I once dreamed of having a baby.

For two years, I carried that dream like a fragile flame, only to watch it snuffed out again and again—five miscarriages and each one left me more broken than the last.

The doctor told me my chances of conceiving again were slim.

In order to have a child with Derek, I opted for IVF, which put me through all kinds of suffering.

In the end, just because Lilyanne said that she was afraid of pain and feared becoming ugly, I lost the right to become a mother. Instead, I was reduced to be nothing more than a surrogate mother for them.

My face was as white as a sheet.

Derek must have noticed my pale complexion. Perhaps worried that something would happen to the baby if I were physically unwell, he left to call the family physician after bringing me back to the bedroom.

Derek's phone was just by his pillow. I never knew his password since I had never once tried to check it before.

But tonight, something inside me shifted. I picked up the phone and entered a guess for his password. I punched in Lilyanne's birth date.

The lock screen flashed open.

I scoffed. Of course.

Derek's wallpaper was a picture of him and Lilyanne kissing.

It was an eyesore. I immediately moved to open his WhatsApp. His pinned chat was with Lilyanne. He had saved her contact as "babe". Meanwhile, my number had no terms of endearment even though I was his wife.

As I scrolled through their messages, I realized that all those nights Derek told me he was busy with work—he was talking to Lilyanne.

When she said she missed him, he called her. There were records of four- to five-hour long video calls.

Every time I begged him to try for a baby, he messaged Lilyanne, telling her he thought of her the whole time. The following day, he would feed me the morning-after pill.

My gaze fell upon a photograph of Lilyanne, revealing a bare chest marked by a round bullet scar, mirroring my own, positioned near her heart.

I knew for a fact she never had that scar before.

But a week after I told her about the man I saved—the injured, unconscious man from the mafia—she disappeared.

When she returned, Derek was at her side. He even declared that she was the woman who had saved his life, threatening anyone who dared to oppose her would face the wrath of the Church family.

It was absurd. Lilyanne, who'd always scorned the mafia, labeling them mere criminals and their territories "rat-infested sewers" would never have ventured into such places, let alone rescued Derek.

Yet she took my place and impersonated me as the person who saved Derek's life.

The memories, a relentless tide of pain, fueled my resolve. I clenched my fists, wiped away the last traces of tears and dialed a number.

"Dennis Hoppe," I said, my voice steady, "Capo of the new rising east coast mafia. You're the man who took down two gambling dens in the south within a week, and the one who wiped out the Fernando family in a single night.

"I can make you the Capo dei capi. Would you like to work together?

"Who am I, you ask?

"I am Nicole Accetta—the wife of your sole rival, Derek Church."