“Sir, if we don’t get your wife to the emergency wing now, she won’t make it,” Ryker stammered, voice shaky. He’d been my husband's family’s head of security for fifteen years—handled gunmen, arson, blackmail. But this? This rattled him. “You’re really planning to extract the embryo out of her to save your ex-fiancée’s baby?”

I lay at the foot of the penthouse stairs, my blood mixing with the ivory veins of the marble floor like some grotesque artwork. I wasn’t just bleeding—I was leaking life. It was everywhere. Down my thighs, across my hands, soaking into the silk dress I’d worn to dinner. I couldn’t feel my legs anymore. Everything hurt. Everything.

But I still remembered exactly how I got here.

Favio had taken a call. One glance at the caller ID—Caroline—and his whole body changed. I’d seen the shift, the way his face went slack and strange like he was listening to God herself. And then… just like that, he shoved me.

I was halfway down the staircase, hand on the polished banister, when his palm slammed into my shoulder blade. A clean, cold push.

I don’t even think he said my name.

One second I was upright, the next—I was tumbling. I hit the tiles back-first, the wind punched out of me, my skull ricocheting off the last step. And for a moment, I just lay there in stunned silence, unable to process what had happened.

I was four months pregnant. Not that it showed. Just a gentle fullness, barely more than bloat. You wouldn’t know unless you were looking for it. Favio never was.

“That’s what Dr. Lenz said,” he said now, standing over me like I was a broken appliance. “Only this embryo is viable for the neural grafts. If we don’t move now, Caroline’s going to die.”

Caroline. The ex. Favio’s first love. The one the press still called “Favio's first love” The one who tried to shove me off the rooftop at the gala last year—but it was fine, apparently.

“Get the damn surgeon on the line,” Favio barked. “We’re doing the extraction now. While she’s still under.”

Ryker went ghost-white. “Sir… Miss Amelia isn’t even sedated. She’s in shock. If you do this—if you rip the embryo out of her—you’ll kill her child and she might never be able to carry again.”

“She’s already done her part,” Favio snapped. “She wanted to prove her loyalty to this family. Well—this is it. I know that child she was carrying isn't mine and Caroline was more important than her.”

Ryker fumbled for his phone, whispering, “I’m calling an ambulance,” but Favio snatched it, hurled it against the wall, and stepped over me like I was office furniture—like I wasn’t even a person.

---

I must’ve blacked out, because when I woke up again, I was strapped to a surgical table on Cunningham MedTech’s private floor. Tubes in my veins. Machines whining. My body hollowed out.

My hands trembled as I touched my stomach. It was flat.

No movement. No swell. No heartbeat fluttering beneath my ribs. Just a silence that screamed.

I wanted to sob, but even my throat hurt. Like I’d swallowed razors.

Night fell. The world outside turned black. Somewhere beyond the glass, life moved on.

And then I heard it.

“Favio, stop. Not here… Amelia’s in the next room,” Caroline giggled.

“She’s out,” he grunted. “We can celebrate properly.”

Their voices were right outside my door. The soundproof walls did nothing. They didn’t even bother closing the door.

“We did it,” she whispered. “She never would’ve agreed to give it up willingly. But now? Now we have the cells. I’ll finally be cured.”

He kissed her. I heard the bed creak. The headboard tapped the wall.

I lay there, numb, eyes open. I let a single tear slide sideways into the pillow. Then they started talking again.

“You know I only married her because of the embryo, right?” Favio muttered.

Caroline laughed. “Oh, I know. You said it so many times. Jeez, and the way she dresses? I’m sorry, but she looks like a damn librarian from a failed sitcom.”

“She does,” Favio snorted. “Hair always up. Turtlenecks in summer. Walking around like she’s smarter than everyone but can’t even figure out how to look half-decent. I mean… come on. She looks pathetic.”

“She’s too soft,” Caroline said, a pout in her voice. “I’m sorry I left you back then.”

Favio shushed her gently. “It’s okay. We’ve got what we needed now. Everything’s gonna be fine.”

Caroline hesitated. “But… what if she divorces you?”

