“Sir… she’s barely five weeks along,” the doctor said, blinking in uncertainty. “It can be done at this stage, but medically, we strongly advise against it—”

“Then do it,” Alessandro interrupted coldly.

The doctor hesitated, glancing between us. “The procedure available this early would require a uterine puncture. It carries serious risks for both the mother and the baby. There’s also no way to administer anesthesia. It will be extremely painful. Sir, waiting would be much safer.”

“Then don’t use anesthesia,” Alessandro snapped, irritation flashing across his face because his order had not been obeyed immediately. “Run the damn test. Was I not clear?”

The doctor looked at me then, pity filling his eyes, as though he could already see the kind of misery I lived in.

I forced my lips into a weak smile. “Go ahead.”

That was all it took.

No one in that room cared about what it would do to me.

No one except me.

---

The test results would take another week to come back.

But none of them cared.

The auction was approaching, and their ridiculous bet mattered more to them than my pain, my body, or the child growing inside me.

The whispers started in the hospital before the procedure was even over.

After the doctor collected Alessandro’s hair sample, Alessandro spoke again.

“Take Damian’s and Roman’s too. Put all of us in the testing.”

For one brief second, the hallway went dead silent.

Then the murmurs started.

“Three men? Seriously?”

“Damn, what kind of woman is she?”

“No wonder her husband dragged her here for a paternity test at five weeks. He doesn’t even know if the baby is his.”

“He’s rich, handsome, and she still sleeps around? If that were my wife, I’d throw her out in the street.”

Even the doctor—who had looked at me with sympathy moments earlier—changed.

The pity in his face turned into disgust.

And when he began the uterine puncture, he no longer bothered to be gentle.

There was no warning.

No comfort.

Only pain.

A sharp, tearing agony ripped through me so violently that my vision blurred. It felt like something inside me was being stabbed over and over. Tears escaped no matter how hard I fought them.

When it was over, I had to brace myself against the wall just to stand.

My legs trembled so badly I could barely walk out of the room.

Alessandro saw me and stepped toward me, reaching out like he intended to help.

But before his hand touched me, Camilla came rushing out in tears, making a scene.

Damian and Roman followed behind her immediately like obedient dogs.

Without hesitation, Alessandro let me go.

He dropped me.

My body hit the floor, pain surging even harder through my stomach.

“Get yourself home,” he said flatly. “I need to check on Camilla.”

Then he ran after her.

He never looked back.

Inside my head, I laughed bitterly.

Of course.

That was where his concern had always been.

The people around me watched it happen, and they enjoyed every second.

“Slut. No wonder your husband left you.”

“Hey, sweetheart, how much for a night? Five dollars enough?”

“Five? Please, she’d probably do it for free. Girls like that beg for attention.”

I gripped the armrest beside me and slowly forced myself to my feet.

I kept my head down.

I didn’t say a word.

I just walked out.

One painful step at a time.

Like I was already dead.

---

By the time the taxi dropped me off at home, night had already fallen.

I reached for the front door, using the knob to steady my shaking body.

The second I stepped inside, the smell hit me.

Heavy.

Humid.

Sweat.

Perfume.

Sex.

Then I heard them.

Alessandro.

Camilla.

Their voices.

Their moans.

The rhythm of what they were doing.

I slammed the door shut so hard the walls shook.

Then I slid down against it, covering my ears with both hands.

Enough.

I couldn’t take any more.

I didn’t want to hear another sound.

I sat there for what felt like forever.

Maybe five minutes.

Maybe ten.

I couldn’t tell anymore.

Then the bedroom door opened.

Camilla stepped out barely dressed.

Her skin was flushed.

Dark marks covered her neck—marks left by Alessandro’s mouth.

And she wore them proudly.

Like she wanted me to see exactly what he gave her.

I stayed on the floor, looking up at her, feeling smaller than I had ever felt in my life.

In the distance, water was running.

Alessandro was showering after being with her.

Camilla leaned lazily against the doorway as if the house belonged to her.

She looked down at me with a cruel smile.

“I know how badly you’ve been trying to have Alessandro’s child,” she said softly, poison hidden in every word. “Throwing yourself at him, desperate for scraps of attention.”

