The Don's Favorite lover Vanished (by Melissa Z) novel Chapter 10

**The Story of a Girl Who Loved a Man Made Entirely of Secrets**

**Chapter 10**

A month had slipped by like sand through my fingers.

It had been a full thirty days since I made the decision to send Chiara away. She had disappeared from my life as if she were nothing more than a wisp of smoke, dissipating into the air.

Yet, even though it was my choice, an insistent knot twisted in my stomach, refusing to loosen its grip. Why couldn’t I shake this feeling?

A sharp knock on the door broke my reverie, and Marco entered, a clipboard loaded with a list of wedding flowers clutched in his hand. “Boss, you need to sign off on this,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact.

I remained fixed at the window, my gaze lost in the distance. “Just give it to Katerina,” I replied, my voice lacking any warmth.

“And the wine list, the music…” he continued, his voice trailing off as he sensed my irritation.

“I said, give it all to her!” I snapped, my voice slicing through the silence like a knife. “From now on, I don’t want to be bothered with this petty nonsense!”

Marco fell silent, his shoulders slumping slightly as he retreated from the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

I should have felt a sense of satisfaction.

The alliance was sealed, my family’s power at its zenith, a fortress built on the backs of promises and deals.

So why was sleep so elusive?

As the clock struck midnight, I found myself sitting up in bed once more, the sheets tangled around my legs. Katerina lay beside me, her breaths deep and even, a stark contrast to the raw, restless energy surging through me.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, compelled by an unseen force to head towards the studio that had once belonged to Chiara.

Now it was Katerina’s music room, adorned with her Russian flair—ornate, yet devoid of any soul.

But in the air, a faint trace of turpentine lingered, a ghostly reminder of her presence.

Her scent.

“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath, frustration bubbling to the surface.

The next morning, I summoned the butler with a wave of my hand.

“Gut this place. Everything,” I barked, my finger pointing emphatically at the entire room. “Rip out the wallpaper. Tear up the floors. I don’t want to smell anything in here that isn’t Katerina’s!”

“But Boss,” the butler began, his voice laced with trepidation, “Miss Katerina is very fond of…”

“Then she can go back to Russia and be fond of it there!” I roared, my patience at its end. “Do what I said!”

They spent the entire day dismantling the room, but no matter how much they tore apart the space, Chiara’s scent clung to the walls like a stubborn stain.

It felt as if it had seeped into my very bones.

The night before the wedding, I found myself in my study, staring at a mountain of paperwork that seemed to mock me. Not a single word registered in my mind.

I felt a surge of irritation and reached for the bell on my desk, ringing it out of habit.

“Chi,” I whispered, the name catching in my throat like a fish on a hook. I froze, realization dawning on me.

Who was I about to call?

The maid entered, her expression a mix of apprehension and professionalism. “Yes, Boss?”

“Coffee,” I replied curtly.

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