Aria’s POV

When I opened my eyes again, I almost wished I hadn’t.

Every inch of my body throbbed as if I had been beaten from the inside out. There was a hollow weight in my chest, a strange emptiness that felt worse than pain.

“Mrs. Russo… you’re awake.”

A female doctor stood beside the bed, relief flickering across her face. “We were afraid we might lose you.”

My throat felt scorched raw. My limbs were heavy, bruised, foreign. I blinked against the harsh hospital lights, disoriented. For a few seconds, I didn’t understand where I was or why my body felt like it had survived a war.

Then it all came back.

The transfusion. Enzo’s order. The dizziness. The shouting. The darkness swallowing me whole.

My heart began to pound.

I turned my head slowly toward the doctor, dread crawling through my veins.

She was trying to maintain a professional expression, but I saw it—the sympathy.

“My baby…” The words scraped out of my throat. “Is my baby…?”

She hesitated.

That single pause told me everything.

My stomach dropped as though I were falling from a great height. The doctor inhaled carefully and shook her head.

“I’m very sorry,” she said softly. “We tried everything. But the pregnancy couldn’t be saved.”

For a moment, the world went silent.

Then the sound that came out of me didn’t feel human.

It tore from somewhere deep and broken. My chest constricted violently, as if someone had punched straight through my ribs. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t accept it.

I had thought I was beyond tears.

I was wrong.

I sobbed until my body shook, until my throat burned, until the grief felt like it might split me open. I cried for the child I had already imagined holding. For the tiny heartbeat that had existed inside me. For the miracle I had chosen too late.

And for the man who had stolen it from me.

A part of me wished I had gone through with the abortion that morning, before I allowed myself to hope. Losing the baby now—after choosing it—felt like being carved open alive.

The doctor stayed quietly by my side, giving me space to break.

Eventually, the sobs faded into ragged breathing. I wiped my face with trembling hands, though the tears kept coming anyway.

Dominic.

The thought cut through the fog.

“What day is it?” I asked hoarsely.

“It’s Thursday,” she replied gently. “You’ve been unconscious for two days.”

Two days.

I calculated quickly. The three days Dominic had given me were nearly gone.

“I need my phone,” I said urgently, trying to sit up despite the sharp pain that protested through my abdomen.

“It’s in the drawer beside you,” she said, moving to help, but I was already reaching for it.

My hands trembled as I typed.

—I accept. Meet me at the orphanage in three hours.—

The response came almost immediately.

—Finally. I was starting to think you would hesitate forever.—

I stared at the screen for a moment before replying.

—I won’t.—

The doctor studied me carefully. “Is there anything else you need?”

I forced a brittle smile. “Did anyone come to see me?”

Her expression shifted slightly.

“No,” she admitted. “No one.”

Of course not.

Enzo hadn’t come. Camilla hadn’t come. The so-called family I had sacrificed everything for hadn’t bothered to check if I was alive.

Strangely, I didn’t feel the sharp sting I expected.

I felt nothing.

Just an emptiness where something precious had once been.

I turned my face toward the wall and lay there quietly until I heard the soft click of the door closing behind her.

After a while, I pushed the blanket off.

Every movement sent a surge of pain through my body. My stitches pulled. My muscles screamed in protest. I ignored it all.

A nurse entering the room froze when she saw me attempting to stand.

“Mrs. Russo, you shouldn’t be out of bed. You’ve lost significant blood. You need more rest—”

“I’m leaving,” I said evenly.

She blinked. “You’re not cleared for discharge. We haven’t even completed—”

“I’m not asking for permission,” I cut in, my voice steady but devoid of warmth. “Bring me whatever forms you need signed.”

She hesitated, clearly torn between procedure and something in my expression that warned her not to argue.

After a moment, she nodded and left.

When she returned with the paperwork, I signed without reading.

Standing upright felt like walking through fire. My legs trembled under my own weight. My back ached with every step. But pain was easier to endure than staying in that room another second.

I gathered my belongings and stepped into the hallway.

Halfway down the corridor, something made me slow.

Through the glass window of a private suite, I caught sight of Enzo.

He stood beside Camilla’s bed, his posture relaxed. She was sitting upright now, laughing softly at something he had said. Her cheeks were no longer pale. There were no machines beeping frantically around her.

