Charlotte POV

"Put that down."

My voice was a sheet of ice.

Leo looked up. He didn't look scared. He looked defiant.

He had Aiden's eyes. The same arrogance, the same challenge.

"No," he said. "Daddy says everything here is mine."

"It's not a toy," I said, stepping forward slowly, trying not to startle him. "Give it to me."

Leo stood up.

He looked me right in the eye.

And then, without blinking, he dropped it.

He didn't fumble it. He simply opened his hands and let gravity take it.

The sound of shattering porcelain was louder than a gunshot. It tore through the silence of the room.

The music box broke into jagged shards. The little dancer lay decapitated on the rug.

I sank to my knees.

My hands hovered over the pieces, trembling.

"What did you do?" I whispered, my breath hitching.

"Mommy!" Leo screamed.

He threw himself on the floor and started wailing, instant tears springing to his eyes. "She pushed me! She pushed me!"

Running footsteps thundered down the hall.

Aiden burst into the room, followed by Haven and his mother.

"What happened?" Aiden roared.

"She hurt him!" Haven shrieked, rushing to scoop Leo up into her arms. "Look at him, he's terrified!"

Aiden turned to me.

I was still on my knees, holding the broken head of the ballerina.

"Charlotte," Aiden warned, his tone low and dangerous.

"He broke it," I said, my voice shaking. "He smashed my mother's box."

"It was an accident!" Aiden's mother snapped from the doorway. "He's a child, Charlotte. You're a grown woman."

"He did it on purpose," I said, looking up at Aiden. "Tell them, Aiden. You know what this meant to me."

Aiden looked at the broken porcelain.

Then he looked at a crying Leo clinging to Haven's neck.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet.

"I'll buy you another one," he said.

"Another one?" I laughed, a sharp, hysterical sound that scraped my throat. "It was my mother's legacy. You can't buy a legacy, Aiden."

"Stop being dramatic," Aiden snapped. "You have no patience for children. That's why you're not a mother."

The words hung in the air, sucking the oxygen out of the room.

He was gaslighting me.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

"He's your son," I said, my voice hollow. "Isn't he?"

The room went silent.

Aiden's eyes narrowed. "Don't be crazy, Lottie. He's my nephew."

"Liar," I said.

Aiden stepped closer, looming over me.

"You're hysterical," he said. "Go to your room. We'll discuss your... behavior later."

He turned his back on me.

He put his hand on Leo's back, soothing him.

"It's okay, buddy. It's just a toy."

Just a toy.

I stood up.

I carefully picked up the shards. One by one.

The sharp edges cut my palms.

I watched blood mix with the white dust, but I felt no pain.

"You're right," I said calmly.

Aiden turned back, surprised by my sudden shift.

"I'm sorry," I said. "Thank you for the gift of a son, Aiden. I'm sure we'll be a very happy family."

Haven's eyes widened.

Aiden looked confused. "What?"

"I accept it," I said. "The boy. The noise. The mess."

I smiled.

It was a cold, dead smile.

"I'll go fix this now."

I walked out of the room.

I went upstairs to my room and sat at my desk.

I took out the superglue.

I started to piece the music box back together.

I worked for hours.

When I was done, the ballerina stood again.

But she was covered in spiderweb cracks.

She was ruined.

Just like my allegiance to this family.

Charlotte POV

The door to my bedroom drifted open without so much as a knock.

Haven sauntered in.

She wasn't crying now. The tears had vanished the moment she left Aiden's sight.

She looked like a cat that had just eaten the canary and was already prowling for dessert.

She closed the door behind her and locked it with a deliberate click.

"Sign the papers," she said.

She pointed to the divorce decree sitting on my desk.

I hadn't even shown them to Aiden yet.

"You went through my bag," I said, my voice hollow.

"I go through everything in this house," Haven said, running a finger along my vanity, claiming my space as her own. "I need to know what kind of mess I'm cleaning up."

"You want him that bad?" I asked. "He's a monster, Haven."

"He's a King," she corrected, her eyes gleaming. "And I'm going to be his Queen."

She leaned against the wall, crossing her arms.

"You think you're special because you married him? I saved him, Charlotte. Seven years ago."

I froze.

Seven years ago.

"He was dying," Haven said, smiling. "Kidney failure. From the drugs. No one in the family was a match."

My hand flew to the scar on my side.

"I donated a kidney," I whispered, the memory of the pain rushing back. "To you. You said you were sick."

Haven laughed. It was a cruel, tinkling sound, devoid of any warmth.

"I wasn't sick, sweetie. Aiden was. But the Don couldn't let the world know his Enforcer was weak. So we used you."

The room spun.

They had cut me open.

They had taken a part of me.

And they had put it in him.

"I gave him life," I said, my voice trembling.

"No." Haven stepped closer, her perfume suffocating me. "You gave him a spare part. I gave him a son."

She glanced at the clock.

"He'll be here in a minute. To check on you."

"Get out," I said.

"I want it all, Charlotte," she hissed, dropping the facade entirely. "The house. The money. The name. And I want him to hate you. I want him to throw you out like garbage."

She heard heavy footsteps in the hall.

She smiled.

Then, without hesitation, she threw herself backward.

She hit the floor with a heavy thud and started screaming.

"No! Charlotte, stop! My baby!"

The door burst open.

