“Marco… is that Isabella again? I… I should go. She sounds upset. I don’t want to be here when she calls,”

Natalia’s nervous whisper carried through the line.

“Hey, don’t talk like that,” Marco replied softly, his tone far too tender for someone speaking about another woman’s husband. “You’ve suffered enough. Let me handle her, alright? I’ll take care of it.”

Then came a sound I’d never forget — the faint brush of lips. A kiss. Maybe on her cheek, maybe on her mouth. Either way, it was enough to make me sick.

And then the call ended.

I sat there, frozen. My lungs forgot how to work. My thoughts scattered like shattered glass.

My mother, the same woman who’d died three years ago of heart failure, had been my strength through everything. She was the type to wash dishes long after midnight, to fall asleep sitting upright at the table, to hide her tears when there wasn’t enough money for my prom dress. And now, Marco — my husband — had dragged her through the mud, desecrated her memory, and turned her into a mockery. All for Natalia.

---

I don’t remember the drive to the auction house. I only remember the moment I stepped inside, my knees nearly giving way.

Then I saw her face.

Younger. Frightened. Forced to pose under unforgiving lights, trying to smile while men circled like vultures. Photos of her from her days working in a club — before I was even born — filled the screens. They were displaying her like she was a collectible, not a person.

“That’s the wife’s mother?” one man murmured.

“Back then, she must’ve been quite the catch,” another chuckled.

“Guess it runs in the blood,” someone else sneered.

Each word cut like glass. Their laughter drowned out the pounding of my heart.

Then, the auctioneer’s cheerful voice sliced through the noise:

“Lot Number One — The legendary Sapphire Queen in her prime! Opening bid: three thousand dollars!”

Sapphire Queen. That was what they used to call her because of the blue gem she wore at the club. She’d never told me why she kept it — now I knew. It wasn’t jewelry. It was armor.

I forced back the bile rising in my throat and raised my paddle.

Every time someone bid, I went higher. Every dollar spent felt like another piece of my soul torn away. By the 299th photo, my hands were trembling, my stomach hollow. I’d reclaimed every image of her — but at what cost?

When I stumbled outside, my phone rang.

I didn’t want to answer. But I did.

Marco’s voice slid through the receiver, cruel and mocking.

“So? How was it? Did you enjoy the show? You’ve always loved auctions — was this one as exciting?”

I said nothing. My fingers ached from how tightly I’d been gripping the paddle.

He sighed, irritated. “Come on, Isabella. Don’t tell me you’re thinking of leaving me over this.”

“Wouldn’t I have every reason to?” I whispered hoarsely.

He laughed — a cold, empty sound. “You can’t divorce me. Not without my consent. You know how this works.”

Silence.

He’d forgotten.

Forgotten that he’d already signed the divorce papers months ago.

Then his tone softened, almost playful. “Consider today a warning. You act up, I remind you who’s in charge. Oh, and my grandfather’s wedding anniversary is tomorrow night. Be ready. You’re coming.”

Before I could respond, the line clicked dead — along with whatever was left of my love for him.

---

The following evening came dressed in silk and menace. The Cortez wedding anniversary — the family’s sacred gathering — was less a celebration and more a demonstration of dominance. Under the chandeliers and crystal glasses were men who’d killed, bribed, and built empires from blood.

Marco arrived in his black Maserati, didn’t bother opening the door. I slid into the passenger seat on my own.

His gaze flicked over me, detached. “You’ve lost weight. Like bamboo — too thin, but hard to break.”

“Didn’t bring Natalia?” I asked, my tone flat.

He tapped his fingers on the wheel. “Not tonight. I’ll keep her away from you from now on. You’ve embarrassed this family enough.”

A small, bitter smile touched my lips. He wasn’t protecting me from her. He was protecting her from me.

As we curved along the highway, he asked, almost casually, “Where are the twins? The old men are bound to ask.”

I didn’t even blink. “Mateo’s gone. Dead. The bomb. You remember that, don’t you?”

He gave a short, cruel laugh. “Still milking that story? Playing the grieving mother — that’s rich.”

I turned my face toward the window, watching the trees smear into green streaks.

There was nothing left in me to grieve. He’d already killed the part of me that could feel pain. He could mock, taunt, desecrate my son’s memory all he wanted.

I’d buried my sorrow.

And soon, I’d bury him too — without ever getting my hands dirty.

+++

The party itself was a theater of masks — silk gowns hiding secrets, polished smiles concealing vendettas. The Cortezs thrived on reputation, legacy, and silent rivalry.

Marco held my hand the moment we entered, pretending affection for the crowd.

His grandfather rose when he saw us, moving slowly but smiling wide.

