I never realized how fast love could turn into punishment until the day Marco made me watch a ticking clock attached to our children’s chests.

I used to believe that getting rid of her—the woman who slipped into our marriage like poison—would bring back the peace I’d been clawing for. I sent her away, thinking distance could fix everything. Instead, it ignited the fuse that destroyed everything we built.

The message came first—a video call that lit up my phone in the middle of the night. Marco’s face was emotionless, all sharp lines and shadows. He slid his phone toward the camera, revealing the worst sight I’d ever seen: Sofia and Mateo, bound to chairs, bombs strapped to their small bodies, a red digital timer blinking between them.

“Forty-nine minutes, Isabella,” he said evenly, his voice almost soothing. “Where is Natalia?”

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Natalia—the woman who turned my husband into a stranger. The woman who whispered her way into our lives until Marco started looking at me like a lie he wanted to erase.

He’d asked me that question before. The first time, it was a warning. The second time, a threat. But this time—this time it was war.

“Marco, please,” I whispered, my throat dry, hands trembling. “They’re your children—our children.”

He let out a small, humorless laugh. “No, your children,” he hissed. “Natalia told me everything. She told me about Milan. About the man who came before me. You tricked me into raising someone else’s blood.”

“That’s not true,” I said, desperate. “You held them, Marco. You taught Mateo how to fight. You sang Sofia to sleep. You know they’re yours.”

He leaned in close, the edges of his voice cracking. “Then tell me where she is, Isabella. You’ve got thirty-two minutes before I let one of those bombs do its job.”

Something inside me broke that night. Because the man standing in front of me wasn’t my husband anymore. Whatever love we once had—whatever warmth existed—was long gone. All that was left was something cold, shaped in her image.

---

There was a time I used to think Marco Cortez was untouchable. He was the kind of man people crossed the street to avoid—the son of the Cortez empire, heir to everything ruthless and corrupt in the city. Power followed him like a shadow. His name was a threat disguised as a prayer.

And somehow, he chose me.

I was nobody. A quiet girl from a forgotten town, born into a family that never had enough. But he made it feel like that didn’t matter. He courted me the way legends are written—grand, ridiculous, unforgettable.

The night he proposed, the sky above the city exploded in fireworks spelling out my name. G, marry me. People cheered. Cars stopped. For that one night, I was his entire world.

I thought I was living a fairytale. The kind you grow up dreaming about—the one where love conquers everything. But fairy tales born in the underworld always end in ash.

When I told him we couldn’t work, that I wasn’t made for his kind of darkness, he didn’t argue. He just waited—day after day, rain or shine, outside my building. The most feared man in the city waiting for a nobody like me.

When I finally said yes, I thought the storm was over. I thought I’d found peace.

Then I got pregnant. He cried when he first touched my belly. “They’re ours,” he whispered. “You, me, them. That’s all I’ll ever need.”

I believed him. God, I really did.

But then came her.

---

The first time I heard the name Natalia Jenner, it was in passing. Luca, Marco’s right hand, mentioned her at a party—a woman who’d made a scene at one of their auctions. She’d tripped in front of Marco, claimed her heel broke. Everyone laughed about it later.

I didn’t. Something about her name stuck.

A week later, I heard it again—this time from Marco’s lips.

We were together—his breath warm against my neck, the world silent around us. Then he whispered her name.

Natalia.

It was so soft I thought I imagined it. But when I confronted him the next morning, he didn’t even flinch. He just pulled me into his arms like nothing was wrong.

“She doesn’t mean anything,” he said, voice low, too calm. “Every man in our world has someone. But I come home to you, Isabella. You’re the wife. That’s what matters.”

And I was supposed to accept that. Pretend it didn’t hurt. Pretend it wasn’t killing me from the inside.

But it didn’t stop there. He stopped pretending. He brought her into the open. Let her haunt every corner of our lives until there was no space left for me to breathe.

So I did the only thing I could think of. I made her disappear.

I sent Natalia away—far from the city, far from us. I thought if she vanished, maybe we’d find our way back. Maybe he’d see me again.

Instead, I set fire to everything.

---

When Marco strapped bombs to our children, I knew the man I loved no longer existed. Natalia had hollowed him out and left a monster behind.

And that night, as the timer ticked down and his rage filled the room, I realized I wasn’t just fighting for my children.

I was fighting for the last piece of my soul that still remembered what love felt like.

