Avery’s POV

I truly believed I had escaped.

For one delicate, foolish heartbeat, I thought I was finally free.

I didn’t even make it past the outer gates of the Moretti estate before fate laughed in my face.

Two men stepped out from the shadows as if they’d been waiting all along. Black suits. Stone expressions. Don Moretti’s personal security—soldiers who answered only to him. I barely registered their faces before they seized me, one iron grip on each arm, hauling me backward like a criminal instead of the woman who once ruled this house beside him.

“Mrs. Moretti,” one of them said flatly, already dragging me toward the main villa, “you’re required inside. The Don wants you now. He needs your blood.”

My lungs locked.

“What—no—let go of me!” I thrashed violently, panic flooding my body—not for myself, but for the fragile life hidden beneath my ribs. My heart hammered so hard it felt like a warning siren. A plea. “Why would he need my blood?”

Why him?

Why this marriage?

Why was my punishment always disguised as loyalty?

I had given him everything.

My body. My name. My future. I stood beside him through indictments, rival families circling like wolves, whispers that could’ve torn his empire apart. I shielded him when bullets flew—literal and political. I was his wife in every way that mattered.

Was that still not enough?

What kind of twisted joke was it that I ended up bound to a man who saw me as a resource? A tool? Something to be used and discarded when convenient?

And yet—he wanted more.

He always wanted more.

I couldn’t decide what terrified me more: the possibility that he might discover my pregnancy… or the possibility that he already knew and simply didn’t care.

Cold metal slammed into my spine.

The next thing I knew, I was strapped into a reinforced medical chair inside the famiglia’s private infirmary. Steel restraints bit into my wrists. I lifted my head just enough to see Don Zachary Moretti standing across from me, arms folded, expression distant—like I wasn’t worth the effort of emotion.

“So this is it?” I let out a hollow laugh. “You drag me back to bleed me like contraband?”

He didn’t even flinch.

“Stop being dramatic,” he said coldly. “You’re contributing. Make yourself useful.”

Something inside my chest cracked clean in half.

“Useful?” I scoffed. “Is that what I was? A walking blood bank with a marriage contract?”

“You’re emotional,” he replied instantly. “You always were. You confuse hysteria with loyalty.”

“That’s rich,” I shot back. “Coming from the man draining his wife while his mistress rests like a queen.”

He crossed the distance in two strides.

His hand snapped around my jaw, fingers pressing hard enough to bruise.

“Watch your mouth,” he warned.

“Or what?” I whispered, fury burning through fear. “You’ll humiliate me again? Strip whatever dignity I have left?”

His lips curved into a cruel, amused smile.

“You’re breathing,” he said softly. “Be grateful.”

“You already have her,” I snapped. “You got the heir you wanted. So why am I still chained to this chair?”

The irony nearly crushed me.

She lay in another room—guarded, pampered, surrounded by doctors and silk sheets—while I bled for her survival. For her child.

While my own baby stayed hidden, clinging to me in silence.

I said nothing.

I couldn’t.

He would weaponize it. He would turn my child into leverage, the same way he turned love into ownership.

So I swallowed the truth and stared at the ceiling, letting the sterile lights blur as I refused to cry.

“This is what loving you cost me,” I said quietly. “Defending your name in every council meeting. Standing between you and every enemy. Acting like a partner instead of property. I should’ve left the moment I realized you never loved me—you claimed me.”

“Then why didn’t you?” he snapped. “Because you needed me. You always did.”

“And you,” I whispered, “were too much of a coward to ever let me go.”

His smirk deepened.

“Why would I?” he said calmly. “You never stay gone.”

That was when the needle pierced my skin.

It was thick—too thick—more like a blade than a medical instrument. The pain hit instantly, sharp and searing as it slid into my vein. I didn’t scream. I wouldn’t give him that pleasure. But sweat soaked my neck, and my fingers trembled violently against the restraints.

As the blood drained, memories went with it.

Our first appearance as Don and Donna.

The night I stepped into gunfire meant for him.

