If he stayed—if he chose me, just this once—I swore I’d let it all go. I’d forget the texts, the pictures, the lies. I’d bury the betrayal so deep it’d never touch daylight again. I wouldn’t mention Zoraya. Wouldn’t bring up the wrapper, or the desk, or how he left me sick and alone. I’d forgive him. Because I loved him.

But then his phone buzzed in his pocket. He looked at the screen—face blank, unreadable.

Then without a word, he stepped away from me. Just a few paces. But it felt like a chasm opened between us.

He answered. Then I heard her voice, tinny but unmistakable through the receiver.

Zoraya. “I’m vomiting, Zeus,” she said, her voice shaky. “I think I’m pregnant… Can you come with me to the clinic? I’m scared.”

My ears rang. My vision blurred, like my body was trying to protect me from hearing the rest. He turned slightly, like he might check if I was listening—then walked farther into the hallway, lowering his voice. But it was too late. I’d already heard everything.

The truth wasn’t a knife—it was a slow, cold burn.

He came back a minute later, casual like nothing had happened. Tossed on his jacket.

“I got a sit-down with Santino’s crew,” he said, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve. “Could turn into a war if I don’t show. I’ll be back early though. Don’t worry—go watch your shows, rest up a bit. I’ll be home before dinner.”

Liar!

I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.

He leaned down, fixed the blanket around me like I was a child, kissed my forehead like I was his home. And then he left. And the door didn’t just close behind him. It buried me.

Then I turned and signed the damn paper.

Organ donor.

---

I went to the Hospital alone. Dr. Alex slid it back toward her and gave me this soft, cautious look. She was pale, well-dressed, probably a few years older than me, and completely out of place in the underworld we floated through.

“You sure about this?” she asked. “If your people disagree, they can override your choice.”

“I don’t got people,” I said. “No family. Just let them take what they can.”

At least if I end up six feet under, someone out there might get a second shot.

She hesitated. I caught a flicker of guilt in her eyes.

“It’s alright,” I added. “You don’t have to sugarcoat it. I’ve been hearing bad news since I was fifteen.”

“Actually, it’s… not as hopeless as it looks. Chemo and precision therapy could buy you time. And the baby's still early. We could—”

“I know,” I cut in, my voice calm. “If it was early-stage, maybe I’d fight it. But it's not. And I'm not gonna pretend just to make you feel better.”

She swallowed. Doctors like her weren’t used to girls like me—girls who’d held blades and secrets, who’d cleaned blood off tile floors without blinking.

“How big is a baby at seven weeks?” I asked, just to change the subject. Tried to smile, like I wasn’t choking inside.

“There’s already a heartbeat,” she said quietly, and for the first time, her expression softened into something real.

“No kidding?” My throat tightened. “So it's in there, alive.”

She nodded. “Little thing’s got its own rhythm already.”

That was the first time I felt something crack in me. It hit different—knowing something inside me was alive, even if the rest of me was dying.

She handed me a note. “That’s my number—WhatsApp too. Call me, no matter what time.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

The bus home was packed. Elbows in my ribs, smells of cheap cologne, gun oil, and street snacks. I found a seat in the back, head down, hoodie up. I choose the bus instead of driving my own car.

I texted Alex:

“Doc, how do you even know if nausea’s from cancer or pregnancy? I haven’t been able to eat in days.”

Before she could answer, someone tapped me.

“Hey,” an older guy barked. “This seat’s for elderly or pregnant people. Get up.”

“She looks fine to me,” a woman chimed in. “She can stand. Let the man sit.”

The whole bus started to turn.

I pulled my medical file out of my bag and flashed it like a badge. “I’m pregnant. And I got stage four brain cancer. I’m not getting up. Happy?"

Silence dropped like a shot fired into the air. I leaned back and stared out the window.

And just like that, I didn’t feel scared anymore.

---

The door clicked behind me, and the house was thick with silence. Too thick.

But the hallway smelled like wine and perfume—something expensive and too sweet. The kind of scent that didn’t belong to me.