“Isabella, my dear girl,” he said, kissing both my cheeks. “Still the finest woman in the room. Marco’s lucky, though he doesn’t deserve you.”

I smiled faintly. “Thank you, Grandpa.”

Then came the matriarch — his wife, her sharp eyes raking over me like she was inspecting a stain on her favorite gown.

“You look… tired,” she said, sweetly venomous. “Try to take better care of yourself, dear. People notice these things.”

Marco stayed silent, as always when his family belittled me.

We hadn’t even reached the dining table when Natalia entered, her parents flanking her like proud escorts. She wore white silk — a mockery of purity — and her head tilted just so, the perfect picture of humility.

Her mother’s smile was polished and poisonous. “Mrs. Cortez,” she greeted. “You look… resilient. We were just saying how admirable your strength is.”

Her husband nodded. “You’ve been juggling so much. Especially after everything Natalia’s endured. But she insisted on being here. Such a compassionate girl, isn’t she?”

“She has no bitterness in her heart,” her mother added softly. “An example to all of us.”

Natalia lowered her gaze, the perfect portrait of innocence.

I didn’t dignify them with a word.

I simply walked past — my silence louder than anything I could have said.

An hour crawled by, and I sat alone at our table, my fingers curled around a half-empty glass of wine. Across the grand ballroom, Marco was twirling Natalia under the chandelier’s light — a dazzling display of charm and deceit. They looked like a magazine spread from hell, the kind of image that ruined people quietly.

I took another sip, the taste sharp against my tongue. But behind my eyes, I saw Mateo. His laughter echoed — that sweet, airy giggle that once filled our kitchen. I could still see him there, barefoot on the tiles, frosting smeared across his cheeks as he proudly showed me his messy cupcakes.

“Mama, look what I made!”

My chest tightened.

I swear to you, Mateo, I thought, I’ll make them pay for everything. But first, I have to walk out of this prison alive.

“Another glass, Mrs. Cortez?” The waiter leaned closer, bottle in hand. I nodded absently — but Marco noticed.

From the dance floor, he froze mid-step, his hand dropping from Natalia’s waist. His stare cut through the crowd and locked on me. It wasn’t love in his eyes — it was ownership. Fury. Fire.

Within moments, he was crossing the marble floor, abandoning Natalia without a glance. His grip closed around my arm, hard enough to bruise.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he hissed, his breath hot against my ear. “You’re my wife, not some spoiled brat flirting with the help.”

I slipped my arm free and met his glare evenly. “Maybe if you’d remembered I was your wife before tonight, we wouldn’t be here.”

Then I turned on my heel and walked off, my pulse steady but burning with rage.

I pushed into the powder room, closing the door behind me. The silence was heavy, broken only by my shallow breathing — until it wasn’t.

The door creaked open again. Natalia stepped in, shutting it quietly behind her.

“Well, if it isn’t the queen of ruins,” she said sweetly, her voice dripping with mock pity. “Still pretending anyone in that room listens to you?”

I didn’t answer.

She smirked, eyes glinting. “You couldn’t even protect your own child. What kind of mother lets her son die like that?”

My hand twitched at my side.

“He was, what… six?” she continued, her tone almost playful. “He must’ve screamed when the timer started. Did he call for you? Did he beg you to save him?”

That was it. The last crack in my restraint. I lunged — but before my hand even connected, she moved faster.

Natalia slapped herself. Hard. Then again, leaving red streaks on her own face. She clawed at her collarbone, dragged her fingers down her neck, then flung herself against the sink with a scream that could split glass.

“Help! Somebody help!” she shrieked. “Isabella’s gone mad!”

The door burst open moments later, but she was already halfway out, sobbing hysterically.

When I stepped out behind her, chaos had already bloomed. Natalia was on the ballroom floor, tears streaking her ruined makeup, the red marks on her skin glowing under the lights. She looked like a victim straight out of a crime scene.

Marco reached her first, catching her before she fell. “What happened?” he demanded, his voice sharp, panicked.

“She—she attacked me!” Natalia gasped between sobs, clutching his jacket. “She slammed me into the mirror! Look at my face!”

Marco’s expression darkened, jaw tightening. “Smith! Take Isabella out of here. Now.”

Two of his men stormed in, seizing me by the arms. I didn’t struggle. There was no point. My heels scraped against the marble as they dragged me forward.

Every head turned. Every whisper grew.

The music had died, replaced by murmurs and gasps. Some guests looked scandalized; others watched with a hunger for gossip. Even those pretending to ignore it couldn’t look away.

Natalia lay trembling in her mother’s arms, her sobs pitifully rehearsed.

“My poor baby!” her mother cried dramatically. “What kind of monster would do this?”

