Becoming My Don Husband's Worst Mistake

Pain tore through my body like a wild beast.

The doctor was working on my shattered ribs. When the cold instruments touched the wound, I clenched my jaw so hard I nearly bit through my tongue.

The contusion in my left lung made every breath feel like swallowing broken glass. Blood had soaked through the padding beneath the hospital bed, gleaming dark red under the dim lights.

"Madeline's injuries require RGF-9 regenerative factor," the doctor said. "It's a specialized drug we acquired from Switzerland at considerable expense—it accelerates bone healing. Mr. Falcone, you should retrieve it from Bianca."

My vision blurred as I looked toward the doorway. Dante stood there in his impeccable dark suit, his expression as cold as if he were regarding a broken piece of furniture.

"Madeline recovers quickly. She doesn't need it." His voice held no inflection. "Save the medication. Bianca has her neck lift scheduled for next month. She'll need the best recovery drugs available."

He paused. "And Mia just underwent her transplant. Prepare all the premium painkillers and immunosuppressants. I won't have her experiencing any discomfort."

The doctor's hand froze mid-air. "But... standard pain medication would suffice. Transplants can use safer matching protocols. There was no need to go to such... lengths."

My heart stopped.

"Donor matching takes time. I couldn't let Mia wait any longer." Dante's tone was like discussing an investment. "Leo's marrow was cultivated for eight years. It was the perfect match."

The doctor's face turned ashen. "But—"

"Enough. You only need to ensure the transplant succeeds. The rest isn't your concern."

At that moment, his assistant entered, handing Dante a tablet.

Through the gaps in the bed rails, I caught sight of the screen—an image I would never forget.

Three hours before the equestrian exhibition, Dante had entered Starlight's stable. He pulled a spiked metal piece from his pocket, concealed it beneath the saddle, then handed the stable manager a thick envelope.

"It's been handled cleanly," the assistant murmured. "Surveillance shows you were in the VIP lounge the entire time. And that stable manager... he's at the bottom of the bay now."

Dante nodded. "Good. Can't let this damage my standing with the family."

The doctor and nurses hurried out.

After they left, I finally broke down. Tears mixed with blood fell on my fractured ribs, stinging every nerve. But this pain was nothing compared to what I felt inside.

The mastermind behind all of this was the man I'd been married to for eight years.

He and Bianca's daughter needed bone marrow—that orphan girl adopted by the Falcone family, that "sister" I had once genuinely cared for, that woman who had given birth to Mia for Dante four years ago.

So he chose to sacrifice my son—orchestrating an "accident" to take Leo's life and bone marrow, rather than waiting for safe protocols.

Just last night, Leo had been lying in my arms, his eyes shining: "Mama, will Dad watch me perform tomorrow? I've practiced so long. I want him to know I can jump the highest obstacles!"

He loved Dante so much.

He practiced riding every day, just hoping his father would notice. He'd saved three months of allowance to buy him riding gloves for his birthday. He'd written in his diary: I want to make Dad proud.

But in Dante's eyes, he had never been a son.

He was merely a living bone marrow bank for Mia. A resource cultivated for eight years, waiting to be harvested.

Dante Falcone, you never deserved him.

Hearing my sobs, Dante approached. He bent down to wipe my face, his voice carrying perfect tenderness: "Madeline, don't cry. Are your ribs hurting too much? The doctor's already given you something. Just bear it a little longer. The pain will pass."

"I'm sorry about that damned horse... I should have checked the saddle beforehand. I couldn't save Leo, and now your ribs are broken. But from now on, I'll take care of you. I won't let you get hurt again."

But he was the one who had orchestrated all this pain!

I used all my strength to push away his hand, my nails scratching his skin. My voice came out hoarse: "Give me back my Leo!"

Dante caught my wrist—deliberately pressing on the injury—and gently kissed my fingertips. "I'm sorry. To let Leo rest in peace... I've arranged a burial at sea after the memorial service. It's what we do in my family. He'll be with the ocean."

Burial at sea after the memorial.

He wouldn't even give me a few more days with Leo.

A sea burial meant no body, no grave, no evidence.

How thoroughly he'd planned this.

My body trembled. Not just from pain, but from rage. Sweat mixed with blood, soaking the padding beneath the bed, but I forced myself to stay conscious.

I looked directly into his eyes, my voice shaking: "What about the private equestrian club you spent three years building for Leo? You said it was for his eighteenth birthday... why not lay him to rest there?"

Dante avoided my gaze. "That club's maintenance costs are too high. I sold those racehorses—brought in about six million. As for Starlight... a horse that caused an accident can't be kept. It's already been dealt with, along with that stable manager."

Dealt with.

As simple as disposing of two unwanted items. A horse, a man—both just loose ends that needed tying up.

And Leo's body was still lying in the adjacent operating room, his blood not yet dried, but Dante had already erased all the evidence.

"Six million?" I stared at him, each word like spitting blood. "Leo's dream, the club he talked about every single night—that's all it's worth to you? Six million dollars?"

Dante shrugged, as if explaining a routine business decision: "Dead people don't need racehorses. That money invested in Mia's future makes more sense. Think of it as doing good in Leo's name."

He paused, adding: "I'm sure he wouldn't blame me. After all, he had such a good heart."

A good heart.

Yes, Leo had a good heart.

So he was cultivated as a spare part for eight years, meticulously murdered, stripped of his bone marrow and life, had all his dreams liquidated.

And in the end, his name would be used to justify it all—to fulfill Dante's twisted notion of doing "good."

I closed my eyes, unable to stop the tears.

Eight years of marriage. I thought I knew Dante. I thought he was just emotionally distant, unable to express love. I thought someday he would learn to love Leo.

But I was wrong.

He had never loved Leo.

From the moment Leo was still in my womb, he had it all planned—eight years of cultivation, just waiting for the day Mia would need that marrow.

My hand slowly clenched the bedsheet, nails digging into my palm. Blood seeped out, staining the white fabric red.