She tilted her head.

“And now you finally got pregnant. Are you happy?”

Her smile widened.

“Do you really think it changes anything? If I said the word, those three would use you all over again. And if I got bored enough, I could have you tossed into the tiger pit. You’d be ripped apart before you could scream. Want that?”

She took a slow step toward me.

I instinctively moved back.

She smiled even more.

“Alessandro may have married you,” she continued, “but I’m the one he loves. You should see how he looks when he’s with me. He enjoys touching me. You?” She laughed softly. “You’re just something warm for him to use when he’s frustrated.”

There was something vicious in her eyes.

Something bitter.

Jealous.

And suddenly, I understood.

She was jealous.

Not because of what they had done to me.

Not because I had survived being used by three men.

No.

She was jealous because there was a chance—however small—that the baby inside me might be Alessandro’s.

Because my child could become the heir she could never give him.

Camilla couldn’t bear children.

Without realizing it, I placed a hand over my stomach.

That one movement made her snap.

“That child is nothing but a bastard!” she screamed. “No one even knows which brother fathered it! What are you so proud of?”

I lowered my head and forced myself to act helpless.

Alessandro was still upstairs.

I couldn’t afford to make her angrier.

“Camilla…” I whispered weakly, “I don’t know what you mean. Alessandro just told me to do the test. But I know the baby is his. Are you angry because you can’t give him one?”

Her expression twisted instantly.

Jealousy made her face ugly.

“Who gave you the right to carry his baby?” she screamed. “If I can’t have his child, then neither will you!”

Before I could move, she shoved me.

Hard.

My body flew backward.

I lost my footing and crashed down the staircase.

Pain exploded through every inch of me.

But the worst of it came from my stomach.

I curled around it instinctively, trying to protect the baby, but it did nothing.

Every stair I struck felt like a blade tearing into me.

The sound of the fall must have echoed through the house, because Alessandro came rushing out moments later, water still dripping from his hair, his face tense.

Before I could even catch my breath, Camilla collapsed dramatically to the floor as if she were the one who had been attacked.

She burst into tears instantly. “Rosalie, I’ve always treated you with respect! I only came to help because you’re pregnant! Why would you try to hit me?”

She pointed at me with trembling hands, pretending to be terrified.

“Why would you throw yourself down the stairs like that?” she cried. “Are you trying to frame me? I didn’t touch you! Alessandro, I swear, I never pushed her! Why is she doing this to me?”

Then Camilla turned as though she had only just noticed Alessandro standing there.

Her voice softened at once, weak and fragile.

“I’m alright, Alessandro… really,” she murmured shakily. “Don’t worry about me. Please, check on Rosalie instead. She… she just slipped.”

She even made her lip quiver, playing the innocent victim perfectly.

Alessandro’s eyes moved to the red marks on her skin, and I saw several emotions flash across his face all at once—guilt, panic, and possessiveness.

Without hesitation, he tore off his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders as if she were something precious and fragile.

“Camilla, are you hurt?” he asked urgently. “I’m taking you to the hospital right now.”

“I… I’m okay,” she whispered softly. “My leg hurts a little, but Rosalie looks like she’s in much worse shape…”

The instant she said that, Alessandro’s expression hardened.

He turned to me with that cold, merciless look he always wore when he was angry.

“Get up,” he barked. “I heard what happened. Camilla was trying to help you, and this is how you repay her? You ungrateful bitch.”

I was still crumpled on the stairs, dizzy and barely able to breathe through the pain twisting in my stomach.

I tried to speak, my voice shaking.

“No… that’s not true… she pushed me—”

But Alessandro cut me off before I could finish.

“Enough,” he snapped. “Do you think I’m stupid enough to believe that nonsense? Camilla can barely open a bottle on her own. She would never shove you. She’s gentle. She’s kind. Why would she ever hurt you?”

His voice dropped into the dangerous tone he used when he was punishing people.

“When did you become this pathetic, Rosalie?” he said coldly. “Lying. Twisting the truth. Acting vicious.”

He didn’t wait for me to answer.

Instead, he bent down, lifted Camilla into his arms, and carried her like she was royalty.

As he stepped past me, he kicked me aside without hesitation because I was in his way.