Every lonely hour spent convincing myself that waiting was love.

He watched the entire time—silent, detached—as if I were nothing more than a container being emptied.

“Don Moretti,” a doctor said cautiously, “her vitals are destabilizing. If we continue—”

“Proceed,” Zachary cut in. “She’s resilient.”

My vision dimmed.

I bit my cheek until I tasted blood just to stay conscious.

Eight hundred milliliters.

That was how much they took.

I thought it was finished.

Then someone cleared their throat behind the privacy curtain.

Zachary straightened immediately.

“Double it,” he said. “She requires more.”

My breath stuttered.

“So this is for her,” I whispered weakly. “You’re bleeding your own wife to save the woman who shattered us?”

“She needs it,” he replied flatly.

I laughed—broken, hollow.

“And me?” I murmured. “You’d drain me dry without hesitation.”

His face didn’t change.

From behind the curtain, her voice drifted out—fragile, perfectly timed.

“Zachary…”

He moved at once.

I was fading, restrained, slipping into darkness—and he was already gone.

The doctor hesitated. “Sir… continuing may endanger the pregnancy—”

“Do it,” Zachary barked. “Or find employment elsewhere.”

I tried to scream.

The darkness swallowed me first.

---

When I woke, the world felt wrong—distant, muffled.

I lay on a narrow cot beneath a thin blanket. A doctor sat beside me, eyes rimmed with guilt.

“You’re stable,” he said quietly. “Physically.”

“That doesn’t sound like good news,” I whispered. “So what aren’t you saying?”

He swallowed hard.

“There was… a complication.”

My hand flew to my stomach.

“No,” I breathed. “Please—no—”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “When the extraction increased… the pregnancy could not be sustained.”

The scream tore out of me.

I thrashed violently, knocking equipment aside, sobbing so hard I couldn’t breathe. I forced myself upright, dizziness crashing over me as I staggered toward the door.

“ZACHARY!” I screamed. “YOU KILLED MY BABY!”

He wasn’t there.

Of course he wasn’t.

I collapsed to the floor, grief hollowing me out—until something colder took its place.

Focused.

Sharp.

No more pleading.

No more hope.

I looked up at the doctor.

“Prepare my discharge,” I said hoarsely. “And copy every medical record. Every detail.”

Because I was done surviving.

Now, I was planning my revenge.

Avery’s POV

I was still confined to a hospital bed owned by the famiglia, my body sluggish and unreliable, like it hadn’t yet realized how much had been taken from it. My arms ached constantly, deep and hollow pain from the blood loss, and sitting upright for more than a few minutes sent the room tilting. But none of that compared to the weight crushing my chest—a grief so heavy no sedative could dull it.

I was grieving my child.

While I lay there beneath stark white sheets, surrounded by the quiet beeping of machines that measured survival but not loss, the world seemed eager to remind me just how insignificant my suffering was.

News of Don Zachary Moretti and Nina reached me without warning or mercy.

A former social acquaintance forwarded a video first—a glittering charity gala attended by political allies and rival families alike. Zachary stood at the center of it all in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, relaxed, amused, one arm draped possessively around Nina’s waist. She leaned into him with practiced ease, radiant, victorious.

Another clip followed soon after.

A private dinner gathering. Low lighting. Crystal glasses. Zachary lifting a fork to Nina’s lips, bending close to murmur something only she could hear. She laughed freely, tipping her head back, utterly shameless.

He looked… light.

Unburdened.

Like a man who hadn’t lost a single thing.

When the doctors finally cleared me for discharge, I left alone.

No driver sent by the estate. No bodyguard. No assistant hovering with instructions. Not even a courtesy call. I walked out carrying a thin hospital bag, the realization settling in with brutal clarity—I had been erased completely.

The thought of returning to the Moretti estate twisted my stomach. Every corridor, every room, was soaked in memory. But my passports, legal documents, and personal files were still there. Everything I needed to disappear.

I had no choice.

And then—because cruelty apparently wasn’t finished with me—I saw them.

They stood just outside the maternity wing.

