Kept in Don’s Shadow

I developed earlier than other girls my age, and my father worried that men would take advantage of me. When I turned eighteen, he sent me to Chicago under the protection of his most trusted ally, Ronan Whitlock. One night, after he’d had too much to drink, Ronan pulled me into his bed. By day, he was the Whitlock heir who controlled every part of my life. By night, I was the secret lover he kept hidden in a safe house. I thought I would get a ring. After all, every night he was in the city, he buried himself inside me and took his pleasure. He would whisper that I was his, that no one else felt as good. But this time, the moment he was finished, he told me his former fiancée had returned to Chicago. Zoya Sokolova, the princess of a Russian crime family. He was going to pick her up at the airport himself. That was when I understood. I wasn’t his woman. I was a toy he kept for his amusement. He had never intended to marry me. So I destroyed everything he had given me. I called my father. Then I disappeared. But when the Don who owned Chicago couldn’t find his favorite toy… He lost his mind. Chapter 1 My father called almost immediately. He sounded genuinely relieved. For years, he had known there was a man in Chicago I could not let go of, though I had never told him who it was. He had no idea that the man who had kept me hidden for four years was the ally he trusted most. “Livia, the Mercers received your answer,” Gideon said. “Bennett has been waiting. Once you return, the two families can announce the match.” “I know.” I stood before the hotel window, watching Chicago wake beneath me. “I’ll come back to New York as soon as I finish things here.” My father believed I had finally walked away from a hopeless attachment. He never would have guessed that the man responsible was Ronan Whitlock—the very man he had sent to Chicago to protect me. After the call, I took my resignation letter to Whitlock Holdings. As Ronan’s private assistant, I had access to sensitive family affairs. Leaving normally required a month-long security review and handover. I had seven days. The HR director read my request and shook her head. “An expedited departure requires Mr. Whitlock’s signature.” Ronan again. Even leaving him required his permission. I walked to the far end of the empty hallway and dialed the number I knew by heart. After a long wait, a languid female voice answered. “Hello? Are you looking for Ronan? He’s in the shower.” An hour earlier, my teeth had left marks on his hand. Now he was showering in another woman’s room. “Never mind. Thank you.” I hung up. Less than two minutes later, Ronan called back. “What do you need?” His voice was cold and professional, as though he had not been whispering my name in bed the night before. “Mr. Whitlock, I have a document that requires your signature.” “Send it to my office.” He paused. “Go to the lake house tonight and clear out your belongings. Zoya is moving in. She doesn’t want another woman’s things there.” The lake house had been the only place where we did not have to pretend. By day, I was Gideon Calloway’s daughter and Ronan’s private assistant. At night, I was the woman he allowed into his bed. Now I was not even permitted to leave a trace behind. “There’s an empty apartment in Lakeview,” he continued. “Whitlock security will still cover you. I promised Gideon I would take care of you.” “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Whitlock.” He was quiet for a moment. “You don’t sleep well in unfamiliar places. At least keep the guards for the first week.” “I’ll manage.” Zoya called his name in the background. Ronan said he had to go, but neither of us ended the call. After several seconds of silence, I hung up. Once he signed the letter, these four years would be over. I would return to New York and marry Bennett Mercer. That evening, I went back to the lake house. The austere black-and-white interior had disappeared beneath warm colors, fresh flowers, plush toys, and Russian nesting dolls. Once, I had tried to leave a stuffed bear in the entryway. Ronan had removed it that same day. “This is a safe house, not a girl’s bedroom,” he’d said. Zoya had been back for one night, and the entire house had already been remade for her. “She thought the place was too cold,” Ronan came up behind me, a lazy smile in his voice. “She needs something familiar after returning to Chicago.” I said nothing. He hooked an arm loosely around my waist and gave me a small