“Stay there, then,” he said harshly. “Just don’t block my path.”

Camilla looked over his shoulder as he carried her away.

She gave me the smallest smirk before wrapping her arms tighter around his neck.

Then I heard the front door slam.

A second later, the engine started.

And then—

Silence.

For a moment, I thought I might black out right there on the stairs.

But I couldn’t.

The maids stood nearby watching, but none of them moved.

The pain in my stomach was getting worse—sharp, violent cramps that felt like something inside me was being ripped apart.

Alessandro wasn’t coming back.

And if I stayed there any longer, I would die bleeding on the staircase like I meant nothing.

So I forced myself to breathe.

I grabbed the railing and dragged myself upright.

Every movement hurt.

Every step was agony.

But I kept moving.

I didn’t even dare call a taxi at first.

I was terrified something would happen on the ride—that I’d bleed everywhere, that the driver would see and throw me out.

So I walked.

Bent over, clutching my stomach, dragging myself forward while each step felt like being stabbed.

By the time I staggered into the nearest hospital, blood had soaked through my clothes.

The nurse at the desk gasped the moment she saw me and rushed me inside.

The doctor pulled up my records and let out a heavy sigh, as if he already knew how this would end.

“The pregnancy is only five weeks along,” he said. “After a puncture that early, the uterus can contract dangerously. And after a fall down the stairs…” He shook his head. “There’s no way the pregnancy can survive.”

He examined me again, and his expression became grim.

“You’re fortunate you made it here at all,” he said. “You were hemorrhaging. Another hour and you wouldn’t have survived.”

I let out a long breath.

Not from grief.

From relief.

Then I laughed.

Softly.

Brokenly.

“Doctor…” I whispered. “Please terminate the pregnancy. Right now.”

He looked startled.

But I wasn’t.

The moment I learned the truth—that the three of them had used me, humiliated me, turned me into part of their twisted game—the life inside me no longer felt like a blessing.

It felt like poison.

Losing the baby didn’t feel tragic.

It felt like freedom.

This pregnancy had never been hope.

It had been a nightmare.

And for the first time, I felt like I was finally waking up.

**

I returned home the next day.

I already knew Alessandro and Camilla wouldn’t be there.

The second I walked inside, the air made me sick.

The room still smelled like them.

The bed sheets were tangled.

Clothes were scattered everywhere.

They hadn’t even bothered to clean up after themselves.

I stepped over the mess, my stomach turning, and went straight into the bathroom.

I turned on the shower.

I washed once.

Then again.

Then again.

After the fifth time, I stopped counting.

But no matter how hard I scrubbed, the smell wouldn’t go away.

Sweat.

Sex.

Blood.

And somewhere underneath all of it, I imagined I could still smell the child I had lost.

I scrubbed until my skin stung.

Until it burned.

But I still felt filthy.

Still felt ruined.

Then something inside me snapped.

I grabbed the first thing I saw and hurled it at the floor.

A bottle shattered.

Then another.

Then another.

Perfume bottles.

Shampoo.

Even the mirror.

Glass broke everywhere.

Finally, I slid down into the bathtub and cried so hard it felt like my chest was collapsing.

I cried until there was nothing left.

And when the sobbing finally eased, I thought about my parents.

They had been so happy when Alessandro proposed.

And I had been happy too.

Stupidly happy.

I had chosen every part of my dowry myself.

My parents had paid for everything.

The only thing my mother added was a simple brown folder.

On my wedding day, she pulled me aside and placed it in my hands.

“Rosalie,” she said gently, “I know this marriage didn’t begin with love. But your father and I still want you to have happiness. And if one day you don’t… come home to us. We’ll always be here for you.”

Then she touched my cheek and smiled sadly.

“But I pray that day never comes.”

I looked around at what my life had become.

The ruined sheets.

The bruises on my body.

The empty house that once felt like a dream.

And in that moment, I understood.

The day my mother warned me about—

It had already arrived.

I stumbled to my feet and rushed straight to the study, yanking open drawer after drawer until I finally found the file bag my mother had handed me on my wedding day.

Inside was a divorce agreement.

And it was already signed—by Alessandro.