Her father shook his head, voice booming for everyone to hear. “She’s suffered enough! Always too forgiving. Too kind.”

Marco’s grandmother strode forward, her face twisted with disgust.

“Disgraceful!” she spat. “You humiliate this family before our allies — on our anniversary, no less! You’ve shamed our name beyond repair!”

Then came Marco’s grandfather, striking his cane hard against the marble floor.

“I’ve tolerated your coldness long enough,” he roared. “But this? Hurting an innocent guest? You’re done, Isabella. You are no longer one of us!”

I lifted my head slowly, heart hammering, chest tight. Then I snapped.

“Innocent?” My voice cracked through the silence like lightning. “You want to talk about innocent?”

I turned straight to Marco, my eyes blazing. “She’s the reason Mateo’s dead.”

The entire room froze. The silence was suffocating — heavy, unbreathing. Even the musicians had stopped moving.

“She told you he wasn’t yours,” I continued, trembling but unbroken. “She poisoned you against your own son. She despised him. And now he’s gone because of her.”

Marco’s brow furrowed, confusion warring with disbelief.

Then Natalia struck again, voice slicing through the air. “She’s lying! I saw Mateo earlier today!” she cried. “He was fine — running around a friend’s house! She’s gone insane! She’s saying her son is dead just to make me look guilty!”

She turned to the crowd, tears streaming. “Look at what she did to me! Look at my face! This woman needs help!”

That was all it took.

Marco’s rage erupted. He stormed toward me, and I didn’t move.

The first slap came hard and fast.

Smack.

Then another.

Smack.

By the third, my head snapped sideways. The fourth blurred my vision.

The fifth sent me crumbling to the marble floor.

Blood filled my mouth, my cheek blazing with heat. I barely caught myself with one trembling hand, eyes fixed on the polished floor as Marco lifted Natalia into his arms and carried her out.

Applause. Whispers. Disgust. Pity. I couldn’t tell anymore.

I stayed where I fell.

+++

I don’t remember leaving the hall. One moment I was lying on cold marble, and the next, I was staring at the ceiling of our bedroom. My face throbbed, my lip split open. But none of it matched the ache hollowing my chest.

That night marked the end. The last time I shed tears for Marco Cortez.

Just one tear. One breath. That was all he’d ever get from me again.

Then my phone rang.

I almost ignored it — until I saw the unknown number.

“Hello?” I murmured.

A man’s voice, polite but cheerful, answered. “Good evening. Am I speaking to Miss Isabella Reyes Cortez?”

“…Yes.”

“Wonderful! Your father will be thrilled to hear this.”

My heart stopped. “My father?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the man said warmly. “I’m his lawyer and personal secretary. He’s been searching for you for years. We finally found you.”

My lips parted, but no sound came out.

“When you’re ready, Miss Isabella,” he continued, “I’ll send you his number and address. He’s been waiting a long time to see you.”

The line disconnected, and I just sat there — phone still in hand, pulse racing.

For the first time in years, something deep inside me stirred again.

Not grief. Not pain.

Hope.

After what felt like a lifetime of silence, I finally forced myself to move. My reflection in the mirror was a stranger—blood-streaked, eyes hollow. I cleaned the dried crimson off my face, dabbed at the split in my lip, and swallowed back the tears that threatened to rise again. My entire body ached from the beating Marco gave me, every bruise a reminder of what I’d lost. Yet none of that compared to the pain festering inside my chest. My heart wasn’t just broken anymore—it was decaying, piece by piece.

The room sat in heavy stillness. Until the peace shattered.

The door burst open with a violent slam, and Marco’s men flooded in. Their faces were stone, their eyes hollow, their silence deafening. I didn’t even have the chance to stand before one seized my arm, fingers digging into my flesh. Another clamped onto my wrist as if I were some criminal caught red-handed.

“What’s happening?” I tried to ask, but my voice barely left my throat. No one replied.

They dragged me out like trash, barefoot and stripped of any dignity I once had. My body was hauled through the hallways of the house I used to call home, the marble floors cold beneath my feet.

Outside, a black SUV waited. I was shoved inside, doors locked immediately. No words, no glances—just silence and the faint hum of the engine as we drove to a private medical facility bearing the Cortez family name.

By the time the elevator doors opened to the top floor, I already knew I wasn’t going to like what I would find. They threw me into a private suite, and what greeted me made bile rise in my throat.

Natalia’s parents lay in twin hospital beds, both swathed in white bandages. Her mother’s face was entirely covered except for her eyes—one bloodshot, one glassy. Her arms were mummified in gauze, and when she spoke, her voice was little more than a rasp slipping through a breathing tube.

“She… she tried to kill us,” she croaked, voice trembling. “We were in the car when it exploded… we barely made it out alive.”

