I went through 100 hormone shots for him—just to finally get pregnant.

Five years begging those shots to work—all for Rafe Morello. The Don with ice in his veins... but also the guy who used to wipe sweat off my forehead in the middle of the night.

Everyone thought we were goals.

Then I handed over my lab results, and the nurse paused, blinking up at me. "Sorry, what's your relationship to Rafe Morello? There's already a pregnancy under his wife's name."

I froze.

Carmela Vitale. His dead brother's wife.

Spouse listed: Rafe Morello.

Breathing? Suddenly optional.

No tears. No drama.

I just slid off my ring and tucked it into my bag.

Then I called the number buried at the bottom of my drawer. My voice? Freakishly calm. "Yeah. Three days. Pick me up."

It wasn't about revenge.

I left because I finally got it—some people, you gotta cut loose if you ever wanna stop bleeding.

Three days later, he walked into a silent bedroom.

On the nightstand: my wedding ring, the signed divorce papers, and a copy of the ultrasound.

He sat on the floor and just... kept rubbing that ring.

Regret doesn't knock. It floods. And that night, it drowned every lie he thought he could get away with.

That was when he finally figured it out—love could wreck a person worse than hate ever could.

Borevia, Armoria

I stumbled back from the hospital, still spinning. My hand was on the front door when I heard voices inside.

Rafe.

And his friend, Enzo.

Enzo's tone was off. "Rafe, Carmela's your brother's widow. So why's the hospital system calling you her husband?"

I froze.

Rafe said nothing. But that silence? Incredibly loud. The kid was his.

If there'd been even a shred of hope left—that maybe he was just helping her out, maybe he signed something without thinking—yeah, that died right there.

Enzo snapped. "You've lost it! She's pregnant. What if Mia finds out? She'll be gone."

Rafe paused. Then he dropped the bomb.

"It was a mistake with Carmela. Mia can't have kids. Once the baby's born, I'll make it look like we adopted him—as the Morello heir."

I stood outside the door, pain slicing through me like glass.

My hands shook. My knees barely held up.

Something inside cracked—maybe my heart, maybe just the last bit of hope.

I pressed a hand to my stomach, trying to breathe.

There was a baby growing in there. My baby.

Five years of fighting for this... and now all I wanted was to keep it away from this nightmare.

It didn't deserve to know. And it sure didn't deserve to be born into this family.

The second I walked in, Rafe lit up like nothing was wrong.

"Mia, you're back?" He pulled me in. "How was shopping? Tired?"

A year ago, I would've smiled. Played along.

Now? I felt sick.

He couldn't handle watching me go through the injections, so he told me to stop trying. That was last year.

But three months ago, I went back—quietly, one last shot in the dark. And somehow... it worked.

Funny. The moment it worked was the moment everything else shattered.

I turned to leave, without saying a word.

He reached for some comfort. "You must be tired, right? Go rest if you are."

Then his phone rang.

I glanced at the screen.

Carmela.

Rafe's jaw clenched as he picked up.

A second later, her voice came through—soft, dramatic, and just the right amount of pitiful. "Rafe, I burned my hand..."

His whole face shifted. Full panic mode. "Don't worry. I'm coming."

He hung up, grabbed his coat and keys, then tossed me a quick notice, "I have to step out."

And just like that, he was gone.

He didn't even look back.

The door slammed shut behind him. The whole house went dead silent.

Even the clock sounded too loud.

I stood there, still gripping my bag, fingers going numb.

The scent of his cologne and cigarettes still hung in the air. It used to feel like home. Now it made me want to throw up.

I took a breath. Forced myself not to cry.

Couldn't risk it. Didn't want to scare the baby.

My hand drifted to my stomach. Still flat. But I knew.

"It's okay," I whispered. 'We're getting out of here. We're starting over.'

I turned toward the stairs, footsteps barely making a sound.

Then my phone buzzed.

Carmela.

She sent an ultrasound.

Clear as day—a fetus.

Seconds later, poof, deleted. Followed by a message:

[Sorry, Mia. Sent that by mistake. You probably didn't see it, right?]

I stared at the "message deleted" notice, fingers icy and shaking.

Tears pricked at my eyes, but I bit them back hard.

No. Not here. Not now.

I wasn't alone anymore. There was still a life growing inside me.

I slipped my phone back into my bag, both hands over my stomach like I was guarding gold.

Right then, I knew—I couldn't stay here another second.

This world? It wasn't mine anymore.

I moved slowly and steadily, pulling out my phone and hitting the number.

"Mr. Mancini, I need everything liquidated. All my assets in Armoria. And start the divorce paperwork," I said, voice flat. "Wipe every trace. In three days, I'll be gone—with his child. He won't find us."

The next morning, I headed out to meet Mr. Mancini, my lawyer.

But the second I hit the bottom step, there she was.

Carmela.

Parked on the couch like she owned the place, draped in some flowy white dress, casually peeling fruit like this was her summer villa.

Rafe didn't waste a beat. "Carmela's place got broken into. I'm worried someone might target her. My brother was killed by a rival, remember? She's in danger. She'll stay here till I sort it out."

I swallowed every word begging to come out.

He glanced over, all casual. "You can stay in the guest room. Carmela needs quiet."

I nodded.

That was when it hit me—this wasn't my home anymore.

Even the air reeked of her.

"Okay."

Rafe blinked, like he expected a scene. Then he smiled, smug as ever. "Good girl. Move your stuff today."

I didn't say a word. Just turned and headed upstairs to pack.

