The moment I hung up, the surgical wound on my back flared with a white-hot intensity.

I curled into a ball on the sofa, cold sweat drenching my clothes. Outside, the world was ending; thunder rattled the windows and lightning tore through the sky. Damian emerged from his study, phone in hand, looking hurried.

"Damian... I'm so scared," a woman’s voice whimpered through the speaker. In the quiet living room, her feigned sob was crystal clear.

"The thunder is so loud... the baby is kicking... I’m scared I can’t protect him. Please, can you come over?"

"Damian." My fingers dug into the leather of the sofa until my nails nearly drew blood. "Don’t go."

He paused, looking back at me with blatant impatience. "Selena, I told you, Evelyn’s situation is delicate."

"I don't feel well either," I whispered, my voice trembling as sweat beaded on my forehead.

"Can’t you stay? Just long enough to call a doctor for me?"

The crash had left me physically shattered. The sudden drop in pressure from the storm made the pain unbearable. I felt like I was drowning in a frozen sea, and he was the only life raft in sight.

Damian wavered for a second.

"Does Selena want to take the Chief Physician away again? Just like last time?" Evelyn’s pouting voice came through the phone.

Damian’s expression instantly turned to stone.

He stepped toward me, gripping my chin and forcing me to look up. His voice was laced with mockery. "The other day you went crying to the Commission because I moved the doctor, getting me a lecture from the Don. Now that Evelyn actually needs help, you’re staging a stomach ache."

"Selena, your jealousy has made you hideous."

I opened my mouth, but the words died in my throat.

He couldn't see how pale I was. His entire world was centered on a woman who was "scared of thunder."

"I’m not acting, Damian. I’m really—"

"Enough!" he snapped, shoving me back. "Evelyn just lost her husband. I’m all she has left. Can’t you learn to be a little more graceful instead of resorting to these petty tricks?"

"I’m staying out tonight. Don't wait up."

He left without looking back. As the heavy front door slammed shut, my heart shattered into the abyss.

He didn't know about the accident. He didn't know that to save our baby, I had endured a gash on my back so deep it showed bone—or that I had undergone the stitching without general anesthesia to protect the pregnancy.

And now, he was rushing to comfort another woman carrying another man's child.

I touched my belly, tears falling silently onto the floor.

Damian used to stroke my stomach with such tenderness. "Selena, when will you carry my heir? If it’s a boy, I’ll teach him to rule the family. If it’s a girl, I’ll give her every beautiful jewel in this city."

I had planned to give him the news of my pregnancy as a birthday surprise.

Now, I only wanted to take my child and leave.

The storm raged on. I picked up my phone; the screen lit up with a notification from a "Special Favorite" on Instagram.

It was Evelyn.

The photo showed a luxurious bedroom. A man was half-kneeling by the bed, his back to the camera, holding a steaming cup of milk.

Even from behind, I knew that silhouette better than my own.

The caption was a taunt wrapped in a brag:

"I told him I was scared of the storm, so he rushed over to comfort me and even warmed my milk himself. Such a good boy."

Good boy.

Those two words were a blade that twisted in my chest.

When I had practically begged him to stay after my "accident," he saw me as a burden. Yet, at a single mention of thunder from Evelyn, he abandoned everything to play the role of her "loyal dog."

The next day, when Damian returned to the estate draped in the morning chill, he was met with my hollow, expressionless face.

Sensing a shift, he tried to act casual, unbuttoning his shirt.

"Selena, I told you not to wait up."

He reached out for an embrace, but I subtly stepped aside.

The deadness in my eyes seemed to unnerve him. Even though I was standing right in front of him, he felt a sudden, inexplicable distance—as if I were already fading away.

"Selena, I know I’ve been preoccupied lately," he said, a rare note of guilt in his voice.

"The day after tomorrow is your birthday. I promise I’ll cancel all Commission meetings. I’ll spend the whole day with you, okay?"

I forced a small, thin smile onto my porcelain-pale face. "Okay."

Damian let out a sigh of relief.

