I was raised by Dante Moretti.

Dante used to say, "My little principessa is the most perfect, obedient girl."

But at eighteen, his perfect girl ran away with his most trusted man.

The day I was dragged back, he possessed me for the entire night.

"Baby, he must have tricked you into leaving, right?"

"It's alright. I've already sent him to the bottom of the Hudson River. He can't take you away from me ever again."

For every time I called him a madman, he took me again.

All of New York knew that Don Moretti, a man as cold-blooded as they come, was a monster who coveted his own adopted daughter.

But he didn't care. He publicly announced our marriage, drove away every man in my life, and locked me in a golden cage in his Manhattan penthouse.

He cherished me with a disturbing, devout tenderness.

But one day, the cage was unlocked by a pregnant woman. Dressed in a white gown, she was the very picture of innocence.

"Dante said you were tainted, so only my child with him can inherit everything from the Moretti family."

So that was the real reason for my repeated miscarriages.

But Dante forgot… a girl raised by a monster becomes a monster, too.

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1

Isabella Rossi blocked the second-floor hallway, one hand cradling her bulging stomach.

My gaze fell on the ruby necklace around her neck.

That necklace was a Moretti family heirloom. I had wanted it once.

But the man who’d always granted my every wish simply told me, "Pick something else. This one doesn't suit you."

So, it was never for me. It was for her.

She deliberately slowed her speech. "I'm here because Dante said that now that I'm pregnant, I shouldn't be hidden away. He thought I should spend more time with you."

"Besides, you couldn't even keep a single child after all these years."

"Dante said you'd be happy for us."

I didn't answer, just tried to move past her.

But she suddenly stuck out her foot to trip me.

The moment I sidestepped, I whipped around, grabbed her wrist, and with a forceful shove, sent her flying.

Her entire body slammed heavily onto the marble floor.

"Ah! It hurts!" she instantly curled up, her stomach crashing directly into the ornate balustrade.

The white silk of her dress instantly bloomed red.

I retracted my hand, watching her howl on the floor.

Coming to provoke me like this… she must have a death wish.

Dante's hurried footsteps echoed from down the hall.

By the time he rushed over, Isabella was already sobbing hysterically.

She clutched his jacket and sobbed, "Dante! She pushed me! She did it on purpose! My baby… I'm losing our baby!"

"Please, save our baby!"

He paused mid-crouch, then shot to his feet, his hand clamping around my neck and pinning me to the wall.

His knuckles tightened, squeezing the air from my lungs. My throat constricted, making it impossible to breathe.

His eyes were shot through with angry red veins. "Elara, you know how long I've waited for this child. Why would you do this?"

A bitter smile twisted my lips. "Waited for this child? What about my first child, the one I lost three years ago? Or the second one I couldn't save last year? Weren't you waiting for them? Weren't they your children?"

"My children?" He laughed, a harsh, grating sound, as if I’d told the funniest joke in the world. His other hand flew up. With a sharp crack, a slap landed heavily on my face.

My head snapped to the side, blood instantly seeping from the corner of my mouth.

"Elara, you dare mention children? You're nothing but an abandoned baby I picked up from an orphanage. Letting you carry my seed was a mercy. If you couldn't keep it, that's because you're useless!"

"I've raised you for so many years, and you're utterly useless. What's the difference between you and the bodies I feed to the fishes?"

He let go of me, then bent down and carefully lifted Isabella into his arms, his movements as gentle as if he were handling fragile glass.

As he passed me, he paused, the disgust in his eyes nearly overflowing. "I've had the guest room prepared. Starting today, you'll live there."

"If Isabella loses a single hair, I'll break one of your fingers. If her child doesn't make it, you'll be sleeping in Long Island Sound."

I leaned against the cold wall, my hand drifting to my burning cheek.

Long Island Sound was where Dante disposed of his problems.

He had taken me there once.

It was to deal with the classmates who had bullied me at school.

After that, I never saw them again.

And now, he was saving that dark, deep place for me.

On the seventh day of my confinement to the guest room, I woke before sunrise to the clamor of furniture being moved outside my door.

I opened the door to a chaotic hallway, where several men were carrying an antique vanity table downstairs.

That vanity had been a gift from Dante for my eighteenth birthday.

Back then, he had smiled and said, "My little principessa deserves only the best."

Just as I was about to step forward, I saw Isabella standing at the door of my room, holding a white poodle and directing the maids to move the white baby crib.

I had personally designed that crib when I was pregnant with my first child; I had spent three whole months painting the murals on it.

Every brushstroke on the bumper pads, every little angel, was filled with my hopes for them.

At the time, I had imagined our baby lying in it, listening to Dante tell them stories.

"Don't touch that!" I lunged forward, only to be seized by two bodyguards.

They were incredibly strong; I thrashed, but their grip was iron.

