Don’s Scapegoat Mistress: I’m the Mafia Boss

My blood froze in that single second.

Too low-status?

A shameful mistress who couldn’t be seen in public?

Every word stabbed straight into the softest part of my heart.

So, in his circle, I didn’t even qualify as a “girlfriend.” I was just an inconvenience he couldn’t put on the table.

Three years ago, to escape a vicious family civil war, I changed my name and identity and lived like a shadow—working at a small company by the docks, taking a paycheck that barely kept me afloat, refusing to be tied to any “family” at all.

Until that accident, when I saved Noah’s life.

Gunshots exploded in the alley. I could’ve turned and walked away, but I saw him sprawled in blood, still gripping his gun like his life depended on it—and my heart softened.

Later, everyone said the same thing: Noah of the Miller Family was cold-blooded enough, ruthless enough.

But he lost his mind over me anyway.

I casually said I wanted cotton candy, and he bought a sugar factory, ordered them to change the formula, made “sweetness meant for me alone.” I said I wanted to see a meteor shower, and he chartered a jet overnight just to get back to the States—just to stand under the same sky, hold my hand, and make me wish on falling stars.

And the time I got kidnapped by our enemies?

Noah didn’t bring anyone. He came alone—trading his own life for mine.

He stood in that warehouse with his hands raised, spine straight.

All he wanted was for me to walk out alive.

I grew up watching family wars. I knew how cheap “sincerity” was in our world.

But he laid his sincerity out in front of me like an offering, until I couldn’t help believing it.

Even the old Don and Donna finally relented. That night, he came to me fresh from punishment.

Ninety-nine lashes. Blood glued his shirt to his back. Yet he still smiled, lowered his head to kiss me like it didn’t hurt, voice hoarse and stubborn.

“Olivia, I don’t care about status or identity. For you, I’d take punishment for the rest of my life.”

Now that I think about it… it’s a joke.

I stood outside the door, hidden by the shadow of a hallway, listening to him talk to his friends.

The sitting room was bright. Cigar smoke mixed with alcohol drifted out. I stayed rooted there, fingers trembling.

Someone asked carefully, “If Olivia finds out those three days every month when you ‘get punished’… you’re actually back at the old estate with Sophia and the twins…”

My breathing stopped.

Twins?

Noah’s voice was calm—certain, and cruel.

“She won’t leave me. Even if she knows, she won’t be able to.”

In that moment, my world collapsed.

It felt like someone was laughing in my ear. Pain shook through my limbs.

So, the so-called “punishment” was never for me.

Those three days he “disappeared” every month—he was back home being the husband he was supposed to be, the father he was supposed to be. Staying with his wife. Comforting his children. Then coming back to me—holding me, kissing me, coaxing me soft again, coaxing me into thinking I was the only one.

What was I?

A mistress who couldn’t be seen in daylight.

In that instant, my brain blew white-hot.

Not anger—clarity.

I didn’t even have the strength to confront him.

I only wanted to run.

The night wind sliced into my ears. I ran faster and faster.

My foot slipped. My knee smashed into gravel—skin split open, and the smell of blood spread in the air.

I was shaking from the pain.

But my chest hurt worse.

My phone rang.

Caller ID: Ethan, the butler from the old estate.

His voice was as respectful as ever.

“Olivia. After a unanimous family decision, we’ll be holding a recognition ceremony for you in half a month. It will be grand.”

With trembling fingers, I wiped my eyes dry, voice steady.

“I’ll make everyone recognize me again.”

Ethan answered, “Yes,” then hesitated and added, “Also, Olivia—happy 25th birthday.”

Happy birthday.

My whole body jerked. So today was my twenty-fifth.

I hung up, fingers shaking as I opened my chat with Noah.

Empty.

Not a single birthday message.

I laughed.

On my twenty-fifth birthday, heaven gave me my first gift: a bloody lesson—never hand your heart over too easily, especially not to a man.

I dragged my weak legs back to the place he called “home.”

When I turned on the light, the harsh brightness revealed luxury gift boxes piled on the sofa, and a dazzling birthday cake on the table.

Before I could even process it, an arm slid around my waist from behind.

Noah pressed close.

“Olivia, it’s your birthday. Make a wish.”

He was so close his breath brushed my ear. And on him—there was a faint milky scent.

The kind that only clings to you after you’ve been in a nursery, after you’ve held children.

My stomach twisted hard. Acid rose in my throat.

I turned my face and stared at him. “No punishment today? The injuries on you—”

His expression stiffened for a split second—two seconds at most, but long enough for me to see it: beneath the polished mask was a lie he’d practiced a thousand times.

Then he recovered, smiling like nothing happened.

“The old estate was in a good mood today. They didn’t punish me.”

He pinched my waist lightly.

“Don’t talk about that. Blow out the candles. Make a wish. This is the third birthday I’ve spent with you. We’ll have countless more.”

I watched him lie without even blinking, and something inside me caved in, piece by piece.

I finally understood: it wasn’t that he couldn’t lie—he just never thought I deserved the truth.

I leaned over the cake and blew out the candles.

In the dark, the flames died one by one. And in my heart, I spoke every word slowly and clearly—

Noah, you don’t deserve my heart. I’ll make you regret lying to me!