Nessa POV

The next morning, the smell of bacon grease clawed me awake.

Usually, it was a comforting scent, rich and grounding. Today, however, paired with Rissa's voice still echoing in the recesses of my mind, it triggered a violent, uncontrollable wave of nausea.

I barely made it to the bathroom before I retched into the porcelain bowl, my knuckles white as I gripped the rim.

My body was rejecting everything. The food, the stress, the suffocating weight of the lie.

"Nessa?"

Xander appeared in the doorway, holding a tray with a bowl of bird's nest soup.

He looked concerned-the very picture of a doting husband. The perfect actor.

"I heard you getting sick," he said softly, setting the tray on the vanity with calculated care. "I made this for you. It's good for the baby."

He reached out, his thumbs beginning to massage my temples.

His fingers were warm.

I flinched violently.

"Don't," I said, pulling away as if burned.

He paused, a flicker of annoyance marring his features before he smoothed it over into a mask of patience.

"You're being hormonal, babe," he said, his tone dripping with condescension. "You need to relax."

He tried to pull me into a hug, forcing an intimacy I no longer wanted.

And then I smelled it on him.

Underneath the sharp tang of his expensive cologne, there was a faint, sweet scent.

Vanilla and jasmine.

Rissa's perfume.

"Did you sleep well?" I asked, my voice tight and brittle.

"Like a log," he lied without skipping a beat. "I was worried about you all night, though."

He hadn't been in bed. I had checked at 3 AM. His side was ice cold.

"Xander," I said, forcing myself to look him in the eye. "Have you ever broken your vows? The Omertà of our marriage?"

He laughed-a nervous, tinny sound that didn't reach his eyes. "What kind of question is that? You're my life, Nessa."

He leaned in to kiss me.

Outside, a sudden clap of thunder shook the house, mirroring the storm breaking inside me.

I jerked back, gasping.

Xander grabbed my shoulders, his grip suddenly painful, holding me too tight. "You're acting hysterical. You need to calm down or you'll hurt the baby."

"Let go of me," I said.

"I'm protecting you!" he snapped, his mask slipping revealing the predator beneath for a fraction of a second.

A knock at the door interrupted us.

It was the maid, Maria. She looked pale, her eyes wide with fright.

"Mr. Vane," she whispered. "Security breach at the perimeter."

Xander's face went white. He released me instantly.

"Stay here," he ordered, his voice hard. "Don't move."

He ran out of the room without a backward glance.

I sat on the edge of the bathtub, trembling in the sudden silence.

My phone buzzed again.

Rissa.

He's not checking security. He's checking on me. I told him I had a cramp.

Then, a photo loaded on the screen.

It was a close-up of Xander's bare back.

Over his heart, where he had once promised to tattoo my name, there was fresh ink.

It wasn't my name.

It was a red heart with a jagged line through it.

And underneath, in elegant, mocking script: R.

A matching photo followed. Rissa's shoulder, with an X tattooed in the same spot.

He hasn't touched you since you got pregnant because he saves himself for me, the text read. He says your skin feels like paper.

I stared at the tattoo in the photo, my vision blurring.

I remembered the night he came home with a bandage on his chest, claiming he got grazed by a bullet during a collection.

I had cried over that bandage. I had tenderly cleaned the wound.

It wasn't a bullet. It was a brand of ownership.

He belonged to her.

I sat there until the sun went down and the room turned gray, shadows swallowing the corners.

I didn't cry. I was done crying.

I picked up my phone and opened an encrypted messaging app.

I typed a message to the contact Carlo had given me. A contact that operated outside the Outfit, in the dark corners where even the Mafia didn't dare to tread.

I'm ready to cooperate.

Name your price.

Nessa POV

I woke not to an alarm, but to the swelling strain of violins.

Disoriented, I squinted at the clock on my nightstand. 7:00 PM. The heaviness in my limbs told me I had slept through the entire day, my body shutting down under the crushing weight of grief.

I dragged myself out of bed and moved to the landing of the grand staircase. The sight below stopped me cold.

The Great Hall had been transformed. Crystal chandeliers cast a prism of light over round tables draped in heavy white silk. A sea of people in tuxedos and evening gowns mingled below, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume and imported lilies.

A birthday gala.

My birthday was next week. I hadn't celebrated it in a decade, not since Mom died. But as my eyes adjusted, I realized with a sinking heart that this wasn't for me.

Above the limestone fireplace, my mother's portrait-a breathtaking oil painting of her in her prime-was gone.

In its place hung a massive, gaudy photograph of Serena, my father's mistress-turned-wife, smiling down like a conquering queen.

I gripped the banister so hard my knuckles turned white.

Thomas, the head butler, hurried past with a tray of champagne. He kept his head low, refusing to meet my eyes.