squeeze, as if he could smooth everything over without even trying. “She saw your things last night and got upset, so I had them packed away. Come on, don’t make a thing out of it.” He led me downstairs, certain I would follow. When he opened the storage-room door, I saw everything I owned piled in a dark corner like trash waiting to be thrown away. Chapter 2 My clothes, books, and art supplies had been stuffed into boxes. The diamond necklace Ronan gave me lay beneath a boot print, its clasp snapped. Two mugs we had made together were shattered, the initials we carved into them split by the cracks. Ronan followed my gaze. “None of it was valuable. Throw it away. I’ll replace whatever you need.” I picked up a broken glass jar filled with four years of ticket stubs, pressed flowers, and folded notes. There were more than a thousand of them. Some recorded ordinary days. Others held the words I had never dared say aloud. I love you. I still love you today. I hope one day you’ll let the world know I belong to you. As I lifted the jar over the trash, Ronan caught my wrist. His gaze settled on the folded notes visible through the cracked glass. “Why are you stopping me?” He kept his hand around my wrist for another second before letting go. “I’m not.” I dropped the jar and the broken gifts into the trash. “You’re right. Worthless things should be discarded once they’re damaged.” Then I held out my resignation letter. “This is my resignation. HR needs your signature to complete the process within a week.” His phone rang before I could finish. “Ronan, it’s raining,” Zoya complained. “When are you coming for me?” The irritation vanished from his face. “Stay there. I’m coming.” Without reading the document, he signed the last page and handed it back. “I’ll have someone drive you. Message me when you reach Lakeview. I don’t want Gideon thinking I failed to look after you.” “I’ll make my own arrangements.” He left before the storm broke. The driver assigned to me had been sent to collect Zoya’s luggage, so I walked down the long private road toward the gate. Rain slashed across my face. I slipped on the wet stones and struck my knees and elbows, but kept the resignation papers pressed against my chest. The bruises would heal. I refused to give Ronan another chance to delay my departure. Headlights appeared through the rain. Ronan’s black car swept past without slowing, spraying filthy water over me. Through the passenger window, I saw Zoya in a red dress and Ronan smiling at her. Neither of them looked back. Three days later, I completed my handover. My desk was empty except for one box when Ronan sent me a message. [Bring in hot ginger tea.] Until the end of the day, I was still his assistant. I carried the tea into his private lounge. Zoya lay with her head in his lap while he massaged her abdomen. For four years, whenever I doubled over from cramps at my desk, Ronan had sent painkillers and warned me not to delay his schedule. I had once mistaken that for care. Now I knew what his care actually looked like. “Your tea, Mr. Whitlock.” I set the cup down. For just a second, my collar slipped open. Zoya’s eyes immediately locked onto the mark on my chest. A kiss mark. Fresh. Deep red. Her face drained of color, then flushed crimson. She slowly rose from her seat. “You’re Gideon Calloway’s daughter?” Before I could answer, her palm cracked across my face. My ears rang. The secretary, two guards, and several family members turned toward the open doorway. “Zoya, what the hell are you doing?” Ronan demanded. Tears instantly welled in her eyes. She pointed at my chest, her finger trembling. “She has a kiss mark. Right there.” Her voice broke. “Is it yours?” Ronan’s jaw tightened. His gaze dropped to the mark, then lifted to my face. Whatever warmth he had shown me in private was gone. “No,” he said coldly. “I have no idea where she got it.” Zoya’s tears vanished almost instantly. A small, satisfied smile curved her lips. “So she’s been sleeping with other men while staying under your roof?” Her gaze swept over me with open disgust. “And you still keep a woman like that at your side?” Ronan barely reacted. “Her father asked me to look after her.” He said it so casually, as if that explained everything. “I’m just doing him a favor.” Chapter 3 Triumph flashed across Zoya’s face before she hid it against Ronan’s chest. “Then make her leave. I don’t want a woman like that around you every day.” Ronan hesitated. Zoya reached for the steaming cup of