"Mia!" Her voice rang out, sugary sweet. She walked over, all fake concern, gripping my hand like we were tight. "I'm so sorry for taking your room. Don't blame Rafe, okay? I'll move out once the baby's born."

I kept my eyes down. Not playing.

She paused, studied me, then leaned in close, her breath brushing my ear. "Mia, drop the calm act. I know you saw the ultrasound."

My stomach flipped. I shot her a glare.

She smiled, just barely—then hurled herself backward like a B-list actress.

"Ah!"

Fruit hit the floor, and she collapsed in a perfect mess of fake tears. "Mia, why did you push me?"

Rafe's face went pale. He shoved past me like I was the villain. "Carmela!"

I staggered, my stomach smashing into the table's edge. Pain ripped through me, my face going ghost-white.

Rafe didn't even glance my way.

Just wrapped her up in his arms, eyes cold as ice. "You knew she was pregnant and still pushed her?"

I doubled over, clutching my stomach. Couldn't even breathe, let alone talk.

Between sobs, Carmela whimpered, "She didn't mean to... She just wants a baby so badly. Seeing me like this probably broke her."

Rafe's face darkened.

"Mia, you've really disappointed me. I didn't think you'd stoop to this."

Every word hit like a punch.

And that was when I got it—

You didn't need proof to be condemned. Just one person willing to believe the lie.

Rafe lifted her up and bolted. "We're going to the hospital!"

I stood there, frozen, watching him vanish with her in his arms, cold creeping in like frostbite.

Then I felt it—warmth.

I looked down.

Blood was soaking through my white dress.

"Signora Morello!" The house manager rushed over, panic in his voice. "What happened? You're bleeding!"

Pain exploded. Everything spun.

My knees gave out.

Somewhere through the haze, I heard him yell—

"Call an ambulance! Signora Morello is bleeding!"

I tried to speak. Nothing came out.

Right before the darkness swallowed me, my hands curled around my belly.

The baby... I had to protect my baby.

The sharp reek of disinfectant punched me in the throat.

I blinked up at a blinding white ceiling—cold, sterile, like snow that never melts.

A bunch of doctors hovered around my bed, whispering stuff I couldn't catch. All I heard was my own heartbeat, fast and panicky.

"Doctor..." My voice came out scratchy. "The baby... are they okay?"

Everything paused.

One doctor yanked down his mask. "You made it just in time. The baby's stable. If you’d got here a few minutes later, ... yeah."

Relief hit hard. I let out a shaky breath and clutched my belly.

Then the hallway outside blew up with noise.

I turned just in time to see a sea of doctors sprinting past the door.

A nurse nearby leaned in. "Don Morello really spoils his wife. She nicked her hand and he sent in a whole task force."

"Yep," someone else said. "He booked the entire floor. Wants her to 'rest peacefully.'"

Their voices faded as they walked off.

I closed my eyes. Tears slid down without a sound.

"So that was how it is, huh, Rafe? I'm your wife. And I'm lying here with an IV drip like a nobody, while she gets the VIP treatment." A bitter laugh caught in my throat.

I'd fought my whole family for Rafe. My mom practically begged me not to.

"Mia, mafia guys like Rafe? They're fantasy material. Don't expect him to stick to one woman."

But I'd ignored her. Thought Rafe was different.

Spoiler alert: he wasn't.

"I'm done begging for a love that never exists. From now on, it's me and my baby. That's it." I swore to myself.

As I stepped out of the hospital, guess who was outside? Rafe, carefully helping Carmela out of a car like she was royalty.

She spotted me and gave this blink-and-you-miss-it smirk before flipping on the fake surprise.

"Mia? You're here too?"

Sweet as syrup, loud enough for Rafe to hear every syllable.

"Don't get the wrong idea—Rafe's just here for my check-up. Not like I can waddle in alone."

Cue Rafe's jaw clench.

"Mia," he sighed, already playing the tired dad card, "I know you've been emotional. Just... don't overthink things, okay?"

I didn't answer.

Cold wind cut through the corridor like a slap.

Then he switched tones—gentle, coaxing, like I was five. "Let's go home. You can cook something for Carmela tonight. Let's just move on, alright?"

He even brushed a strand of hair from my face. The touch? Soft. The burn? Worse than all his cold shoulders combined.

I smiled. Barely. "Okay."

He took it as surrender.

But that "okay"? That was the sound of something snapping inside me.

I followed him to the car. Quiet. Robotic. The closeness I used to crave had turned into a slow, silent kind of abyss.

At home, I threw on an apron and headed to the kitchen.

Water boiled over. Steam blurred everything.

"Carmela doesn't eat seafood," he said gently from behind. "Make something light—she hasn't had much appetite. And skip the ginger, it makes her queasy."

He pulled out his phone, tapping away like her personal assistant, probably starting a "Carmela's Dietary Restrictions" spreadsheet.

I didn't reply. Just kept chopping.

Thock. Thock. Thock.

Same beat as my heart cracking open.

He used to lean on that doorway, watching me cook.

Back then, he'd say, "You shouldn't be in here. Your hands aren't made for grease."

Now? He didn't even remember saying it.

He must've finally felt the silence. Paused. Then looked at me.

Our eyes locked—for a second, I saw it. Guilt. Barely there.

He stepped in, arms wrapping around me. "Mia, I'm sorry. I've been distant. But don't worry—once Carmela has the baby, I'll ask her to leave. I promised my brother I'd look after her."

I lowered my head and said nothing.

Like moving her out would magically unbreak what he had shattered.

"Some things stay broken, no matter how sorry you are." Guess he'd never know this.