Aiden stood there, filling the frame with his dark presence.

He saw Haven on the floor, clutching her stomach.

He saw me standing over her.

"She pushed me!" Haven screamed, tears instantly flooding her face. "She tried to kill the baby!"

Aiden looked at me.

His eyes turned black.

"I didn't touch her," I said, my voice steady despite my fear. "Check the cameras, Aiden."

He didn't move toward the security monitor.

He moved toward me.

"You attacked a pregnant woman?" he roared.

"She's lying!" I shouted. "She just told me-"

"Shut up!" Aiden grabbed my arm. His grip was bruising, tight enough to snap bone.

"You're jealous. You're sick."

"Check the cameras!" I begged.

"I don't need cameras to see what you are," he spat. "You're bitter. You're barren. And you're cruel."

He shoved me away.

I stumbled back, hitting the desk hard.

He knelt beside Haven. "Are you okay?"

"It hurts," Haven sobbed, burying her face in his chest. "Take me to the doctor."

Aiden scooped her up in his arms.

He looked at me one last time over his shoulder.

There was no love in his eyes.

Only disgust.

"Stay here," he ordered. "If you leave this room, I'll chain you to the bed."

He carried her out.

I listened to his footsteps fade away down the hall.

I looked at the cameras mounted in the corner of the room.

The red light was off.

She had disabled them.

I started to laugh.

It began as a dry chuckle and turned into a sob.

He didn't check the cameras because he didn't want to know the truth.

He wanted her to be the victim.

Because if she was the victim, he was the hero.

And if I was the villain, he didn't have to feel guilty about destroying me.

I wiped my eyes.

The tears were gone.

I picked up the divorce papers.

I signed them.

Then I picked up the pen and set it down with finality.

I didn't pack a bag.

I didn't take clothes.

I walked to the window.

We were on the second floor. There was a trellis covered in ivy clinging to the brick.

I had climbed it once, years ago, to sneak out and paint the sunrise.

I opened the window.

The night air was cold.

It felt like freedom.

I climbed out.

I left the diamond bracelet on the sill.

I left the repaired music box on the desk.

I left Charlotte Herrera in that room.

The woman who hit the ground running was someone else entirely.

And she was never looking back.

Charlotte POV

I hadn't made it far that night.

The gates were locked. The guards were posted.

Aiden's idea of "protection" was a cage, and I didn't have the key.

So I retreated. I waited.

The next morning, I sent the shattered music box to a restorer in the city via a courier. It was a small act of hope. A foolish one, perhaps, but necessary.

When I returned to the East Wing, the sound of ripping tape greeted me.

It was a violent sound. Like skin being peeled from muscle.

I stood in the doorway of my art studio, frozen.

Three of Aiden's enforcers-men who usually guarded shipments of cocaine-were packing my life into cardboard boxes.

My easels were collapsed. My jars of turpentine were sealed.

And Haven was standing in the center of it all, pointing a manicured finger like a conductor.

"Clear it all out," she ordered. "Every scrap. This room has the best light for the nursery."

She turned slowly and saw me.

She didn't flinch. She smiled.

"Oh, good. You're here to help."

I walked over to my drying rack.

Four years of work.

Landscapes that didn't look like prison walls. Portraits of people who didn't have blood on their hands.

"Stop," I said to the soldier holding a canvas.

He hesitated, his eyes darting to Haven.

"I said clear it," Haven snapped.

She walked over to my workstation.

There was a painting on the easel. It was unfinished. A storm over a grey ocean. It was the only thing I had painted in months that felt real.

Haven picked up a can of black primer meant for the walls.

She didn't look at me. She just tipped the can.

Thick, black sludge poured over the ocean. It swallowed the waves. It swallowed the light.

It dripped onto the floorboards with a heavy plop, plop, plop.

I didn't scream.

I didn't lunge at her.

I felt a strange, cold numbness spread through my chest.

It was the death of the last part of me that cared.

"Oops," Haven said, her voice flat. "Clumsy me."

She reached into her purse and pulled out a thick envelope.

She tossed it onto the ruined painting. It stuck to the wet tar.

"Aiden signed it this morning," she said. "He thought it was the acquisition contract for the port warehouse. He didn't even read it."

I looked down at the document.

Dissolution of Marriage.

His signature was bold. Aggressive.

He had signed away our seven years together without blinking, because he trusted her more than he respected me.

"He's at the hospital with Leo," Haven said, checking her watch dismissively. "Complications. You know how he worries about his blood."

"You're going to regret this," I said. It wasn't a threat. It was a fact.

"Regret winning?" Haven laughed. "I don't think so. Now, pack a bag. A small one. And get out before he comes back and changes his mind."

I turned around.

I walked to the bedroom.

I took one suitcase.

I didn't take the jewels. I didn't take the clothes he bought me to make me look like a Mafia wife.

I took my passport. My hidden stash of cash. And the clothes on my back.

I walked down the grand staircase.

The house was silent.

I reached for the heavy oak door.

Suddenly, it burst open.

Aiden rushed in. He was sweating. His tie was undone.

Haven was right behind him, looking frantic.

"Where is he?" Aiden roared.

He grabbed my shoulders. His fingers dug into my flesh brutally.

"Where is who?" I asked.

"Leo!" Haven screamed, pushing past him. "What did you do with him? Where is my son?"