They looked… comfortable.

Untouched by the chaos that had nearly killed me.

Enzo leaned down and kissed her forehead.

And neither of them looked even remotely concerned.

Aria’s POV

Enzo was sitting beside Camilla’s bed, holding a porcelain bowl in one hand and a spoon in the other, blowing gently on the soup before lifting it carefully to her lips. He watched her with an expression so tender it almost looked like devotion.

There had been a time when that sight would have broken me.

Now, I felt absolutely nothing.

No jealousy. No pain. No anger.

Just emptiness.

I turned quietly, intending to leave before either of them noticed me, but fate had never been kind to me.

“Aria?”

His voice reached me before I could take another step.

I paused, jaw tightening, then slowly turned back.

Enzo’s expression shifted the instant our eyes met. Whatever softness he had been wearing for Camilla vanished, replaced by something close to guilt.

“I didn’t know you were awake,” he said awkwardly, rising from the chair beside her. “How are you feeling?”

I said nothing.

I simply looked at him.

The silence stretched between us, heavy and deliberate. My stare did not waver.

He dropped his gaze first.

“What you did…” he began carefully, lifting his eyes again. “It mattered. Camilla is stable. The baby is strong. You saved them.”

A hollow laugh slipped from my lips before I could stop it.

It wasn’t loud, but it was sharp enough to make him flinch.

Camilla rested her hand over her stomach with theatrical tenderness. “Enzo hasn’t left my side once,” she said sweetly, her eyes gleaming. “He’s been incredible.”

I didn’t respond.

There was nothing left to say.

I turned to walk away again, but Enzo stepped forward quickly, reaching out.

“Wait. Please.”

I stopped, not because I cared, but because I was curious how far his audacity would go.

“I’m hosting a gathering tonight,” he continued, as though nothing catastrophic had happened between us. “To celebrate your recovery… and Camilla’s safe discharge. It’s been a difficult few days. I thought it would be good to bring everyone together. My father will attend. He wants to see you.”

I remained silent.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Let me drive you home. We’re heading back anyway.”

“I’m not going home,” I replied evenly.

His brows drew together. “Then where?”

“The orphanage.”

I kept my tone flat.

Dominic had promised that once I agreed, the orphanage would be untouchable. I intended to make sure every document, every protection, every legal shield was in place. Enzo would never use it against me again.

Enzo blinked. “Why the orphanage?”

I tilted my head slightly. “I have matters to settle.”

Camilla suddenly perked up. “Oh, that’s lovely,” she said brightly. “I’ve been meaning to visit. It was our father’s project, after all.”

I looked at her with mild surprise.

She had always despised the orphanage. Called it sentimental. A waste of resources.

Enzo nodded immediately. “Then we’ll all go together.”

I studied him carefully.

This was the same man who once complained that the orphanage drained funds better used for “real investments.” The same man who rolled his eyes every time I mentioned renovations or donations.

Yet now, because Camilla suggested it, he agreed without hesitation.

A faint scoff escaped me.

“Fine,” I said coolly. “You can come.”

He looked relieved, almost hopeful.

“But before we leave,” I added, reaching into my bag, “I need your signature.”

He straightened slightly. “On what?”

I handed him the folded document I had been carrying since the night he brought Camilla into our home.

He took it, scanning the first page briefly. “What is this?”

“My hospital discharge paperwork,” I replied calmly.

He hesitated.

Enzo Russo never signed anything without reading it thoroughly. Contracts, agreements, internal syndicate arrangements—he reviewed every detail with obsessive caution.

For a brief second, I saw that instinct flicker.

Then Camilla shifted in the bed.

“I’m exhausted,” she murmured softly. “Can we go soon?”

Enzo glanced at her, and whatever caution he possessed evaporated.

He signed.

Without reading a single line.

He handed the papers back absentmindedly and moved immediately to help Camilla stand.

I slipped the document back into my bag, a faint, satisfied curve touching my lips.

“Thank you,” I said quietly. “I’m free now.”

He didn’t catch the meaning.

He was too busy adjusting Camilla’s coat, murmuring reassurances, completely unaware that he had just signed away far more than a hospital form.