He lavished her with diamonds, bought her the kind of jewelry that glittered like betrayal, and handed her a penthouse in the city’s richest district. They attended private parties together, always in the spotlight—her neck heavy with gold and stones that sparkled while I sat at home trying to piece together excuses for our six-year-old twins. His children.

They used to ask me why Daddy didn’t tuck them in anymore, why his voice only lived in phone calls and not in bedtime stories.

And when I finally broke—when I screamed, cried, and begged him to come back to us—to remember what we once had—he didn’t even blink. He looked at me like I was a stranger. Empty. Soulless.

“Stop being so damn dramatic, Isabella,” he said flatly.

That was all.

In his eyes, I wasn’t his wife anymore. Just an inconvenience that wouldn’t stay quiet.

So I did the only thing a cornered woman could think to do.

I made her disappear.

Natalia vanished—gone without a trace, erased from our lives before she could rip apart what little remained of our family.

I believed that would fix everything. That maybe he’d see clearly again.

But instead, Marco retaliated in the cruelest way—he took our twins.

“She’s in Monochalie,” I stammered, voice trembling. “The villa under my name. The one by the lake in Klarevia.”

For a long moment, he didn’t speak. He just stared at me—those dark, merciless eyes locked on mine. I couldn’t read him. I couldn’t even tell if he was breathing.

Then he picked up his phone.

He didn’t step outside. Didn’t even turn his back to me. Just muttered a few words in Italian, hung up, slipped on his jacket, and headed for the door—calm, collected, determined to go fetch his precious Natalia.

I caught his sleeve, my hands trembling. “What about the twins? Marco, please!”

He paused halfway, his profile sharp and cold.

“They’re at the old hospital,” he said, voice flat as glass. “Eastwood District. Go get them yourself.”

My heart stopped. My knees nearly gave out.

I didn’t wait for anything else. I just ran.

The drive blurred into chaos. I barely remember the streets—just headlights, the screech of tires, the horn of a truck I almost collided with at an intersection. My pulse thundered. My hands gripped the wheel so tight they ached. I was already there in my mind—already holding my children, already saving them.

When I reached the hospital, the world felt like it had stopped breathing. Rust clung to the gates, windows shattered like spider webs, machines rusted and forgotten. The air smSofiad of dust and ghosts.

And then I found them.

Mateo and Sofia.

Tied to chairs. Mouths gagged. Bombs strapped to their small chests.

My knees hit the ground before I realized I’d fallen.

Sofia’s cheeks were soaked in tears, her tiny body trembling. Mateo’s eyes met mine, steady and eerily calm. He shook his head—again and again—as if warning me not to move.

“No, no, sweetheart, hold on—” My hands shook so violently I could barely undo the ropes. The timer on the bombs ticked louder than my heartbeat. 03:12.

Sofia whimpered beneath the gag. I managed to free her first. “Run, baby, go!” I told her, and she obeyed, stumbling away in tears. Then I turned to Mateo. My brave boy didn’t flinch.

He looked straight at me, and in his eyes, I saw peace. Resignation.

Then he whispered, voice barely audible through the gag, “I love you, Mommy. Tell Daddy I love him too.”

Before I could react, he lunged forward—slamming his little body into mine, knocking me backward. My head hit the floor, my palms scraped raw.

“Mateo!” I screamed.

He didn’t stop.

He turned toward the bomb and threw himself at it.

“Mateo!”

The explosion swallowed my scream. The blast hurled me across the room. My skull hit concrete. Everything rang—my ears, my lungs, my soul. Smoke filled my mouth. Blood dripped from somewhere. I could taste iron. I couldn’t hear anything. Not even his voice.

---

When I opened my eyes, I was in a hospital bed. Tubes in my arm. The room smSofiad like disinfectant and death. Sofia lay beside me, tiny body bandaged, hooked to wires, her chest rising and falling—alive.

But Mateo wasn’t there.

The doctor said we survived. But not all of us.

I knelt beside Sofia’s bed, resting my forehead against the mattress. Tears fell faster than I could wipe them away.

“I’m so sorry, baby…” I whispered hoarsely. “Mama chose wrong. I thought he’d protect us. I thought he loved us.”

Her eyes fluttered open, her voice weak, fragile. “You don’t have to be sorry, Mama… You’re here now.”

