Part 2Left at the Altar I Chose the Underground Fighter

Rain dripped from Julian’s suit onto the floor.

He tilted his head. The eight guards outside stepped back and shut the door.

It was just me and him.

He took off his wet jacket. He tossed it on the old sofa where Caspian had slept.

Like he owned the place.

"Ten thousand dollars a day, Alessia. You can't afford his life support system drawing cheap designs for the rest of your life."

He backed me into a cold corner.

He pulled a small velvet box from his pocket.

Inside was a tube of custom-made healing cream.

He grabbed my hand. His thumb rubbed the calluses on my knuckles.

"Ten years ago, I ran all over Manhattan to find you cream for your frostbite. I told you, these hands are for designing wedding gowns. I can still give you the best of everything."

I ripped my hand away. My stomach churned.

"Don't touch me. You make me sick."

He didn't care. He was used to being in control.

"Divorce him. Now." The softest voice, the cruelest command. "Move into the penthouse. Be a good girl. After Seraphina has the heir and the alliance is solid, I'll bring you back to my side."

"Back to your side?" I laughed. My voice shook. "As your secret mistress?"

"My goomah. You'll have everything but the ring." He said it like it was obvious. His eyes were suffocating. "You gave me your best years. You can't survive without me."

I grabbed a glass of water from the table. I smashed it at his feet.

The sound of shattering glass was sharp.

"Get out!"

Julian gave me a long look. He stepped over the broken glass to the door.

"You'll come begging."

He thought this was some kind of game.

For the next few days, expensive French macarons and rare design magazines piled up at my door.

I threw them all in the trash.

A week later, late at night, the door was kicked in again.

Julian stormed in. He reeked of whiskey.

He was like a madman. He slammed me against the door.

His blue eyes were bloodshot. He stared at my lips.

"Did that lowlife fighter touch you?" He ground his teeth, grabbing my chin. "Did he sleep with you? Answer me!"

I swung my hand and slapped him. Hard.

"He's my legal husband! It's none of your business!"

Julian's head snapped to the side.

But he wasn't angry. He turned back. A red handprint on his cheek, and he smiled.

"You hit me. You're angry." He touched the mark. His voice was insane with arrogance. "Alessia, you still have feelings for me. If you really loved that gutter rat, you wouldn't even bother hitting me."

The very next day, a phone call from the hospital shattered what was left of my pride.

"Your father is crashing. He needs the private ICU, but we need a ten-grand deposit. Today."

Ten thousand a day.

The money I made from my all-nighters wouldn't even cover a fraction of it.

The black card Caspian left was in the drawer.

But I didn't have the PIN. And I would not use the blood money he earned in a cage to fill this black hole.

Two hours later, Julian's assistant rang the bell.

He handed me a medical bill.

The first day's private ICU bill was stamped in red: PAID.

"The boss wanted me to give you a message," the assistant said. His face was blank. "As long as you're willing to bend, the Valenti family will pay to keep your father alive."

That night, the doctors said he might not make it to morning.

I stood outside the private ICU. I looked at my father, rail-thin and covered in tubes.

My pride was worthless compared to his life.

I went back to the warehouse and found a beat-up suitcase.

I numbly stuffed a few old clothes inside. My fingers gripped the key to the Central Park penthouse.

The second I walked out that door, I was officially Julian's goomah.

Suddenly, I heard footsteps outside. The sharp click of high heels in puddles.

I thought it was the car Julian sent for me.

I took a deep breath and pulled open the door.

It wasn't Julian's assistant.

Seraphina, her stomach barely showing, stood there with a crew of thugs.

"Trash this place."