He laughed. “She won’t. She’s nothing. Her parnts died alrady. No family. No one’s gonna help her.”

“But what if she leaves anyway? What if she sue you?”

“She can’t. I’ll be the one to divorce her—but only after I’m sure you’re cured. After that, I won’t need her for anything then I'll give you the wedding you deserve.”

Caroline sighed, pleased. “I knew you still loved me.”

I closed my eyes. Didn’t scream. Didn’t cry. I just let a single tear drift sideways into the pillow, salt soaking into cotton.

They thought I was broken. They thought I was done. They had no idea who they were bleeding.

***

The next morning, I ripped out my IV and strolled into the Cunningham estate in head-to-toe black, heels clicking like gunshots against their pretentious imported marble. Mrs. Cunningham was at her grand cielo, all pearls and disdain, pretending she didn’t see me.

I dropped the folder in her lap like a guillotine blade.

“Tell Favio I’m out. I'm divorcing him," I said, voice silk wrapped around steel. “He and Caroline can keep their miracle science project. But I’m taking the entire Winslock tech portfolio with me—every damn share. And I want ten million wired to my new firm. Today.”

She opened the folder. Her hand trembled.

“You signed over the patents to yourself,” she whispered.

“No,” I said, smiling coldly. “You signed them over. Power of attorney. That little clause in the prenup your son never read? Yeah. It matters now.”

“You’re bluffing,” she hissed.

I didn’t blink.

“Try me.”

Mrs. Rodrigo’s fake little socialite smile cracked the moment I dropped the number.

“Ten million,” I said again, cool as glass.

She blinked once. Twice. And then I saw it—that twitch in her jaw. That microscopic second where her brain short-circuited because someone like me, the nobody she thought she could buy out with crocodile tears and a platinum credit card, dared to name my price.

She exhaled through her nose like a bull in heels, then waved at her assistant.

“Fine. Draft the contract. Five mil now. The rest after she disappears.”

No “please.” No “thank you.” Just pure transactional venom.

I watched the woman tap away on her tablet like she was ordering lunch, not finalizing the erasure of someone’s life.

“And you’ll swear—” Mrs. Rodrigo turned back to me, eyes like daggers. “You’ll never contact my son again. Never show your face at any Rodrigo-affiliated event. Ever.”

I stared at her for a beat. Then nodded.

“I swear,” I said. “On the last shred of respect I ever had for this family.”

She smirked, satisfied like she’d just flushed something disgusting down the drain.

“Good. Be a smart girl. Pack up whatever illusions you’ve got left and leave quietly.”

I signed the contract without blinking. My signature looked so clean under that Rodrigo Enterprises watermark it almost felt surreal. But my hands were steady.

Because I remembered.

I remembered the first time she slapped me—not with her hand, but with a wad of cash. A crisp, arrogant stack of bills tossed across my lap like I was something she ordered off a discount menu.

“Take this,” she’d sneered. “And buy yourself clothes that don’t look like a funeral home had a clearance sale.”

I remembered how she made me scrub her marble bathroom floor while she sat in the tub on her phone, sipping champagne like I was her live-in maid. The way her friends would walk past and laugh, calling it “rich people bonding.”

And I remembered the time she spilled mineral water—on purpose—right in front of her media team, then handed me a mop like I wasn’t her son’s wife, but the damn janitor.

“You missed a spot,” she’d said, not even looking up from her mirror.

I didn’t miss anything.

Not the snide comments. Not the constant tests. Not the way she used every dinner party, every gala, every “family” meeting to remind me I didn’t belong.

But now? Now I was the one handing her terms. Naming my price. Setting the conditions.

I watched her sign beside me, her diamond pen shaking ever so slightly.

Let her call it a win if it helped her sleep.

Because this wasn’t a goodbye.

It was just my opening move.

They didn’t know it, but I was never really a Winslock. The family that raised me had adopted me when I was five. My real last name? Something even the Rodrigo’s wouldn’t be able to touch. My biological brother had found me three days ago, and wanted me back.