I had no idea how my parents had managed to secure something like that from a man born into a mafia dynasty, but somehow they had. The terms were fair—far fairer than I expected.

My hands trembled as I stared at the papers, yet I signed my name without hesitation, almost as if I had been waiting for that exact moment my entire life.

Just as the pen left the page, my phone rang.

Alessandro.

His name flashed on the screen.

I answered, and his voice came through strangely restrained.

“Rosalie… are you okay?”

I stared blankly at the wall in front of me.

“Shouldn’t I be?”

There was a short pause before he let out a breath.

“Oh. Good. That’s… good. I’m glad you’re alright.”

His tone was careful, almost as if he was trying to sound concerned.

Then he continued.

“Look, I know I was hard on you the other day. I overreacted when I saw Camilla hurt.”

He spoke like a man trying to apologize while refusing to admit any fault.

It was almost laughable.

“I went back to find you,” he said, “but you were already gone, so I assumed you were okay.”

His words meant nothing.

“Did you call for a reason?” I asked coldly.

The sharpness in my voice must have irritated him, because the mask slipped almost immediately.

“I’m apologizing, aren’t I?” he snapped. “What more do you want?”

That familiar cruelty crept back into his tone.

“And let’s be honest—you were the one who caused the problem in the first place. I’m calling because Camilla has forgiven you for pushing her. She even wants you to attend the auction tonight. She and my brothers were planning to buy gifts for the baby. But with the attitude you’re giving me right now, you should be grateful she’s being kind at all. She’s ten times gentler than you.”

I let him keep talking.

I didn’t answer.

After a moment of silence, his tone softened again.

“Alright, enough dragging this out,” he said. “Camilla hurt her leg, and I’m staying with her for now. I’ll have the driver pick you up later.”

Then he ended the call.

Seconds later, my phone buzzed again.

A message from Camilla.

Camilla: You’d better show up tonight. I’ve arranged something special just for you. You know I care about you, right? Remember those pictures of you with Alessandro, Damian, and Roman? The naked ones? They’re going to be the final auction item tonight. No censoring. Everyone will see exactly what you look like.

Then the photos came through.

One after another.

Dozens of them.

My phone kept vibrating in my hands until I dropped it onto the floor.

The strength I had felt after signing those papers disappeared instantly.

Gone.

I had believed that losing the baby meant I was finally free.

But I understood then that as long as Alessandro, Damian, Roman, and Camilla were still in my life, I would never escape them.

My entire body started trembling.

I sank to my knees and called my parents.

The second I heard their voices—gentle, loving, safe—everything inside me broke apart.

When they asked if I was alright, I couldn’t hold anything back.

I told them everything.

Every humiliation.

Every betrayal.

Every horrible thing that had happened.

And when there was nothing left to hide, I cried and begged,

“Mom… Dad… can I leave him? Please. I don’t want to stay with Alessandro anymore. I can’t do this.”

Their voices shook as they answered.

“Oh, sweetheart,” my mother said softly, “you’ve been through enough.”

My father spoke next.

“We’re sending someone for you right now. Come home tonight. We’ll take care of everything else. Just come home and rest. You’re safe now.”

Alessandro’s driver arrived before my parents’ car.

I handed him the file bag.

“This is for Alessandro,” I said quietly.

Nothing else.

Then I got into my parents’ car.

And I never looked back.

During the drive, my phone kept ringing.

Alessandro.

Again.

And again.

And again.

I took out the SIM card, rolled down the window, and threw it away into the darkness.

**

At the auction, the night was almost over.

Alessandro stood near the front, glancing repeatedly toward the entrance.

Each time the doors remained closed, his expression grew darker.

Then his assistant hurried over, holding the file bag in both hands.

“Sir,” the assistant said quietly, lowering his head, “Mrs. Moretti asked me to give this to you. She said you should open it first. She’ll arrive later.”

At those words, Alessandro smiled.

A soft, almost affectionate smile.

The kind he had never once given me.

He opened the file bag slowly.

Then he saw what was inside.

The divorce agreement.

My signature.

And beside it, a small glass jar containing the tiny remains of the baby.

The smile vanished from his face at once.

At that exact moment, the auctioneer struck the gavel twice.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced to the room,

“we now present the final item of the evening…”