Nina looked luminous, already basking in attention like a woman stepping into her rightful place. Zachary hovered close, one hand resting at her lower back, guiding her with proprietary ease, as though she were already the Donna of the family.

A nurse passed by, smiling warmly. “Don Moretti, your wife looks radiant today.”

My throat tightened, but I didn’t correct her.

I didn’t have the strength.

I turned away, intent on slipping out unseen.

“Avery.”

Zachary’s voice cut through the corridor.

I stopped mid-step. My shoulders stiffened, but I didn’t turn right away. Of course he noticed me. Of course he couldn’t allow me to vanish quietly.

I finally faced him across the polished floor. “I wasn’t trailing you,” I said evenly. “I was discharged today. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Before he could respond, Nina looped her arm through his, clinging to him as though she’d always belonged there.

“Love,” she said gently, false concern dripping from every syllable, “maybe she should ride with us. I feel a little guilty, you know. She gave blood for me. The least we could do is make sure she gets home.”

The audacity nearly made me laugh.

Zachary brushed his thumb along Nina’s cheek. “You’re too kind,” he murmured, then looked at me. “Fine.”

So I got into the car.

Not because I wanted to—but because I needed my documents before I disappeared for good.

I slid into the backseat and fixed my gaze forward.

That was when I saw it.

A pair of women’s underwear lay crumpled beside me, unmistakably stained white.

The sight knocked the air from my lungs.

Nina twisted around in her seat, lips curling into a smug smile. “Oh my God,” she giggled, “I can’t believe I forgot those. Remember, babe? After what we did back here last week?”

Zachary chuckled, eyes still on the road. “You almost ruined the leather.”

She hummed. “You didn’t seem bothered when I was on your lap outside the estate. Or when I kept you busy during that long drive.”

“Traffic’s easier with you,” he replied casually.

“And that time you had to pull over because I wouldn’t stop?” she added brightly. “You were shaking.”

My stomach twisted violently.

I turned toward the window, jaw clenched so tight it hurt. My hands curled into fists in my lap, nails biting into my skin.

While they carried on as if I didn’t exist, I quietly opened my phone and pulled up an email from my cousin, Sebastian.

My heart stuttered when I saw the flight confirmation.

Beneath it, he’d added a note:

I booked another option. It departs tonight at 9 PM. Please—make this one.

A faint smile touched my lips.

I typed back quickly:

Thank you. I’m sorry I missed the last flight.

His reply came almost instantly:

What really happened that day? You don’t have to protect me.

My fingers hovered.

Sebastian had always been my shield. If he knew the truth, he’d launch a legal war—and I didn’t want more blood on my conscience.

So I answered:

I’ll explain later. I just need to leave first.

Leaving was all that mattered now.

Up front, Zachary laughed softly, apologizing to Nina over something trivial, playing the attentive partner. Yet I felt his gaze flick toward me, waiting for a reaction.

I gave him nothing.

Irritation flashed in his eyes. He hated being ignored.

“You’ve been glued to your phone since we got in,” he snapped. “Who are you talking to?”

“Just catching up on the news,” I replied calmly, eyes on my boarding pass.

He didn’t believe me.

Without warning, he reached back and yanked the phone from my hands.

Anger surged—hot, clean, undeniable.

“What’s the passcode?” he demanded.

I smiled faintly. “The day we met. The day I made the worst mistake of my life. You were charming for about five minutes. After that? Pure arrogance.”

He scowled and tried.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Locked.

Nina leaned over, her voice syrupy with mock pity. “Let it go, babe. It’s not like she has anyone left to talk to. Or any pride. Who would even bother responding to her now?”

She winked at me.

I stared back, silent.

And in that moment, something settled into place with absolute clarity.

They thought I was broken.

They had no idea I was already planning my escape—and what would come after.

Avery’s POV

When the car rolled through the iron gates of the estate, Don Zachary didn’t spare me a glance.

His attention was fixed entirely on the woman clinging to his arm.