Mrs. Rodrigo leaned back in her designer chair, lips curling in smug satisfaction. “You’ll be on a plane in a week. One-way. I’ll have your new identity prepared.”

“No need,” I said flatly, pushing back from the table. “I’m done living under someone else’s name.”

I turned to walk out when the double doors flew open like a bad movie scene.

Favio.

Storming in with all the rage of a man who finally noticed the flames after the house had already burned down.

His hair was a mess, coat half-on, eyes bloodshot.

“Mom,” he snapped, “what the hell are you doing? Amelia just lost our baby!” He barreled forward and stood between us like a guard dog. “She’s my wife. I won’t let you use her as a bargaining chip just to keep this damn family name alive.”

I looked at his back, his shoulders rigid like a knight protecting his queen.

And for a second, I remembered that version of him—the man who once threatened to walk out on his inheritance if they ever forced us apart. The man who used to tell me I was it for him.

But now?

Now I saw the cracks.

The smirk he tried to hide when he spoke up. The way his eyes darted toward his mother to check if she was buying it. His hands clenched a little too dramatically. If I hadn’t heard him last night in the hallway with Caroline— I might have believed this performance.

But I wasn’t the girl he married anymore.

I’d woken up.

Mrs Cunnngham excused herself with the kind of grace only a seasoned viper could manage.

When we were alone, Favio turned and pulled me into his arms like that would fix anything.

“Amelia… why didn’t you wait for me? I thought you were dead. I was losing my mind.”

His voice cracked. I didn’t care. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I didn’t even touch him back.

If I had stayed… would I have kept pretending not to hear them? The bed creaking. The moans. The betrayal?

He looked at me like he still had a chance. And then, he dropped to his knees.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry you fell on the stairs. I should’ve caught you. I should’ve been there.”

Tears shimmered in his eyes like it was some tragic scene in a film. He even reached for my hand. But I saw him clearly now.

A man who could lie with conviction. Grieve with convenience. Smirk after betrayal and still pretend he was the one bleeding.

“Even if the doctors are right,” he said, trying to hold me tighter, “even if we can’t have kids anymore… I don’t care. You’re still my wife. We’ll adopt. We’ll figure it out. I love you.”

The words bounced off me like rain on glass.

So I looked him dead in the eye and dropped the final blade.

“Favio,” I said, calm and ice-cold, “go have your child with Caroline. The Rodrigo legacy needs an heir... I know, you killed mine."

His face fell. Color drained from it like water swirling down a sink.

"Amelia—"

“Mr. Rodrigo! Miss Caroline collapsed in the lobby!” Ryker announced, breathless.

Favio bolted out the door like his life depended on it.

I followed—slowly.

By the time I reached the hallway, he was already on the marble floor, cradling Caroline in his arms like a scene out of some tragic romance movie. Panic etched across his face like war paint.

“Why are you all just standing there?” he barked. “Get the damn doctor up here now!”

The hotel staff scattered like ants. Paramedics swarmed in. A team of private doctors—each probably charging more per hour than most CEOs—was ushered into Caroline’s luxury suite.

Within minutes, Favio was pacing beside her bed, hovering over the doctor like a rabid executive in a crumbling boardroom.

“You said she’d be fine if she followed the prescription! So why the hell did she faint again?!”

The doctor, a calm man with gray hair and diamond cufflinks, gave a smile too rehearsed to be sincere.

“Relax, Mr. Rodrigo. She’s perfectly healthy. In fact—congratulations. Miss Caroline is two months pregnant.”

Silence.

And then… joy.

Raw, unfiltered joy lit up Favio’s face like he’d just closed a billion-dollar merger. Like every dream he'd ever had was suddenly cradled in Caroline’s womb. Like he didn't killed my child for his whore.

I stood there frozen.

Not because I was shocked.

Because I already knew.

I’d seen them. More than once. Twice in the guesthouse. Once in the elevator when they thought I wasn’t home. Another time when I’d come back early from a checkup and heard the creaking from behind the guest room door—their breathless laughter after.

But I told myself lies. Sweet ones. Like a fool clinging to a burning curtain.

