The Jealousy Game Over, Marriage Over: The Donna Who Walked Away

My mafia husband, Luca Fontana, disbelieved in love from a young age because his parents had a failed marriage, until he fell in love with me, Viola Rosso, an ordinary girl. However, he remained deeply insecure even after we got married. He loved seeing me jealous, because he believed the more I hated other girls getting close to him, the more it proved I loved him. So every year on our wedding anniversary, he'd let his childhood sweetheart, Isabella Monti, take my place as his wife, and bet with his men on how long I could stand it. The first year, Isabella wore my bathrobe and sat on Luca's lap, sipping wine. I stormed over and tried to tear the robe off her back, but he grabbed my trembling hands, laughing, "You're beautiful when you're mad at me." The second year, he moved me to the guest room and invited Isabella into our bedroom. He watched me kick the door open, frantically tearing Isabella off my bed, letting out a satisfied laugh. Last year, he brought Isabella back to the Fontana estate, let her sit in my usual spot at the dining table, and had everyone call her "Signora Fontana." I turned to leave, but he caught my arm, "Relax, amore, it's just a title, all part of the act." This year, just as I was getting Luca to promise he'd never mess with me again, Isabella burst into our villa wheeling her luggage, and flashed me a sweet smile. "Ciao, Viola, Luca said I could try being the Donna for a week. You don't mind, right?" Luca threw an arm around her shoulders, his eyes sparkling with anticipation, "Oh, I forgot to mention. I added Isabella's fingerprints to our security system yesterday." Everyone stood around watching like it was a comedy show, waiting for me to lose my mind like I did every year. But this time, I just went upstairs and packed my things. Before leaving, I dropped my wedding ring and the spare key that symbolized the lady of the house into Luca's palm. "A week isn't long enough. Keep her here. Permanently." Chapter 1 Luca didn't come after me when I left the estate. Behind me, his friends were still hooting and hollering. "Looks like she's trying a new move this year! Don't give in too fast, Boss!" "Luca, she seems genuinely pissed off this time. Aren't you gonna go after her?" Luca gave a quiet laugh, "She can't live without me. Give it a couple of hours, and she'll come crawling back on her own." That very night, he opened the betting pool at the family's private casino. Luca put down fifty thousand euros, betting I wouldn't last two days. Isabella snapped a photo of the spare keys next to her breakfast and posted it to the group chat. [Donna Trial—Day 1.] The chat exploded immediately. [Ciao, hats off to the Donna!] [Looks like Isabella's taking over the master bedroom and the Boss's heart today!] [Boss, if Isabella is the Donna now, everything in Viola's closet is fair game, right?] Luca did nothing to put a stop to it. He chimed in: [Of course. Isabella, not just the clothes, everything in this house is yours. Enjoy.] When I saw that message, I was clearing out dust in the small apartment I'd bought before getting married. No one had lived here in a long time. The furniture had grown old, several patches of wallpaper had peeled off, and the dust made me sneeze the moment I walked in. But at least here, no one treated my identity as a game reward. The first year Isabella took my bathrobe, I broke down crying in front of everyone. Luca held me and spent hours comforting me. He said he just wanted to see if I'd get jealous over him. He even promised this was the first and last time. Now, Isabella was pulling out my designer gowns from the closet one by one, trying them on and letting our family friends help her pick out which outfit suited a Donna best. She put on my silk nightgown, did a little spin in front of Luca, and asked, "How's this one?" Luca sat nearby, glancing up casually, "Honestly, it looks better on you than it does on her." The room erupted into laughter again. Someone asked why Viola hadn't shown up yet. Isabella's eyes welled up with fake tears, "Viola takes things way too seriously. It's just a game. I only did this to show her how much you two love each other. I had no idea she'd throw a fit and leave." Luca pulled out a tissue and handed it to her, "Forget it. We all know she'll be back soon anyway." Luca recorded all of it and sent it to me. He also sent me a text. [Still upset? Don't be so stubborn, it's just a harmless joke. Every marriage needs a little passion. If you're going to keep playing the runaway wife, you might as well come take the rest of your things.] When I went back, the estate guards refused to let me in. My fingerprint no longer worked either. In the end, it was Isabella who opened the gates for me. She was wearing my bathrobe, stepping around in my slippers. The master bedroom had already been redecorated to her taste. My bedding had been swapped out, and my vanity had been completely cleared of my perfumes and jewelry. Our wedding photo, which used to sit on the cabinet, was unceremoniously taken down and propped