THE DON WHO SHOULDN'T BE MINE

Davina's POV

There were bad surprises. And then there was the kind that made you wish you'd stayed in bed.

Like this one.

I was seconds from freaking out. But luckily, no one was looking at me-yet. All eyes were on him. And his eyes were fixed on me.

"Carlotta's little sister, right?" he said, all polite like we hadn't already met under far less polite circumstances. "Nice to finally meet you."

I stared at his hand like it might bite me. He had to know. There was no way I looked that different from how I looked that night.

"I... Uh, yeah. Pleasure," I mumbled, tripping over the words like a complete idiot.

And just like that, the spotlight turned. Everyone was looking at me now.

My mother's mouth fell open. Carlotta looked smug. My dad? Blank as ever.

Diego let go of my hand after one quick shake and casually wrapped his arm around Carlotta's waist. She looked up at him like she was seeing some prince or something.

"Would you excuse us for a moment?" she said sweetly. "There are a few people just dying to meet him."

"Of course, darling," Mom cooed.

They disappeared into the crowd. And I was left standing there, trying not to scream into the nearest shrub.

There was no way my sister's fiancé was the same guy I slept with five weeks ago I hooked up with the other night.

He would've said something. Done something. Right?

That was when I saw him.

He was across the garden, half-hidden behind Carlotta's college friends, laughing and looking relaxed-with that familiar mouth, sharp jaw, and unmistakable smirk.

And then-he turned.

His eyes locked on mine.

And just like that, I knew.

He recognized me.

He was just pretending not to.

My heart pounded so loud I could barely hear the music.

"Stop staring," Mom hissed, elbowing me. "That's your sister's fiancé."

I jerked like she slapped me.

"What? I wasn't-God, Mom, seriously?"

She gave me that look. The one that said, don't lie to me, I gave birth to you.

"Coming from someone whose cheeks are currently the color of tomato paste..." she muttered.

I didn't laugh. I couldn't.

Because suddenly, everything felt wrong.

The air was too tight. The garden spun. The sound of chatter and clinking glasses felt drowned out by the music and the blood rushing in my ears.

"I'll be right back," I said, already walking.

I barely made it inside before I lost it.

My hands shook as I turned on the faucet. Cold water hit my face, but it didn't help. My heart raced, my throat tightened, and it felt like I stepped into traffic.

Fingers gripped the sink like it was the only thing holding me up.

Get it together. Now.

But the girl in the mirror wasn't listening.

The girl in the mirror was already falling apart-eyes wild, cheeks pale, lips pressed so tight they trembled anyway.

That evening, when I had met Diego for the first time, I had just fought with Dad. It was the kind of fight that made the air heavy and the walls feel too loud. He always favored Carlotta. He never tried to hide it. To him, she was the golden child. She could do no wrong. Me? I was the black sheep. The disappointment.

I was eighteen. All I wanted was some space-my own space. Just like Carlotta got when she moved out a few weeks after her eighteenth birthday. But when I said that, Dad got angry. Loudly. Things got worse. Words were shouted. Then Mom slapped me. She had never done that before.

I grabbed my jacket and stormed out of the house. I didn't know where I was going. I just ran. My heart was pounding, my chest was burning, and tears were stinging my eyes.

That's when I crashed into someone.

He caught me before I fell. He was steady and calm, like nothing bad had happened. I must have looked like a mess-puffy eyes, blotchy face, still wearing my anger like armor. But he didn't flinch. He asked if I was okay. When I didn't answer, he offered me a ride.

I said yes.

Maybe I shouldn't have.

We didn't talk much. We just drove. We ended up parked at some overlook I barely remembered from high school parties. It was quiet, isolated, and safe in a strange way. I don't know why I opened up, but I did. I told him about the fight, about Carlotta, and about never feeling like I belonged.

He didn't say anything to comfort me. He didn't have to.

He just listened.

One thing led to another. It wasn't planned. It wasn't slow. It was messy and impulsive-probably a mistake. But at that moment, it felt like the only thing holding me together.

I didn't even ask his name.

Not until later.

The restroom door opened behind me, and I heard footsteps.

I froze, praying it wasn't Mom.

I couldn't handle her walking in, asking what was wrong or if I wanted to talk-not here, not now, not while panic still clung to me.

Then I smelled it.

The scent wrapped around me-cool and woodsy, with a deeper, smoky pull that sank into my nerves before I could stop it.

My stomach turned.

It was the same one the man wore at dinner, the one my sister introduced as her fiancé.

I kept my head down but glanced up just enough to see the mirror, silently praying he would leave before I had to face him-then his reflection appeared behind me.

We locked eyes for a split second, and though his face stayed still, something flickered in his eyes-maybe recognition, shock, or guilt-I couldn't tell.

Then it was gone.

He blinked, the cold mask returned, and he stepped back, already turning to leave.

"Don't you dare," I said, voice cracking.

He froze mid-step.

I turned slowly to face him. "Are you going to act like you don't know me?"

He turned fully toward me, and for a brief moment, the icy detachment slipped.

"What would you have me do about it?" he asked.

It was a fair question-fair enough to make me doubt myself. Maybe I should play along; it would be safer, smarter. But I just couldn't.

"Did you know?" I blurted out.

"Did I know who you were that night?" he repeated. "No. Fuck no. I met Carlotta two weeks after you and I ran into each other."

I folded my arms. "Do you actually expect me to believe that?"

He didn't flinch or blink-just tilted his head with that same infuriating calm.

"Believe whatever helps you sleep. I'm not here to convince you."

His calm voice, like I was the one being dramatic, set something off in me. My voice shook.

"We were never supposed to cross paths again," I said, barely keeping it together. "And now-boom-you show up with my sister on your arm, flashing a ring, pretending like you didn't fuck me eight and a half weeks ago."

Great. Now my hands were shaking, and of course he saw it.

"You need to get a grip," he growled, taking a step closer. "Your sister doesn't need to know what happened between us. I can keep my mouth shut. Can you?"

I shouldn't say it. It would be easier to keep the last bit of information to myself. Telling him wouldn't do any good.

"What the hell am I supposed to tell my mom, my dad, and my sister? That it's a coincidence my baby has your face?"