"It’s just the hormones," I whispered. "You’re fragile, Amelia. The OB-GYN said no sex until the second trimester. He’s just venting. Just relieving heat... He still loves you."

But love doesn’t look like that.

Love doesn’t sound like her moaning his name while I held onto our unborn child in a bed soaked with worry and blood.

And after the embryo incident—something inside me snapped awake. My eyes opened. Wide. Brutal. Unforgiving.

So now, I just watched him. Smiling. Glowing. Beaming over a child he created while mine was being taken from me.

Caroline shifted slightly and clung to his shirt like a lover in a soap opera. And he let her. He kissed her forehead and murmured something I didn’t even want to hear.

I said nothing.

Because now… now I knew everything. And knowledge is a far crueler weapon than heartbreak ever could be.

Mrs. Cunningham swept into the suite like she owned the entire damn floor, heels clicking like a war drum.

“Oh, my sweet Caroline! Pregnant already? You’re simply radiant—our little miracle-maker!” She grabbed Caroline’s hand with both of hers like she was presenting her with a crown.

Favio smiled at her with eyes that used to belong to me. The kind of look that made you feel chosen.

I turned away.

I wasn’t going to cry. Not here. Not in front of them.

“Amelia,” Caroline called sweetly behind me, voice dripping with venom masked in sugar. “Aren’t you happy for me?”

I paused.

She knew what she was doing. That smug curve in her lips, the satisfied glint in her eye. But before I could say anything, Mrs. Cunningham—always waiting for a moment to strike—cut in like she was born for it.

“Oh, don’t force her to pretend,” she said with a laugh. “She’s probably still bitter about the whole… falling down the stairs and losing the baby situation.”

My stomach clenched.

“She tried and failed, and now the doctor says she won’t be getting pregnant ever again.” She tsked. “Such a shame, really. All that effort, and nothing to show for it. Caroline here gets it done in one try. That’s a real woman.”

She turned to me with mock pity. “I mean, darling… some women were just meant to be mothers. Others? Well. Some people are just… built for tragedy.”

Caroline giggled as if it was the best joke she'd ever heard. And Favio? He just stood there.

Silent.

Didn’t defend me. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe in my direction. He was too busy holding Caroline’s hand.

Then Caroline bent her neck.

A silver chain dangled there—my necklace.

The one my mother gave me. The one I wore at her funeral. The one that survived the car crash that killed her. The last real piece of her I had left.

And now it was draped across Caroline’s throat like some accessory off a clearance rack.

My heart dropped.

I stepped forward, voice shaking. “Where did you get that?”

Before she could answer, Favio moved in front of her, blocking me.

“Amelia, don’t start. Caroline’s pregnant. Don’t get hysterical over a necklace.”

I blinked, stunned. “You know what that necklace means to me.”

He looked away. “I’ll buy you another. Hell, I’ll get you hundreds”

“That’s not the point, Favio!” I said, voice cracking. “It’s not just jewelry. It’s the only thing I have left of her.”

Caroline smirked, fingers rising to unclasp it. “Relax. You’re acting like it’s sacred or something.”

She let it fall. A soft clink as the chain hit the marble.

Then she stepped on it. Pressed her Louboutin heel into the pendant until it snapped.

Snap.

I didn’t even think. My hand flew before reason could catch it.

Crack.

Her head jerked to the side. A red mark already blooming on her cheek.

“You psycho bitch!” she screeched, stumbling back.

And then—Mrs. Rodrigo was on me.

Her perfectly manicured hand yanked my arm, and the next thing I knew, she shoved me hard against the wall like she’d been waiting for years to do it.

“How dare you lay a finger on her!” she spat. “No wonder you lost your baby—you probably threw yourself down the stairs for attention!”

I gasped, wind knocked from my lungs. But then Favio grabbed me. Yanked me away from his mother.

For a second, I thought—finally. He’d defend me.

He didn’t.

Instead—

SLAP.

The sound echoed off the walls like gunfire. I tasted copper. My cheek stung.

My eyes met his, wide and trembling. “You hit me.”

His voice was ice. “You put your hands on Caroline again, I'll kill you.”