"Thomas," I called out, my voice raspy from disuse. "Where is my mother's painting?"

He paused, his posture rigid. "Mr. Vane ordered it moved to storage, Madam," he whispered, shame coloring his tone. "Miss Rissa thought it was... gloomy."

Gloomy.

I descended the stairs, my bare feet silent on the marble. The crowd parted as I approached, whispers trailing in my wake like smoke.

"That's her," someone murmured behind a fan. "The poor thing."

"I heard the estate is already in Serena's name," another voice hissed.

Salvo spotted me first. He was swaying slightly, a champagne flute in hand, his face flushed with drink.

"Nessa!" he shouted, waving me over with exaggerated enthusiasm. "Come pay respects to your new mother."

He pointed a thick finger at Serena, who was holding court in the center of the room. She was draped in diamonds-diamonds that looked suspiciously like the set my grandmother had left to me.

"Happy Birthday, Serena," I said, my voice flat.

"It isn't today, dear," Serena smiled, her lips stretching into a thin, predatory line. "But we have so much to celebrate. The family is finally... whole."

Before I could retort, Rissa entered the room.

The air left my lungs in a painful rush.

She was clinging to Xander's arm, preening like a peacock. But it wasn't seeing my husband with her that stopped my heart.

It was the dress.

She was wearing a vintage emerald green silk gown. My mother's dress.

It wasn't just any dress. It was the one Mom had worn to her last anniversary dinner. The one I kept in a sealed, climate-controlled garment bag in my private vault. Rissa hadn't just borrowed it; she had raided my sanctuary.

Xander was beaming. He held up a hand, silencing the orchestra and the room.

"Tonight," Xander announced, his voice booming with performative pride, "I present a token of my devotion. A 'True Heart' diamond."

He snapped open a velvet box. Inside, a massive pink diamond caught the chandelier's light.

He turned to Rissa, not me.

The room fell into a stunned silence.

"For the woman who carries the future of the Lino family," he declared.

He realized his mistake a second too late. The whispers rose again, sharper this time. He turned to me, his smile faltering into something brittle. "Nessa, darling, come here. Rissa was just... modeling it for you."

I ignored the diamond. I ignored him. I walked straight up to Rissa.

"Take it off," I said. My voice was low, trembling with dangerous rage.

Rissa smirked, leaning back into Xander's chest. "What? The necklace?"

"The dress," I snarled. "Take off my mother's dress."

"You're making a scene," Xander hissed, stepping between us to shield her. "It's just a dress, Nessa. Rissa fit into it better. You're too big right now."

The cruelty of his words slapped me harder than a physical blow.

"It's an heirloom!" I shouted, my control snapping. "She is a thief!"

I lunged for her. I didn't want to hurt her; I just wanted to rip that sacred silk off her unholy body.

Xander grabbed my wrists, his grip bruisingly tight. "Stop it!" he yelled.

Rissa saw her chance.

She threw herself backward. It wasn't a stumble; it was a launch, executed with theatrical force.

"Ahhh!" she screamed, crashing onto the polished floor.

In the chaos, she reached up and yanked the shoulder strap of the dress herself. The sound of tearing silk-rip-echoed through the silent hall.

"She's attacking me!" Rissa shrieked, clutching her stomach. "Xander, help! The baby!"

The guests gasped in collective horror.

Xander shoved me. Hard.

I stumbled back, my center of gravity thrown off. My lower back slammed into the sharp edge of a heavy oak table.

Pain exploded in my spine, radiating outward in blinding waves. I crumpled to the floor, the world spinning.

"You crazy bitch!" Xander roared at me.

He dropped to his knees beside Rissa, who was sobbing tearlessly.

"Are you okay? Did she hurt you?" Salvo was there too, fussing over Rissa like a worried hen.

Nobody looked at me.

Then, I felt it. A warm, terrifying wetness trickling down my leg.

I touched my inner thigh. When I pulled my hand away, my fingers were stained crimson.

"Xander," I whispered, my voice breaking. "Blood."

He looked over his shoulder at me.

His eyes were cold. Dead. Devoid of any recognition that I was his wife, or that I carried his child.

"You did this to yourself," he spat. "Reflect on your sins, Nessa."

He scooped Rissa up into his arms, treating her like fragile porcelain, while I bled out on the cold marble floor.

"Clear the room!" Salvo shouted.

The guests hurried out, casting looks of disdain at the jealous, violent pregnant woman on the floor.

And then, silence descended. I was utterly, devastatingly alone.

Nessa POV

I lay on the cold floor for what felt like hours, though the clock insisted it had only been minutes.

The silence of the villa was no longer peaceful; it was deafening.

Every inch of my body screamed in protest as I dragged myself to my purse to find my phone. My fingers trembled as I tried to call an ambulance.

Service Suspended.