That broke me. I pressed her tiny hand to my face and sobbed until I couldn’t breathe. Until I couldn’t see. Until grief was the only thing left inside me.

Mateo was gone.

My boy. My brave, gentle boy. The one who called me soldier mama whenever I patched up his scraped knees. The one who hummed lullabies to his sister when nightmares came. The one who threw himself at death to save us both.

And I wasn’t fast enough. I wasn’t strong enough.

I had let Marco Cortez into our lives—into my heart—believing he could be the father he promised to be.

When I discovered Natalia, I should’ve walked away. I tried. Three times I drafted divorce papers. And three times, he tore them up right in front of me.

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“She means nothing, Isabella.”

“You belong to me. Always.”

I begged him to let me go. He never did.

Until now.

Because this time, I had something he’d forgotten. Something he signed without realizing what it was—back when he still trusted me enough to not read before signing.

A single document. My one advantage.

---

It happened months ago, right after the twins were accepted into the prestigious academy for mafia heirs’ children. Marco was sitting behind his grand desk, flipping through piles of documents—signing one after another with one hand while sipping whiskey with the other.

Then Natalia walked in wearing my silk robe, sliding onto his lap like she belonged there. She kissed him, right there in front of me, as if I was invisible.

And maybe I was.

So, I slipped the divorce papers quietly into the stack. Just one more sheet among the rest.

When I handed him the pen, I said, “The school needs your signature for a field activity permit.”

He frowned. “Didn’t I already sign something for them?”

“Just one more,” I said smoothly. Calm. Steady.

Natalia giggled, pulling at his collar. “Come on, Nic. Let her finish her little chores. We’ve got plans.”

He rolled his eyes, scrawled his signature without reading, and waved me off.

“Go. I’m busy.”

He never even noticed.

---

Weeks later, after we buried Mateo—no flowers, no condolences, just me and Sofia—we walked into the lawyer’s office hand in hand.

Sofia sat beside me, her small fingers curled around mine as the lawyer flipped through the documents. His brows rose in surprise.

“This is valid,” he finally said. “Legally binding. His signature is here. The divorce is final—effective immediately.”

The lawyer informed me that the process to erase our identities would take two weeks. I only nodded, pretending calm. Two weeks — that was all Sofia and I needed.

We left the lawyer’s office that very afternoon, right after we laid Mateo to rest.

Now, we were back at the Cortez estate, performing our final act as the perfect family. Every smile, every word rehearsed. Because if Marco caught even a whisper of what I was planning — that Sofia and I were preparing to disappear — he would never let us leave alive.

The household staff still watched me with that same hollow pity. I didn’t bother returning their looks. They weren’t the reason I stayed.

On the first day, I began removing every trace of him from our lives — quietly, systematically. His favorite mug vanished from the cupboard. Every playlist he’d ever made me, deleted, including the one we’d danced to at our wedding.

By the second day, I painted over the bedroom walls, stripped the sheets, replaced the curtains, moved the bed to a different corner. Every piece of him erased, every memory repainted.

On the third, I opened the safe. Inside rested the antique watch I had given him on our first anniversary — the one he once swore would be passed down to our son. I took it and sold it to a collector abroad. It wasn’t about the money. It was the satisfaction of knowing he would never touch it again.

When I returned to the mansion, Sofia was waiting in the foyer. But she wasn’t alone. Marco sat there — and beside him, Natalia.

She looked fragile and delicate, draped on the couch beside him like a doll made of glass. Her fingers curled possessively around his arm as if she belonged there, her expression painted with sickly sweetness.

I tightened my grip on Sofia’s hand and started walking past them without saying a word.

“Stop.”

His voice was cold, sharp — a command that sliced through the air.

I halted but didn’t turn.

“Where’s the bastard boy?” Marco asked.

My hand twitched, but I kept my mouth shut. Not in front of Sofia. Not here.

“Where’s Mateo?” he pressed again, his tone heavier, darker.

I still didn’t respond. Sofia’s tiny hand gripped mine tighter. I looked down — her face was too calm for her age. Too practiced. I bent to her level, brushed a strand of hair away from her face, and whispered, “Let’s make something to eat, sweetheart.”

We turned for the kitchen. Before I could reach the doorway, his hand clamped onto my arm and yanked me back.

“Don’t ignore me,” he snarled. “You think you can act like nothing happened? Tell me where my son is!”

