All Chapters of The DON's Princess: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Sophia's Point of View "I could hear it." The sound of my husband pleasuring another woman—her loud, shameless moans and the rhythmic pounding of the bed against the floor. This wasn’t the first time, yet every time he did it, it felt like my heart was being ripped from my chest. "Ma'am!" Beatrice's voice jolted me out of my trance. I turned to her, dazed. "Your hands, ma’am, they’re burning!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide with alarm. Only then did the pain register. "Ouch!" I winced, yanking my hands away from the flames. "Don’t worry, ma’am. I’ll handle this," Beatrice offered quickly, taking over at the stove. I nodded numbly and opened the first cabinet to retrieve a bandage for my hand. The pain was nothing compared to the ache inside me. When Beatrice finished, she handed me the tray. Breakfast for my husband and his mistress—a command he barked every morning without fail, brushing past me on his way to the bedroom. With a heavy heart, I took the tray and made my wa

Victor's point of view. I leaned back in my chair, the cold blade of the knife glinting under the dim light as I peeled an apple with deliberate precision. My focus wasn’t on the fruit, though. It was on the sniveling mess dangling over the edge of the room, blood dripping from his swollen face. Mateo's voice broke the tense silence, his desperate pleas ringing out. "Please! Please, I’m sorry I betrayed you, Don! It wasn’t intentional!" I chuckled softly, amused by his pathetic attempts at redemption. Unintentional? Was that his excuse? My gaze remained on the apple as I asked, my tone calm, almost curious, "Unintentional, you say?" He stammered, but I didn’t need his explanation. I already knew the truth. His hands didn’t "accidentally" steal an entire shipment of guns. I set the apple down, finally meeting his terrified eyes. The fear in them was satisfying—a reminder that betrayal in my world came with a steep price. Rising from my chair, I flipped the knife in my hand,

Victor's point of view. As soon as the plane touched down, I dialed Matilda’s number, my heart pounding as we moved quickly to the waiting SUV on the runway. “How is she?" I demanded as soon as Matilda picked up, my voice was sharp and to the point. There was a brief hesitation, a deadly pause that sent a chill up my spine. Then came her stammering. “I... I don’t know, sir. He... he took her to a small, abandoned warehouse in Greenwich.” “Greenwich?” I barked, loud enough for the driver to hear. Without needing further instruction, he nodded and adjusted course. “We’ll be there in ten minutes,” I said. “But you need to get there first. Stop him before he can do anything.” The silence on the other end spoke louder than words, and then came more stammering. “Sir… I… we had a problem on the way. We are still in Inwood,” she said. My eyes narrowed, anger boiling through me. How could she be so incompetent? What if something happened to Sophia before we got there? She opened her

Sophia’s Point of View: The man hesitated, his eyes narrowing for a moment as though he was searching for an answer. “I guess I was just at the right place, at the right time,” he finally said, his tone smooth. “I was following a lead, and it brought me to you.” I raised a skeptical brow, studying his face. Something didn’t add up. “A lead? Are you a cop or something?” He shook his head quickly, his jaw tightening. “Not exactly. I work in private security.” “Hmm,” I murmured, trying to read his expression, but his face remained unreadable. “Private security?” I echoed. “Like a bodyguard?” He nodded. “Something like that,” he responded. I narrowed my eyes at him. “I never knew bodyguards followed leads,” I said, trying to catch him in a lie. My gut told me he wasn’t being entirely truthful. “I’m a special kind of bodyguard,” he said, his voice tinged with pride, as though he took genuine satisfaction in his work. It made him seem slightly more believable. “They had a t

I walked into the room, my heart pounding against my chest with each step. But I couldn’t afford to let it show—not here, not now. As I entered, I caught John shifting uncomfortably in his chair, beads of sweat rolling down his temple. Good. "Let the cowards sweat," “Sophia Martins,” I announced, my eyes scanning the room. “You said she was dead,” Carlos blurted, his attention snapping to John, whose eyes darted nervously. “I... I was told she was dead,” John stammered, his voice cracking under pressure—and I liked it. “Oh? By who—the person you sent to kill me?” My voice rang out, sharp enough to draw gasps from the room. “W-what are you talking about, Sophia?” John was about to stutter some excuse when his father stepped in. "John was called by the morgue and told you were dead,” Maxwell said, his tone calm and calculated as he attempted to defuse the situation. He glanced at his son, who was visibly shaken, and smoothly continued, “You can imagine how shocked we al