My best friend, Cassidy Donnelly, had cried herself into a stupor. When she called her husband, Ronan Fitzpatrick, from her mother's phone, he immediately berated her.

"It takes real talent for you two to piss Cillian off. He's the most loyal person I know."

"If you're such a good actress, maybe you should quit managing those bars and join Alessia on stage. Liliana doesn't like to be disturbed when she's eating, so stop calling."

"Call one more time, and I'll make sure no one from the Donnelly family can ever contact me again."

To Cillian and Ronan, Cassidy and I were just two jealous, melodramatic women. They didn't care that we had just lost the heirs to our families.

The De Lucas and the Donnellys all rushed to our side, worried sick about us.

But Cillian and Ronan were the only ones who didn't show.

On the day of the private memorial for our lost children, Cassidy made one last, desperate attempt. She tried to call Ronan, but by then, he had blocked everyone even remotely connected to her.

I called Cillian over a dozen times before he finally picked up.

"It's not your due date yet, why are you calling again? I just got Liliana to sleep, and now you've woken her up. When are you going to stop acting like a spoiled Principessa?"

I forced myself to remain calm. "It's our son's memorial service today. And our nephew's. I told you and Ronan. Get over here now."

That infuriated him. "Alessia, what line won't you cross for your ridiculous need for control? You keep cursing our child. Don't you think that's twisted?"

Rage choked the words in my throat.

Cassidy snatched the phone from my hand and snarled, "No mother would ever joke about her own child! The service is at the family cemetery. If you and Ronan have an ounce of doubt, get your asses over here and see for yourselves!"

The family cemetery was less than a three-hour drive from the penthouse. But Cassidy and I waited for six hours. Cillian and Ronan never showed up.

After the memorial, Cassidy was devastated. She cried every day until her eyes were permanently red and swollen.

I wasn't much better. I woke up from nightmares night after night, unable to find a moment of peace even with sleeping pills.

Meanwhile, we saw photos from an underground information broker. In one, a bare-chested Cillian and Ronan were leaning languidly against a floor-to-ceiling window, smiling at Liliana.

Liliana sat nearby, her cheeks flushed. She was biting her lip, sketching their chiseled bodies on a large drawing pad.

The photo cut off at their waists, but the lines on her sketchpad left nothing to the imagination.

A note with the photos read: "I've seen those perfect bodies so many times I'm starting to get bored. I'm in no rush to finish this sketch, but they're so wrapped up in me they won't even take a phone call."

Shortly after I saw that intelligence, another file came through. This time it was a video. In it, Cillian was hand-washing her underwear while Ronan massaged her lower abdomen.

She let out soft moans, her cheeks a delicate pink.

The broker included comments from his other clients:

"Damn, this girl is living the life. Let me trade places with her for a few days!"

"The brothers are both into her, right? Liliana, which one do you want?"

"She's an adult. Obviously, she wants both!"

Liliana bit her lip and glanced at them both. "I'm so useless. I'm just on my period, and I need both of you to take care of me."

Cillian smiled and patted her head. "Don't be silly. You'll always be our little princess."

Ronan nodded seriously. "That's right."

...