up in a dusty corner. Half of my face in the picture was blocked by a cardboard box. Luca shoved the box toward me, "Viola, playing hard to get only works once." Isabella bit her lip and murmured timidly, "Maybe... I should just move to the guest room?" Yet despite her words, she remained rooted right there in the middle of our master bedroom, without the slightest intention of moving out. As expected, Luca caught her arm, "The Donna sleeps in the master bedroom." With that, he turned to look at me. A familiar glint of amusement danced in his eyes. He was waiting for me to rush forward to reclaim my room, or to break down crying, demanding to know who he truly loved. Instead, I just picked up the cardboard box, "Is there anything else?" For the first time, the smirk on Luca's lips faded. He stared at me for a few long seconds before his voice turned cold, "Have it your way. Let's see how long you last." I gave no response, turned around and shut the door. Chapter 2 On the third day of the trial run, the Fontana family hosted a family dinner. Madre had a servant tell me to bring the emerald brooch passed down to the Donna of every generation. That brooch was pinned to my chest by her own hands on my wedding day. Yet I knew she had always looked down on me; she favored a mafia-born princess like Isabella, and even after we were married, she kept trying to set them up. On the day I first visited the Fontana estate to meet the family elders, Madre had told a room full of people that a girl from an ordinary background was unworthy of the Fontana name. Luca had held my hand, his tone calm yet unyielding, "Madre, with all respect, no one picks my wife but me." If Luca hadn't insisted on marrying me back then, this symbol of the Fontana matriarch would have never ended up in my hands. Recalling that moment now only felt utterly tragic. I tightened my grip on the jewelry box. Perhaps today would be the perfect opportunity to return this brooch to its rightful owner. When I arrived at the estate, Isabella was already seated next to Luca. There was no seat reserved for me along the long dining table. The butler had no choice but to drag out a temporary chair and place it at the very end of the table. Watching Isabella laugh and talk with him, I remembered that at last year's family dinner, when they first let Isabella take my seat, I had turned around and left the room. Luca had chased after me and pulled me into an embrace, "I promise, the spot next to me always belongs to you." Yet this year, I did not even have the right to sit beside him. Maybe I had a sour look on my face, because Madre's sharp eyes swept over me, "Don't be so sensitive, Viola. Isabella is playing the Donna tonight, so the seating should match the game." Luca smiled and nodded at Madre, then instructed the kitchen to tailor the menu to Isabella's tastes. I was severely allergic to pine nuts. Yet after all these years of marriage, bits of pine nut still garnished nearly every dish on the Fontana table. In the beginning, Luca would remind the cooks to watch out, but over time, he just told me to avoid it myself. However, because Isabella disliked olives, olives were strictly forbidden at the Fontana table. There was a hint of olive oil in the salad. Luca immediately ordered the butler to clear it, "Take it away. She can't stand the smell." I sat there, drinking my wine in bitter sips. Before taking the family portrait, Madre suddenly ordered me, "Give the brooch to Isabella to wear, so the photo looks right." Isabella quickly waved her hands in refusal, "Oh, that wouldn't be right." Yet her hand hovered in mid-air, never truly pulling back. Before I could say a word, Luca reached out and unpinned the brooch himself. The sharp pin dragged against the fabric. He did not even check on me; he only looked down to make sure the brooch was not scratched. Then, he personally pinned it onto Isabella's chest, "It's just a brooch, Viola. You'll get it back in a few days anyway." During the photo shoot, Madre sat in the front row. Behind her, Isabella stood right beside Luca. Meanwhile, I was placed at the very outer edge, practically cut off by the camera lens. The photographer asked everyone to squeeze in closer. Luca intentionally wrapped an arm around Isabella's waist. After the shoot, his hand still rested on her. He wore a smug look on his face. I knew he waited for me to speak up and stop him. But I looked away and turned toward Madre, "Madre, let Isabella keep the brooch. It should have belonged to her all along." Luca's expression darkened, and a faint smirk crossed Madre's lips, "So you finally realize you're not worthy of Luca. If you are that eager to give away what took you years to earn, then fine." The photo was quickly sent out to be printed, set to hang in the estate's long gallery. Relatives unaware of the truth smiled and remarked, "Everything is finally in its place." Someone even asked, "So when are Luca and Isabella having a proper wedding?" Madre did not bother correcting them. She raised her glass, giving Isabella a knowing nod as a silent approval. Amid voices praising how perfect