Her husband stood by the bedside, his arm in a cast, face pale and tear-streaked. “I dragged her out myself,” he declared hoarsely, staring past me and straight at Marco, who had just entered the room. “She’d be dead if I hadn’t.”

Then I noticed the three unfamiliar men kneeling on the floor. They were sobbing uncontrollably, snot and tears dripping down their faces.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am Isabella!” one of them blurted out between sobs. “We just followed your orders!”

“You said to burn the car—to make it look like an accident!” another howled.

My entire body froze. My lungs forgot how to breathe. It didn’t make sense—none of it. How far were they willing to go to bury me?

And then I saw her.

Natalia sat in the corner, clutching her elbows like a fragile little girl, tears streaking her cheeks and mascara smudged just enough to look artfully tragic. Her trembling voice filled the air, the picture of false innocence.

“Why, Isabella?” she whispered. “Why would you hurt my family? Just because I love him? What did I ever do to deserve this?”

I didn’t respond. There was no point. The trap had already been set.

Marco’s steps echoed as he moved forward, his expression carved in stone, his jaw twitching with restrained rage. He didn’t bother asking for my side of the story. He didn’t need to. His mind was already made up.

“You’re a fucking monster,” he hissed. “I gave you everything—and this is what you turn into?”

My mouth opened to defend myself, but before I could speak, a sharp sting exploded across my cheek. Grandma Cortez had slapped me hard enough to make my head whip to the side.

“You think we’ll let you keep disgracing this family?” she snarled. “You should be ashamed of yourself! If you want to stay under our name, then kneel!”

I looked at Marco. He just stood there—silent, unmoving, soulless. I didn’t kneel. So she shoved me down herself, her bony fingers digging into my shoulders until my knees hit the cold tile.

I stared up at him—my husband. Or at least, the man who used to be. His eyes didn’t even flicker.

Then chaos struck again. Natalia’s mother gasped, clutching her chest. Her head lolled to the side, and she muttered something inaudible before her body went limp.

“Doctor! Hurry! She’s crashing!” Natalia screamed, tears streaming down her face.

The door burst open, and a man in a lab coat ran in with a stethoscope bouncing against his chest. “Blood pressure’s collapsing. She’s hemorrhaging internally,” he announced, tone clipped and urgent. “We need a transfusion now. Her blood type is AB negative—extremely rare. Check the database.”

Everyone froze.

“That’s a near-impossible match,” the doctor added grimly. “Only a handful of donors are compatible.”

Natalia pressed a delicate hand to her stomach. “I’m AB negative,” she whispered, voice trembling, “but I can’t donate.”

The entire room turned toward her.

“I’m pregnant,” she said faintly, her gaze flicking toward Marco, as if seeking comfort. “I can’t risk the baby. It’s Marco’s.”

A cold wave rolled through me. My stomach twisted violently.

Grandma gasped, covering her mouth. “A child… an heir…” she murmured, voice quivering with sudden joy.

Grandpa’s face hardened, but his eyes gleamed with pride. Marco looked at her like she was the miracle he’d been waiting for.

Not one of them looked at me.

Then the doctor broke the silence. “There’s another match,” he said. “Isabella Reyes Cortez. She’s compatible.”

Marco’s expression darkened instantly. His boots pounded against the floor as he stalked toward me. His hand clamped around my arm like a vise. “You heard the doctor.”

I jerked back. “She’s lying!” I shouted. “She’s faking everything—she’s not pregnant, this is all staged!”

Marco’s grip tightened. “I said take her blood!” he barked. “As much as it takes.”

Two men pinned me down as I kicked and screamed. “Don’t touch me! She’s lying! You’re letting her destroy us!”

“Shut her up!” Grandma shrieked. “Get it done!”

Leather straps bit into my wrists as they forced me into the chair. The metallic scent of sterilized instruments filled my nostrils. A needle pierced my vein, and the blood began to flow—too fast, too much.

“She’s turning pale,” the doctor muttered nervously. “We should slow it down—”

Marco shot him a cold glare. “Continue.”

My head started spinning. My vision blurred at the edges. Across the room, Natalia stood by the bed, one hand resting on her stomach, crocodile tears painting her cheeks. When our eyes met, her lips twitched ever so slightly—an almost-smile.

“She’s losing color,” a nurse called out.

My arms felt like ice. My fingertips went numb.

“She’s about to crash!” another voice shouted.

The room tilted. The ceiling swam. The machines blared beside me, a chorus of urgent beeps.

“She’s going into shock! Move her to the emergency wing!” someone ySofiad.

My breath came shallow and uneven. My body refused to respond. Only one thought echoed in my mind as the world faded to gray:

They’re going to kill me before I ever get out of here.