Not Your Toy Anymore Chapter 01
“After tonight, we’re done,” Rafael Draven said, his fingers still tangled in my hair. We were still in bed. “I was only with you to make Zoe jealous. It worked, so now it’s over.”
Five years together, and the whole thing had been a game to him.
I didn’t cry. Didn’t scream. I packed one suitcase, flew to New York, and enrolled in medical school.
New number, new email, no forwarding address. Los Angeles stopped existing for me.
By the time I finished my residency, I’d built a reputation that spoke for itself.
I married a man who loved me the way I deserved. We had a son who made every sleepless night worth it.
I became the youngest surgeon ever considered for chief of surgery at St. Aurelia Medical Center.
On paper, St. Aurelia was the most elite private surgical hospital in New York. In practice, it was neutral ground for every mafia family in the city. Any family could bring their wounded through our doors, but nobody pulled a trigger inside.
I’d convinced myself Rafael was a closed chapter. Then a request came in from one of the L.A. families, asking me to come out for a private surgical consult.
Going back to L.A., I figured Rafael and Zoe Anderson were living their happily-ever-after by now. It had nothing to do with me.
Then I rang the doorbell at the Draven estate, and Rafael was the one standing on the other side.
Neither of us moved for what felt like an eternity.
He recovered first. His jaw tightened, and his voice dropped into that flat, bored register he saved for people beneath him. “You here about the caregiver position?”
A caregiver. He looked at me and saw a caregiver.
Five years, and he still thought I was the same girl he’d used up and thrown away.
Good. Let him think that.
…
Before I could answer, his phone rang. He answered on speaker, and Zoe’s voice spilled out, sweet as ever.
“Babe, let’s take the boat out after dinner and set off fireworks. A little pre-celebration before the Don’s surgery.”
My grip on my medical bag went white-knuckle.
That voice. I knew that voice. Five years ago, it had been screaming at Rafael across a crowded banquet hall.
“Her or me, Rafael. Pick one.” And Rafael hadn’t even flinched. His voice came out cold, like the answer had been ready for months.
“We’re done, Seraphina.” He didn’t even lower his voice. “I was only with you to get under Zoe’s skin. She’s figured out what she wants now, so there’s no point anymore.”
I couldn’t remember leaving the banquet hall. Couldn’t remember if I walked or ran. All I remembered was every pair of eyes in that room, some pitying, some laughing, all watching me fall apart.
For five years, I’d mistaken performance for love. Every gentle word, every careful touch — all of it had been an act. I was never his girlfriend. I was a prop in whatever twisted game he was playing with Zoe.
A woman’s voice cut in from the hallway. “Rafael, stop blocking the doorway and let her in.”
Claire Draven. His mother. She’d always been the kind one in that family.
I smiled at Claire, slipped past Rafael without a word, and headed upstairs. I’d operated on mafia patients before — plenty of times — but always in New York.
Every family I’d worked with treated me with respect. This was my first time taking a case outside the city.
I’d taken the job because the procedure was rare and surgically complex — the kind of case that could anchor a published paper. What I hadn’t known was that the patient was Rafael’s grandfather, Bastian Draven. The former Don Draven.
The family’s consigliere had been my point of contact, keeping the whole arrangement discreet. He walked me through the old man’s charts, told me the surgery wasn’t urgent, and invited me down for dinner.
He asked me to keep the Don’s condition confidential. Of course. That was standard.
Dinner was easy, relaxed. Halfway through, my phone started buzzing nonstop. I glanced down — my son had flooded the screen with voice messages.
I couldn’t help smiling. I ducked my head and typed back.
[Miss you too, baby. Mom will be home as soon as she’s done with work.]
My husband’s reply came right after. [So you only miss him and not me?]
My smile widened. [I miss you too.]
When I looked up, Rafael was staring straight at me. Those gray eyes, sharp and searching. He had to be wondering why the hired help was sitting at the family table.
But the Dravens had always styled themselves as protectors of their people — half the made men at this table had started at the bottom. A caregiver eating with the family wouldn’t raise eyebrows.
I didn’t owe him an explanation. I went back to my plate.
Claire didn’t know about my medical credentials, only that the Don’s consigliere had arranged for me to stay. She turned to Rafael.
“Weren’t you heading out for the fireworks? Take Seraphina along. Show her around.”
I opened my mouth to decline, but Rafael was already on his feet, keys in hand, walking toward me.
“Come on. We’ll swing by the water, and I’ll drop you at your hotel after.”
Arguing in front of Claire would only make things worse. I followed him to the car.
“Just drop me at the corner.” I kept my voice level. Friendly enough. Nothing more.
He didn’t even glance over. I said it again.
This time he looked at me, and the corner of his mouth curled into something mean.
“Relax. You think I’m trying to win you back?”
I met his eyes without flinching. Kept my voice easy.
“Didn’t cross my mind. I just promised my son a video call before bedtime, so I can’t be out late.”
Rafael let out a short, careless laugh.
“A son.” He glanced over, grinning wider. “That’s the story you’re going with? Trying to prove you’ve moved on?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. Even if you wanted me back, it wouldn’t happen.” He faced the road again. “Claire likes having guests to cook for. That’s the only reason you’re in my car.”
“That’s all this is.”
There was nothing left to say. I pulled out my phone and texted my son to go to sleep without waiting up for me.
The car stopped at the waterfront. I hadn’t been tracking the time.
By day, San Pedro looked almost innocent.
Tourists in line for fish tacos, kids chasing seagulls, the hulls of cruise ships blazing white in the sun. The breeze smelled like salt and lemons. But at night, when the postcards ended, the shadows belonged to the families.
I used to think this place was romantic. That felt like another lifetime.
A cluster of men lingering in the shadows spotted me. One of them stepped forward.
“Seraphina?” The name dripped off his tongue like a joke he’d been saving.
“Well, look at that. Didn’t you wash out of med school? Rafael tried to set you up with a job out of the goodness of his heart, and you just disappeared.”
Mason Miller looked around, playing to the crowd. “We figured you had some pride, at least. But here you are, crawling back because you couldn’t hack it anywhere else?”
The laughter hit like a wave.
“Hate to break it to you, but that ship sailed. Rafael’s next in line for Don. And Zoe? She’s a department chief. The two of them together — that’s a power couple. You’re not even in the picture.”
That’s when Zoe stepped out of the shadows. Glamorous as ever. “Oh, stop it.” Her voice was silk over steel. “Seraphina wouldn’t have left L.A. in the first place if it wasn’t for me and Rafael.”
“She’s clearly struggling, and honestly? Rafael and I have to own some of that.” She walked up to me, chin lifted, wearing generosity like a crown.
“Tell you what — my hospital’s looking for nursing assistants. If you’re really stuck, I can put in a word with the director. Get you something stable.”
I turned her down. The crowd didn’t like that.
“Seriously, Seraphina? You show up in Rafael’s city, get right in his face, and you won’t even take a handout? What’s your angle?”
“Zoe’s doing you a favor and you’re turning up your nose? What, too good for it?” The one talking — Mason — swaggered over with a bottle dangling from his hand. He grabbed my wrist before I could step back, grinning like this was entertainment.
“I’ll make you a deal. You look like you need the help.” He shoved the bottle toward my face. “Chug this, and maybe I’ll toss some pity cash your way for rent.”
Zoe watched from the side, arms folded, same look she’d always had. Like I existed for her amusement.
Not this time.
I was already reaching for the bottle — not to drink, but to break it across Mason’s face — when Rafael’s hand shot out and locked around the man’s arm.
“Stop.”