Don’t be afraid. I’ve got you. Forever.”

His arms were still warm.

Still strong.

They just weren’t mine anymore.