When my birthday arrived, he was unnervingly energetic, as if overcompensating for his absence. Throughout the drive, he talked incessantly about the family’s future expansion, trying to spark the "loyalty" I was supposed to feel as a Moretti.

He took me to an exclusive restaurant.

But just as the main course was served, his phone buzzed violently.

He glanced at the screen, and his brow furrowed. That fleeting warmth in his eyes was instantly replaced by sharp, frantic anxiety.

"Selena, I have to take this. It's an emergency family signal."

I nodded silently, a cold dread settling in my gut.

Sure enough, Damian returned a moment later, his face a mask of practiced regret.

"I am so sorry, Selena... something happened with Evelyn. I have to go check on her..."

"Okay," I said, cutting off his list of excuses before he could even start.

Damian blinked, his apologies catching in his throat. He looked almost foolish.

"Family security comes first," I said tonelessly. "As the heir, it's your duty to protect our people. I understand."

A look of immense relief washed over him.

He hurried out the door, a draft of cold air trailing behind him.

"Selena, don't worry! When I get back, I’ll throw you a celebration that will be the envy of the whole city!" his voice called out as his tires screeched against the gravel.

There won't be a next time, Damian.

I sat alone, slowly cutting into the cake that symbolized my birth.

I was an orphan who lost both parents. In the Mafia world where bloodline is everything, I had been the lowest of the low—no name, no pedigree. Even the beggars looked down on me.

The first bit of warmth I ever felt was from a teenage Damian.

Back then, he had smiled and said, "You poor little thing, why are you crying in an alley on Christmas Eve?"

"Now that you’ve found me, you’ll never be alone again. Every Christmas, every birthday—I’ll be right by your side."

From that moment, I gave him my heart, my soul, and my absolute loyalty. I saw him as my only salvation from the dark.

But in the end, he chose Evelyn. He left me behind.

A tear fell onto the expensive chocolate cake. I took a bite. It was bitter, salty, and not sweet at all.

You lied to me, Damian. In the end, I'm still alone.

Early the next morning, I went to the family’s private hospital alone for a prenatal check-up.

I sat in the OB-GYN waiting area, head down, scrolling through the itinerary confirmation email sent by Professor Clark.

Just then, a familiar voice drifted from the far end of the corridor.

"Evelyn, slow down. The floor is slick."

I looked up.

Damian was there, cautiously supporting Evelyn as they walked toward me.

One hand was protectively around her waist, the other held her medical folder. Those hands—hands that usually commanded life and death with cold precision—were now moved by a tenderness that felt almost alien.

Evelyn leaned against his shoulder, a radiant, triumphant glow on her face.

In that moment, they looked like the only real couple in the building.

I lowered my gaze and stood up to leave, intent on avoiding them.

However, fate had other plans. Just as I finished my exam and stepped out of the consultation room, I ran right into Evelyn.

She stepped into my path, her eyes dropping to my abdomen. A flicker of hidden malice flashed in her gaze.

"Why are you here? Don't tell me... are you pregnant too?"

"None of your business." I didn't want to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. I tried to brush past her.

Evelyn grabbed my wrist, her grip tightening. She leaned in, whispering into my ear:

"Even if you are, Damian doesn't love you. Want to place a bet? Let’s see who he chooses when it really matters."

Her nails dug into my skin, drawing a sharp sting. Instinctively, I wrenched my arm away. "Let go of me!"

The next second, a predatory smirk crossed her face. She threw her body backward, surrendering to gravity—

"Ah!"

She let out a piercing scream as she collapsed onto the cold, hard floor.

"Evelyn!"

Damian appeared as if on cue, witnessing the exact moment she fell.

He charged from the end of the hall like a storm. He scooped Evelyn into his arms, and in the same motion, he lashed out—

He shoved me with brutal force.

My back slammed into the stone wall. The impact rattled my teeth and sent a shockwave through my entire frame.

Then, a searing, tearing pain erupted in my lower abdomen.

I doubled over, clutching my stomach as cold sweat instantly soaked my shirt.