Panic flared in my chest. I tried to use a ride-share app.

Payment Declined.

Cold realization washed over me. They had frozen everything. My cards, my phone plan, my life.

I was a ghost in my own home.

Somehow, I managed to crawl to the landline in the kitchen and dial a local taxi company. I paid the driver with the diamond earrings I was wearing-the only assets I had left on my body.

Seven days passed.

Seven days of hell.

I was staying in a run-down motel on the outskirts of the city, hiding like a fugitive.

The bleeding had finally stopped, but the cramping was constant, a dull ache that never let me forget the danger. I needed a doctor, but I couldn't go to the family physician. They would report me to Xander in a heartbeat.

I checked social media on a prepaid burner phone I'd bought with cash pawned from my watch.

Rissa had posted photos.

Family Vacation in the Maldives. Healing from the trauma.

They were drinking cocktails on a beach while I was bleeding in a Motel 6.

A notification popped up.

A viral post from a gossip site.

The Truth About the Lino Sisters.

It featured a photo of Rissa's marriage license-the real one.

But the caption twisted the narrative into something unrecognizable.

Sources say Nessa Lino seduced her sister's husband and tried to pass off her illegitimate child as the heir. The brave Rissa Lino finally reclaimed her place.

They were rewriting history. Making me the mistress. Making my child the bastard.

My phone rang. It was Carlo.

"They're moving fast, Nessa," his voice was tight, urgent. "Salvo has called a shareholder meeting in three days. He plans to sell the Lino shares to a shell company owned by Serena."

"He can't," I said, my voice raspy from disuse. "The trust..."

"He's forging your signature on a consent form. If that sale goes through, the assets are gone before the 'Clean Hands' clause can trigger."

"I have to stop him."

"You need to stay hidden," Carlo warned. "There's a hit out on you. Xander told the soldiers you've gone mental and are a danger to the family."

"I'm going to the clinic," I said, ignoring his warning. "I need to check on the baby. Then I'm going to war."

I pulled a hoodie over my head and went to a low-end community clinic nearby.

The waiting room was crowded, smelling of stale coffee and antiseptic.

I kept my head down, but the TV in the corner was playing the news.

My face was on the screen. Wanted for Questioning: Mental instability.

A woman sitting opposite me squinted, her eyes darting from the screen to my face.

"Hey," she said, her voice shrill. "Ain't that the homewrecker?"

The room went quiet.

"Yeah," a man sneered, standing up. "That's the bitch who attacked her pregnant sister."

I stood up to leave, heart hammering against my ribs.

"Not so fast," the woman said, grabbing my arm with surprising strength. "You think you can just walk away after what you did?"

"Let me go," I said, panic rising in my throat.

I dialed Xander's number on the burner phone. I didn't know why. Maybe I wanted him to hear me die.

Rissa answered.

"Well, look who it is," she laughed, the sound grating. "The rat crawls out of the sewer."

"Put Xander on," I gritted out.

"He's busy," she said. "But I'll put you on speaker."

"Xander!" I screamed. "They're going to kill me!"

I heard his voice in the background, cold and detached. "Is that her? Tell her to sign the papers and I'll call off the dogs."

"Did you hear that, sister?" Rissa mocked. "Sign the assets over, and maybe we'll let you live."

The woman in the clinic shoved me hard. I stumbled back, hitting the wall.

"Get her!" someone yelled.

A man picked up a metal chair. He raised it high, aiming for my head.

I curled into a ball, protecting my stomach.

I closed my eyes, waiting for the impact.

Thud.

The sound was heavy, meaty. But I felt no pain.

I opened my eyes.

A shadow had fallen over me, blocking out the harsh fluorescent lights.

A man stood there. He had caught the metal chair with one arm. His suit jacket strained against the muscle as he held the weight effortlessly.

He didn't even look at the attacker. He tore the chair from the man's grip and tossed it aside like it was made of cardboard.

The room froze. The air temperature seemed to drop ten degrees.

The man turned to face the crowd.

His eyes were the color of gunmetal. His jaw was set in a line of pure, unadulterated violence.

Killian Qiro.

He looked down at me, huddled on the dirty floor.

Then he looked at the mob.

"Who dares?" his voice was a low growl that vibrated in my chest. "Who dares call a Qiro child a bastard?"

He reached down.

I flinched, instinctively bracing for another blow.

He paused, his expression softening for a fraction of a second.

"Easy," he whispered. "I've got you."

He scooped me up into his arms as if I weighed nothing.

I pressed my face against his chest. He smelled like rain, aged scotch, and the metallic tang of gunpowder.

"Xander..." I whispered, my vision blurring.

Killian stepped over the cowering attackers, his stride steady and lethal.

"Xander is a dead man walking," Killian said. "He just doesn't know it yet."