I tore my arm from his grasp.

“You told me he wasn’t yours,” I replied coldly. “So why ask now?”

His eyes darkened, fury swirling behind them — but before he could speak, Natalia’s soft, pitiful voice broke the silence.

“Marco, please… you’re scaring her.”

I turned to see her still playing the part — her hand clutching his sleeve, the other pressed to her chest as though the moment pained her fragile heart.

He softened instantly, brushing her hair back. “You always get anxious when I raise my voice,” he murmured gently. “You should rest.”

Then he kissed her forehead. Right there. In front of me.

Sofia didn’t move. Didn’t make a sound. Just stood silently beside me — a ghost of a child.

I turned away again.

“Isabella,” Marco said, his tone smooth now, deliberate. “Apologize to her. She’s been suffering since you abandoned her in Monochalie. She couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. You went too far.”

That stopped me.

I faced him, empty-eyed. “And if I don’t?”

Natalia straightened slightly, feigning humility. “It’s fine, Marco… I don’t mind,” she said sweetly, lowering her gaze. “Isabella’s still the lady of the house.”

Her voice trembled like a saint’s, but I caught the smug satisfaction beneath it.

“You’re too kind,” Marco whispered, pressing another kiss to her forehead. “From now on, I’ll make sure you get everything you deserve.”

Pathetic.

A maid entered quietly, carrying a cup. “Chamomile tea for Miss Natalia,” she said politely.

Her favorite. Of course.

I stood there, numb, detached, frozen in place. Then Marco’s phone rang.

“You always get headaches when I talk business,” he told Natalia gently. “I’ll take this outside. Drink your tea.”

And he left.

The moment the door clicked shut, her entire act dissolved. Sofia hid behind my leg. Natalia sat upright, eyes sharp, a smirk twisting her face.

“You see?” she said, her tone light, amused. “You sent me away, but he still chose me.”

I said nothing.

“He holds me now. Loves me now. You’re just a ghost wandering his house.”

I met her gaze, calm and unflinching. “If you want him, Natalia,” I said evenly, “then take him.”

Her face hardened. “I don’t need your permission,” she hissed. “I’ll have it all — him, this mansion, his name. Everything.”

Her voice cracked with anger just as Marco’s footsteps echoed outside. In a flash, she grabbed the cup of scalding tea and poured it over her chest.

Her scream split the air. Sofia cried out too, clutching me in terror.

Marco burst through the door seconds later. Natalia was on the floor, sobbing, drenched, clutching at her clothes.

His eyes snapped to me. “Isabella!”

“I didn’t touch her,” I said, my voice flat. “There are cameras. You can check.”

His face twisted with rage, but before he could speak, Natalia whispered through trembling lips, “It’s not her fault, Marco. I probably spilled it myself… I shouldn’t have come here. I’ll go.”

She tried to step away dramatically, but he caught her wrist. “You’re not leaving. I searched the world for you, and now you think you can walk out again? You want to kill me?”

Then he turned on me, voice sharp with command. “Lock them both in the basement.”

My heart dropped. I stepped in front of Sofia, arms wide. “Please—don’t punish her! Marco, she’s just a child! She’s been through enough!”

He didn’t even glance at me.

Natalia whimpered, clutching his arm like a broken doll. “You saw how she looked at me,” she whispered. “I can’t live like this. I’m scared she’ll hurt me again.”

“You’re lying!” I shouted. “You staged the whole thing!”

“Enough!” His roar silenced everything.

“Check the cameras, Marco!” I begged. “Please. You’ll see the truth.”

“There’s no need,” he said coldly. “She’s the only one I trust.”

My stomach turned to ice. Sofia’s tiny hand trembled in mine.

Natalia’s eyes gleamed. “Take them downstairs,” she said quietly. “No food. No water.”

“Wait!” I screamed. “Not Sofia! Do anything to me, but not her! She’s your daughter—”

“She’s not,” he interrupted, his voice a dead weight.

I froze. Two guards grabbed me from behind. Sofia screamed, clinging to me as they dragged us away.

“Mama! Don’t let them take us!”

“I’m here, baby,” I whispered through tears. “I’m not letting go.”

But they pulled harder. My knees scraped against the floor, my arms aching as I held onto her.

The basement door creaked open — dark, cold, unforgiving.

They shoved us in without a word. The metal slammed shut behind us, sealing us in the dark.