Luca and Isabella looked together, I slipped away quietly. Nobody noticed. It was not until the banquet ended that Luca finally noticed I had not returned. He sent me a text. [What kind of game are you playing now? I'll give it to you, your acting's getting better. Let's see how long you can keep this up.] I did not reply. What he did not know was that I was erasing every trace of myself left within the Fontana family, until I walked out of his life for good. Chapter 3 Day five of this little game, I was officially ready to cut ties with the Fontana family for good. Years ago, when Luca and I met and fell in love in New York, he refused to rely on his family name, choosing instead to stay behind and build a domain of his own. Back when he barely had a foothold, I was the one at his side, closing deals, running the docks, and cleaning up the filthy messes that couldn't see the light of day. We even spent months sleeping on the concrete floor of an abandoned warehouse at our lowest point, yet neither of us gave up. Through sheer grit and endless hustle, we built a thriving empire and earned the respect of countless business partners. The day we made our triumphant return to Naples, Luca turned to his men and declared, "Viola isn't just my wife. She's the partner who dragged me out of the dirt. From today on, you answer to the Donna just as you answer to me." Yet now, he had completely forgotten every battle we fought shoulder to shoulder. He was still convinced that my leaving was just another move in their stupid game. He sent me a single text: [Go ahead and leave. Come back when you're done throwing your tantrum.] I returned to the estate strictly to hand back everything that belonged to the Fontana family and sign off on the final transfers. As it happened, tonight was the victory gala for a massive deal we had just closed. Luca stood at the center of the grand hall in a tailored suit, laughing and sharing drinks with the bosses of the other families. Beside him, Isabella wore the ancestral emerald brooch, her arm linked with his as she helped him work the room. I stood a short distance away, watching the spectacle unfold, suddenly hit by how absurd it all was. I was the one who had pulled off endless sleepless nights to broker this deal. Without me, there wouldn't even be a victory gala tonight. Yet Luca hadn't uttered my name once. He had put Isabella in the gown custom-made for me, and every time someone addressed her as "Donna," she'd flush and look at Luca, who only smiled, never offering a word of correction. I didn't bother stepping forward, taking my personal belongings and heading straight for the side exit. Unexpectedly, I bumped into one of the crew members who had bled alongside us for years. He blinked in confusion, blurting out, "Donna?" I stopped in my tracks. He stared at me, bewildered. "Donna, why aren't you in your evening dress? Are you heading out?" A silence rippled through the banquet hall. One of the guests glanced between me and Isabella, frowning. "Donna? Then... who is that lady over there?" Murmurs quickly began to spread through the crowd. "Wait, isn't she the Donna who negotiated our deal?" "So if the lady next to the boss isn't the Donna, why is she wearing the matriarch's brooch?" "Is she the Don's new bride? How come no one mentioned a wedding?" Before the rumors could spiral out of control, someone nearby lowered his voice to interject. "Haven't you seen the videos floating around among Luca's inner circle?" "Viola's the one clinging on for dear life, refusing to let go." "Luca brought Isabella right in front of the whole family, but Viola won't let go of her spot, forever reminding everyone that she and Luca built this business together." "At the end of the day, she just can't bring herself to give up the title of Donna." I stood on the fringe of the crowd, keeping quiet. Beside me, a guest handed a phone to another, the screen playing a short clip. A single glance was all it took for me to recognize myself in it. The video showed me sobbing as I tried to tear off Isabella's nightgown, storming into the master bedroom with bloodshot eyes, screaming at her to get out, making a complete fool of myself at the family dinner, storming off under everyone's utter contempt...... Every single clip captured me at my absolute lowest. What the video didn't show was Luca chasing after me afterward, brushing it off with "it's just a game." Nor did it tell the onlookers that the entire thing had been staged by them from the start. Over the last three years, every time one of these "games" pushed me to a mental breakdown, I was expected to smile through the crowd's jeers and admit, "I only lost my head because I loved him so deeply." It turns out they recorded every last second of my anguish, saving my loss of control as leverage for their own cheap entertainment. And now, they've dragged those old videos out all over again—using them as proof that I was the one "refusing to let go." Just as I opened my mouth, footsteps echoed behind me, hushing the room instantly. Luca cut through the crowd, walking straight up to me. Chapter 4 