ginger tea. “Ronan! It’s hot!” Before I could move, she tipped it straight over my chest. The scalding liquid soaked through my blouse and hit the exact spot where the kiss mark had been. Blisters rose across my skin. Only a few drops touched her fingers, but Ronan checked her hand before glaring at me. “Four years beside me, and you still cannot make one cup of tea? Or did you make it too hot because it was for Zoya?” I did not defend myself. Cameras covered the room. If Ronan wanted the truth, he could find it in seconds. He called his secretary. “Cancel Livia’s salary and bonus for this month. Report her failure at next week’s family meeting.” Then he looked at me. “I promised Gideon I would protect you, but that does not give you the right to challenge me. Do this again, and I’ll send you back to New York myself. Not even your father will convince me to let you remain in Chicago.” He studied my face, waiting for the panic that threat once would have caused. My burns throbbed. “Don’t worry. There won’t be a next time.” I caught the secretary’s uneasy expression. He opened his mouth, clearly wanting to say something. After all, my resignation letter—signed by Ronan himself—was already in the process of being filed. But before the secretary could speak, Zoya complained again. Ronan immediately lifted her into his arms, soothing her as if nothing else in the room mattered. “I’m taking you to the hospital.” At the door, he finally noticed my injuries. “You come too. I don’t want Gideon seeing those burns and thinking the Whitlocks failed you.” On the way to the Whitlock clinic, Ronan texted me from the front seat. [I was too harsh, but I lost Zoya once. I cannot lose her again. If you’re angry, I’ll compensate you.] An apartment for four hidden years. Money for public humiliation. To Ronan, every wound had a price. I watched him hold Zoya’s hand and blocked his number. Outside the emergency entrance, a car suddenly careened toward us. Ronan instinctively shielded Zoya, knocking me into a stone planter. Gravel tore my palms and knees, and the blisters on my chest split open. The car struck a barrier. Ronan did not look back. He found a shallow scrape on Zoya’s hand and carried her inside, shouting for a doctor. Over his shoulder, she looked at my bleeding skin and smiled. An off-duty nurse handed me gauze. “You need treatment immediately.” “Thank you.” Instead of entering the hospital, I hailed a cab. “O’Hare Airport.” On the way, HR emailed to confirm that my employment and every affiliated position had ended at six o’clock. It was 6:03. I was no longer Ronan’s assistant or the lover waiting in his safe house. For the first time in four years, no Whitlock order determined where I would sleep or where I was expected to stand the next morning. At the airport, I cleaned my wounds, broke my SIM card, deleted the lake-house pass, and erased every encrypted Whitlock contact. My father was waiting in the private terminal with Calloway guards. His face hardened when he saw my bandages and bruised cheek. The men behind him lowered their eyes as I approached. They waited for my father’s order. My father waited for mine. “Who did this?” I did not answer. I would not waste another moment on Ronan. I took my father’s arm as I had when I first left New York at eighteen. “Dad, let’s go.” Gideon brushed the rain-damp hair from my face. “All right. Let’s go home.” Together, we boarded the private jet. Meanwhile, Ronan settled Zoya in the emergency room. Her injury was superficial, but as the nurse bandaged her hand, he remembered me climbing from the planter with blood seeping through my gauze. He stopped a nurse outside. "Another woman arrived with us. Livia Calloway. Burns on her chest, cuts on her hands and knees. Where is she?" The nurse checked the system. "There is no patient registered under that name." He bought burn ointment and called me three times. Each attempt returned the same message: the number was no longer in service. Then an encrypted call came from Gideon. "Ronan, is this how you keep your promises? Livia is covered in bruises!" The muted thunder of a private jet sounded behind his voice. Ronan tightened his grip on the ointment. "Livia is with you? Put her on." Gideon laughed without humor. "She is a Calloway, not a subordinate you can summon back to your estate." "In two days, she will marry Bennett Mercer. The Whitlocks will receive a formal invitation. As an old ally, you may witness my daughter begin her new life."