Aria’s POV

When we reached the car, Camilla hurried ahead and reached for the front passenger door as if it were already hers.

To my surprise, Enzo caught her wrist lightly.

“Wait,” he said, then glanced at me. “Aria… you can sit in front.”

There was something almost apologetic in his tone, as if offering me the seat could undo everything else.

“Camilla can take the back.”

“No,” Camilla objected immediately, her lips forming a dramatic pout. “I get nauseous in the back seat. The baby’s been making me dizzy all day, Enzo.”

I let out a quiet breath through my nose.

Enzo hesitated, clearly trying to navigate between us.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said evenly. “She can sit in front.”

“But—”

“I said it’s fine.” My voice sharpened slightly. “I don’t care where I sit.”

A brief silence followed.

Camilla’s lips curved in subtle triumph.

Enzo frowned but didn’t argue further.

I slid into the backseat carefully, biting back a wince as my body protested the movement. Every bruise and stitch reminded me of the hospital bed I had just left.

I leaned my head against the cool glass of the window and stared outside, distancing myself from the scene unfolding just a few feet away.

Five minutes into the drive, Camilla began her performance.

She rested her hand casually on Enzo’s thigh. Her fingers moved slowly, deliberately. I didn’t turn my head, but I could see the faint movement reflected in the side mirror—and the sideways glance she threw in my direction.

Enzo stiffened.

“Camilla,” he warned quietly, removing her hand.

She blinked at him with exaggerated innocence. “What?”

When he didn’t elaborate, she returned her hand to his leg, this time sliding it higher.

“I said stop,” he snapped, more firmly.

Instantly, her eyes filled with tears. She withdrew her hand and covered her face.

“Why are you yelling at me?” she whimpered. “I’m pregnant. You’re stressing me.”

Enzo exhaled, frustration melting into concern. “I’m not yelling. Just… not when she’s here.”

He didn’t say my name.

As if I were nothing more than background noise in my own life.

Camilla sniffled softly, then leaned forward to open the glove compartment. “I’m just looking for tissues,” she muttered.

What she pulled out was not tissue.

She held up a delicate scrap of red lace between her fingers and laughed softly.

“Oh, Enzo,” she said sweetly. “Remember this? That night we didn’t make it to the hotel? You pulled me onto your lap right here in this car—”

“That’s enough,” Enzo cut in tightly, eyes fixed on the road.

She shrugged. “Relax. Aria knows it’s just hormones. Pregnancy makes everything more intense.” Her hand drifted back to his thigh. This time, he didn’t remove it.

Through the rearview mirror, his gaze flickered toward me.

For a second, our eyes met.

I looked away immediately.

There was nothing left for him to see.

—

The moment the car stopped in front of the orphanage gates, I stepped out without a word.

I didn’t wait for them.

I walked through the iron gates and into the building my father had built with his own hands long before the city learned to fear his name. The scent of old wood and disinfectant greeted me. For a brief moment, memories tightened my chest, but I forced myself forward.

Mr. Damien, the administrator, looked up from his desk when I entered his office.

His eyes widened. “Miss Aria,” he said warmly, standing at once. “We weren’t expecting you.”

“I won’t take much of your time,” I replied. “There are matters we need to review immediately.”

We went over documents, security updates, funding allocations. I ensured every contract and ownership clause was ironclad. By the time we were finishing, I felt steadier than I had in days.

Then a scream tore through the building.

It wasn’t playful.

It was panicked.

My heart lurched violently.

Another cry followed—sharper this time.

I didn’t wait. I rushed out of the office, Mr. Damien right behind me.

The smell hit me before I saw it.

Smoke.

Thick and bitter.

It burned my throat instantly.

The screaming was coming from the west wing—the dormitory for the younger children.

I ran toward it, dread tightening every muscle in my body.

When I reached the corridor, I froze.

Flames licked up the walls near the far exit. Smoke rolled along the ceiling in dark waves. Children were crying, some huddled near the stairwell, others coughing desperately as staff tried to herd them away from the spreading fire.

For a heartbeat, everything felt unreal.

Then instinct took over.

“Get them out!” I shouted, my voice cutting through the chaos. “Use the east exit! Move now!”

My father’s orphanage was burning.