"Selena, that is enough!"

Damian’s voice was a low growl of suppressed fury. Cradling Evelyn, he looked at me—huddled and trembling in the corner—with eyes full of ice.

"Did you follow me? Did you see me bringing Evelyn for her check-up and decide to cause trouble?"

"She is pregnant, and you actually had the heart to push her?"

"Stop acting, Selena. Your jealousy has turned you into someone I don't even recognize!"

I opened my mouth, desperate to tell him that I was here for my own check-up. That I was carrying his child.

But the agony was so great that I couldn't form a single word.

Seeing my deathly pallor, Damian’s expression faltered for a fraction of a second, a shadow of concern crossing his face.

But Evelyn chose that exact moment to let out a pathetic moan, clutching her belly as she buried her face in his chest.

"Damian... my stomach hurts so much... is the baby okay..."

Damian’s attention snapped back to her instantly.

"Don't be afraid. I’m getting a doctor right now."

He strode away with Evelyn in his arms, never once looking back to see if I could even stand.

The corridor fell silent.

I felt a warm, terrifying stickiness trickling down my thigh. My consciousness began to fray at the edges.

The last thing I saw was the sterile, blinding white light of the ceiling.

When I finally woke, I was in a hospital bed.

The scent of antiseptic filled my lungs, and an IV was taped to the back of my hand.

The moment the doctor appeared, my voice came out as a broken rasp: "Doctor... the baby?"

"By some miracle, the child is still there." The doctor paused, his expression grave. "But you are extremely weak. You are on strict bed rest. No stress, no sudden movements. If this happens again, we won't be able to save it."

I closed my eyes, a single tear tracing a path down my temple.

Saved.

But the father of this child had personally shoved me aside while another woman faked a fall.

For the next two days, Damian never showed up.

No calls. No texts. Nothing.

It was as if I had never existed in his world.

The only sound in the room was the rhythmic, lonely beep of the heart monitor and the distant, muffled roar of Manhattan traffic outside.

I stared at the ceiling, the scene in the hallway playing on a loop in my mind.

The moment he pushed me, his eyes held only Evelyn. My blood, my pain, my child—to him, it was all just a "performance" born of jealousy.

On the third day, Evelyn’s texts began to pour in like venom.

[Damian has been with me the whole time. He says you always love making a scene and told me to just ignore you.]

[By the way, he bought an entire nursery set for me today. Do you think my baby will look like him?]

[I wonder if Damian even knows you’re pregnant? He doesn't seem to care at all.]

[Forget it. That child isn't important anyway. Not when even its own father doesn't want it.]

I read them all, one by one. My face remained a mask of stone.

The light from the screen reflected in my eyes like a stagnant pool.

Today was the day.

From this moment on, Damian and I were strangers.

I processed my discharge papers quickly.

Back at the estate, I began to pack. I took nothing extra—just a few changes of clothes, my passport, and the documents Professor Clark had sent.

My phone buzzed again.

Evelyn had sent a photo—Damian was kneeling, tying her shoelaces in front of a luxury boutique on Fifth Avenue.

The caption: [He said I will always be the woman he loves most. Selena, you should have never tried to compete.]

I stared at the photo for a long time.

Then, I sent a single reply.

"Since you’re the one he loves, you can have him. I’m done."

Sent.

I placed the phone on the coffee table in the living room.

Beside it, I laid out the signed divorce papers.

Next to those were clear, printed screenshots of every taunting message Evelyn had sent me over the last seven days.

And finally, the prenatal report.

The three items sat in a neat, undeniable row in the center of the room.

I took one last look at the estate I had called home for ten years.

There were ashes in the fireplace from things I had burned. Our wedding photo still hung on the wall.

I walked over, took the frame down, and tossed it into the dying embers of the hearth. I watched it catch fire.

Then, I walked out the front door without looking back.

Professor Clark’s car was waiting. I climbed into the back and rolled up the window.

The estate grew smaller in the rearview mirror until it was swallowed by the Manhattan skyline.