Isabella turned around, deliberately holding the dog higher for me to see.

A smug smile stretched across her face, her voice cloying. "Elara, why so angry? Dante said this room will be mine from now on, so your things naturally have to be cleared out."

She bent down and carefully placed the poodle into the crib.

The little dog pawed at the paintings, destroying all the little angels I had so painstakingly created.

"Oh, right," she said, as if suddenly remembering, and looked up at me with eyes full of malice.

"Dante also said we could get rid of this crib."

"It's a perfect dog bed for my puppy. That way, it won't go to waste. It can keep him warm."

I violently broke free from the bodyguards' grasp. "That's my child's crib! It was for my baby! How dare you…"

"We'll see if I dare, won't we?" Isabella sauntered over and deliberately slammed her shoulder into me.

I staggered back two steps, my lower back hitting the railing hard.

"Elara, you can't even keep a child. None of these things are yours anymore."

"Besides, so what if it was for your child? A doomed thing that died before it was even born. How can it compare to my future son?"

Her words were like shards of glass in my heart. Just as I was about to retort, I saw Dante approaching.

He was holding a velvet box, inside which was a pair of diamond cufflinks.

I had secretly saved up my allowance for half a year to buy him that birthday present.

I still remembered when he received it. He had smiled, stroked my hair, and said, "My little principessa is the most thoughtful."

But now, he didn't even glance at me. He walked straight to Isabella and handed her the velvet box. "Isabella," he said, his voice soft, "you mentioned you liked these cufflinks yesterday. I had them customized for you. Take a look. Do you like them?"

Isabella took the box, glanced inside, and immediately stood on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. "Dante, I love them! You're wonderful!"

"They'll be perfect as a charm for my puppy's collar!"

"As long as you like them." Dante reached out and gently stroked her hair, the affection in his eyes practically overflowing.

It was as if he had just remembered my existence. He turned his head to look at me, his gaze instantly turning cold. "Elara, the butler said you still haven't packed your things."

"I'll give you half an hour. If I see a single one of your things on this floor in half an hour, or if you dare cause trouble with Isabella again, I'll throw out all of this junk."

He called the things I had prepared for our child "junk."

I watched the tender way he touched her and suddenly laughed.

Without another word, I turned and retreated to the guest room.

The moment the door closed, I pulled a sharpened letter opener from under the mattress.

The blade caught the light, glinting with the same cold fury that burned in my eyes.

I’ve always lived by one rule: if I can't have it, no one can.

A few days later, Antonio, the butler who had taken care of me for years, came to me secretly.

He said he had found news of my birth mother.

He said she would be attending a charity gala tonight.

He even showed me a photo. "Miss, the necklace this lady is wearing is a perfect match for the one you have."

That necklace was the only thing I had left of her.

I had memorized its design for thirteen years, dreaming of finding my mother with it.

I had fragmented memories of the day she left me.

When I was seven, my father was brutally killed on the streets, hunted by the mafia for being a police informant.

The killers stormed our home, tearing it apart.

My mother, desperate to protect me, had placed me at the entrance of an orphanage while I was asleep and faced the killers alone.

Every day since, I had worried whether she was alive or dead.

On the night of the gala, I deliberately wore the necklace.

Standing on the second-floor terrace of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, my heart pounded, my eyes constantly scanning the crowd, afraid I'd miss her.

Just then, I saw a familiar silhouette standing by the edge of the terrace.

She was wearing a black evening gown, the pearl necklace at her collar shimmering under the lights, exactly as I remembered.

"Mom?" My voice trembled as my feet moved forward on their own.

My heart hammered with such excitement I didn't even notice someone approaching from behind.

Just as I was about to reach her, I felt a violent shove from behind.

I stumbled forward, crashing right into the woman I believed was my mother.

She screamed and fell backward, her body flipping over the terrace railing.

I scrambled to the edge, watching helplessly as her head hit the marble floor below with a sickening thud.

"Mom!" I screamed, my voice raw and caught in my throat.

I heard the dull crack as her body hit the ground. A moment later, her pearl necklace, broken in two, rolled to my feet.

Isabella's laughter rang out behind me.

"Elara, why so clumsy? Tripping over your own feet?"

"If word of this got out, people might think you did it on purpose."

I whipped around and saw a piece of torn fabric clutched in her hand.

She had torn it from the back of my gown when she pushed me.

She deliberately held the fabric scrap in front of my face and waved it. "My mistake. I guess I got a little too excited."

"You're not mad, are you? It wasn't on purpose, after all. You should have watched where you were going."

I had no time for her and rushed downstairs.

But by the time I got to my mother, she was no longer breathing.

A few doctors were crouching beside her, shaking their heads. "She's gone."

For a moment, the air left my lungs, and I collapsed beside her body.