He guided his nauseated mistress up the marble steps toward the master suite, his palm firm at her lower back, steering her as if she were something fragile—and precious. He barked instructions to the chef to prepare her favorite dishes, then lingered at the doorway longer than necessary, watching her settle into the bed that had once been mine, waiting for her smile like a man desperate for approval.

Only when he turned to head downstairs did he finally notice me.

I was trudging toward the guest wing, suitcase dragging behind me, the sound echoing down the corridor like a quiet declaration of defeat. Everything I had left in the world rattled inside that bag.

He stopped mid-step.

Without turning fully around, he muttered to the chef, “Prepare two more plates. The ones Avery prefers. Set three places.”

That made me pause.

For half a second, I wondered if I’d imagined it. If there was regret buried somewhere beneath his arrogance. A hollow attempt at decency—setting a place for me at the table while his mistress occupied the Don’s bed.

The thought was almost laughable.

He couldn’t remember the date we first met. Couldn’t be bothered to unlock his phone for me. Yet now he expected rosemary lamb and a place setting to mean something?

I bit down hard on my teeth and kept walking.

The guest room door closed behind me with a soft click that landed heavier than any insult. The silence pressed in instantly, thick and accusing, as though the walls themselves understood I no longer belonged here.

I dropped my bag at the foot of the bed and knelt to unzip it.

The moment the zipper parted, my stomach sank.

Every piece of clothing inside had been destroyed.

Not torn in anger—cut cleanly, deliberately, shredded into neat strips. Whoever did it hadn’t acted on impulse. This was careful. Calculated. A message.

My chest hollowed out.

Then I noticed what remained.

Tucked deep into the lining—my passport. Plane tickets. Legal documents. Every paper I couldn’t afford to lose.

Untouched.

Protected.

I sank back onto my heels, disbelief and fury crashing together. I didn’t need to guess who’d done this.

Nina.

Only she would be petty enough to destroy what hurt while preserving what mattered. Only she would want me humiliated—but still able to leave, so she could claim victory without consequence.

There would be a reckoning later.

For now, I needed out.

I crouched by the bed, shoving the remaining salvageable items into my bag, when the door creaked open behind me.

Nina stepped inside.

She held a small black bottle between two fingers, swinging it casually as her eyes swept the room like she was inspecting property. Her nose wrinkled, disdain written clearly across her face—until her gaze landed on me.

If looks could kill, I would’ve been dust.

“Well,” she drawled, tilting her head with that sickly sweetness that always made my skin crawl, “you really are impressive, Avery. After everything I’ve done to embarrass you in front of capos, investors, socialites—anyone who matters—you still cling to this place like it’s the only thing keeping you alive.”

Her smile sharpened.

“Oh. That’s right. Your grandmother passed last month, didn’t she?” She feigned thoughtfulness. “Now that your last piece of family is gone, I suppose it makes sense. You’re desperate. Hanging onto Zachary like he’s your final lifeline.”

Then she laughed—light, cruel, perfectly timed.

“Remember how you begged him to fly you out to see her one last time?” she asked softly. “Do you want to know why he didn’t?”

She lifted her phone, waving it like a blade.

“Because he promised to take me to the coast that day. Sunset. Champagne. That photo everyone saw? That’s when it was taken.”

The words didn’t hit all at once.

They fractured slowly—spreading through me like cracks in glass.

She’d known.

She’d known exactly what she was doing when she flaunted that picture. When she reminded me of the helicopter. Of the one day I’d knelt on cold marble, begging him to let me leave for just a few hours.

And he chose her.

The pressure built in my chest, jaw locking, fists curling at my sides until my nails bit skin.

Something inside me snapped.

“You think this is amusing?” I hissed, my voice low and sharp. “You think tearing apart what little I have left makes you powerful? Makes you worthy to stand beside him?”

Nina arched a brow, lips curving into something predatory. “I don’t need to be his equal,” she said calmly. “I already have everything.”

I stepped closer, teeth bared. “You have nothing,” I spat. “You’re a parasite. A leech feeding on scraps from his life—and mine.”

The room went very still.