Luca approached me and lowered his voice, an unmistakable trace of impatience on his face. "Since we're playing the game, you should play along and own up to it," he hissed. "Isabella is only filling in for you. I won't let her reputation get dragged through the dirt here." I looked at him, and a cold laugh escaped my lips. "So you drag mine through it instead?" Luca's brow furrowed into a deep scowl. "Viola, you're dragging this out way too far. If you weren't taking everything so damn literally, we wouldn't be in this mess right now." I didn't waste another breath on him. "The handover is complete. Goodbye." With that, I stepped around him, heading straight for the front doors. My cold detachment finally snapped his restraint. Staring at my retreating back, he called over the butler. "Call over the family lawyer now. Draft a real set of divorce papers." "On day seven, I'm going to make her choose right in front of everyone." "Let's see how long she can keep up this little act." On the final day of Isabella's trial run as the Donna, Luca summoned me back to the estate. He claimed the seven days were up, everything taken from me would be handed back in person, and that it was time we dealt with our mess once and for all. I made my final trip to the villa. Peeking through the crack in the door, I saw the living room already staged for their annual "game over" reveal. Champagne, cake, streamers—and walls plastered with photos of my past mental breakdowns. Beneath each photo were the original bet slips. [How many minutes before Viola starts crying?] [Will she smash the place up this time?] [Is she gonna drop to her knees and beg Luca not to leave her?] And this year's wager took center stage in bold ink: [Once she sees real divorce papers, how long till she breaks?] Isabella was lounge-sitting on the couch in my bathrobe—the one Luca personally took me to Milan to order when we got married. Luca stood beside her, glass in hand. Someone in the crowd started hooting. "Oh, look at you two! Viola's not even here yet, why not just have a little heart-to-heart?" "Seriously. She folds every single time anyway. Why are you two still putting on the pure childhood sweethearts act?" The guy took a swig of his drink with a dirty grin. "Last Valentine's Day, I literally saw you two coming out of a hotel together. Necks completely covered in hickeys." The whole room erupted into roars of laughter. Outside the door, my finger froze over the bell. On Valentine's Day, I was doubled over on the floor from stomach cramps, dialing Luca over a dozen times before he picked up. He told me he was tied up in a high-stakes business meeting, telling me to pop some pills or drive myself to the private clinic if I couldn't handle it. So he wasn't closing a deal. He was in a hotel bed with Isabella. Inside, Isabella looked up at Luca as if asking for permission. She hooked her finger around his tie, pulled him down, and pressed her lips to his. Luca didn't pull back. He let her kiss him for a full minute. Only after she backed off did his brows knit together slightly. Something crossed his mind, and his voice went flat. "Isabella, you took things way too far this time. Let's drop this whole game after today." A cold, bitter laugh bubbled up in my chest. It was funny how going to bed with someone could still be brushed off as "just a game." Taking a deep breath, I rang the bell and let the butler open the door. The chaotic laughter inside died instantly. Planted right in the center of the coffee table sat a set of divorce papers. Luca stared at me. A faint flash of anxiety flickered in his eyes before he could hide it, but behind it remained that same smug certainty that I would cave just like I always did. Luca's friends chuckled from the couch. "Viola, when you signed that fake contract two years ago, you cried so hard you couldn't even spell your own name. Don't let your tears ruin the paper this time!" "Don't be silly. She wouldn't dare sign it." Isabella stood up and walked over, her voice sickeningly sweet. "Don't take it to heart. Luca just wanted to see if you still cared." Luca leaned back against the sofa, looking as triumphantly composed as ever. "Admit you were jealous. Apologize to Isabella, put the ring back on, and I'll shred this right here, right now." I didn't say a word. I just kept my head down, skimming through the terms line by line. To make his little game convincing, Luca had actually drafted legally binding divorce papers. The division of assets was shockingly generous—he was a wealthy man, if nothing else. Luca probably thought I'd be like two years ago, holding the pen with trembling hands, sobbing, "Luca, are you really throwing me away?" Someone nearby even whipped out a phone, pointing the camera right at my face to capture me breaking down and losing control just like every time before, ready to turn my humiliation into cheap gossip for the Fontana family's next betting pool. The countdown started. "Three." A faint smile was already curving Luca's lips. "Two." I picked up the pen. "One." Luca's eyes widened when I stroked my signature onto the final page.