The lights were off, except one in the entryway. A wine glass lay tipped on the console table. Burgundy puddled beneath it like blood.

I didn’t clean it up. My body ached—every part of me from the hospital still throbbed like I’d been flayed open. But I walked. Step by step. Numb. Quiet.

The master bedroom door was cracked.

I pushed it with my fingertips.

And there she was.

Zoraya.

She was stretched across my bed, legs crossed like she owned the world, wearing the ivory silk robe Zeus gave me last Valentine’s. It hung loose around her—untied, careless. Her damp hair clung to one shoulder, and her smile was a slow, smug curve.

She looked at me like I was an afterthought.

“Oh.” Her voice was light—too light. “Sorry if I wore your robe, Savannah. Didn’t mean to. I just—” She stretched her arms above her head like she was stretching out her territory. “It was dry and soft. Figured I’d take advantage. You know, since I’m here all the time now.”

What?

Her tone was sugar laced with poison. Like she was the innocent victim of circumstance.

I didn’t move.

Zeus appeared from the bathroom, towel hanging low around his hips, his wet hair slicked back.

He paused, eyes flicking between me and Zoraya like he was watching two halves of some broken mirror.

“Zoraya spilled wine on her dress, Sav,” he said, voice flat and precise like he was reading a report, not delivering a verdict. “She asked for the robe. I told her it was fine. End of story. Don’t make it one. No issue.”

Zoraya smiled at him like he was the only person in the room worth smiling at.

“Thanks for the robe, Zeus. You’re a lifesaver,” she said, voice silky, eyes gleaming.

He nodded, “You should be more careful with the wine next time.”

She laughed, a light, careless sound that made my stomach twist.

“Yeah, yeah, boss,” she said, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “I’ll try not to drown my clothes again.”

Zeus’s gaze slid back to me. “I don’t want to hear you start with this drama, Savannah. We’ve got bigger problems than a robe.”

I tried to say something—anything—but the words tangled and died in my throat. He stepped closer, kissed my forehead with no warmth at all, more like a cold command.

“We’re starving, babe,” he said. “Get something on the table. You’ll eat too.”

I turned toward the kitchen before the shame could drag me down. The silence in the kitchen was louder than the city outside. Tears streaming.

I cooked, but my hands moved on autopilot. Garlic, onions, peppers—the knife slicing through vegetables like it was slicing through my skin.

From the hall, Zoraya’s voice floated back, sweet and sharp. “You think Savannah’s mad I’m here, Zeus?”

Zeus didn’t even hesitate. “She’s not my wife. She doesn’t get to be mad. End of story.”

Her laugh was low, teasing. “Oh, I’m not mad. Just… surprised she’s so quiet. Usually, she puts up a fight.”

His reply was quiet, dangerous. “She’s tired. Let her rest in silence.”

I stood there, stirring the pot, every word sinking like a blade.

When I brought the food to the table, Zoraya was already there, lounging like she was queen of the castle.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” she said to Zeus, brushing a crumb off his lip with her fingers.

Zeus’s eyes never left me.

“You’ll eat. You need strength.”

She winked at me, lips curved in a cruel little smile.

“Don’t mind me, Savannah. I’m just here for the free meal.”

I didn’t sit. I watched them eat—their easy laughter, the way she touched him like she had the right to, the way he let her.

Like I was invisible.

When they were done, I slipped away to the bedroom and closed the door softly behind me.

Laid on the edge of the bed. The silk robe still smelled like her. And all I could think was...

"You lost everything, Savannah. And you let him do it."

---

I must’ve passed out at some point, face down on the cold side of the bed. When I woke, it wasn’t silent anymore.

Voices from the kitchen. Too familiar.

Zoraya laughed. “These eggs are perfect. You always make them better than me. Savannah’s lucky. I’d never let you leave the kitchen if you cooked like this every morning.”

I pulled myself up, moving like a ghost. Zoraya was already dressed—in my black cotton top and gray shorts. Hair tied with my silk scrunchie.

Zeus flipped eggs at the stove. He looked up calm, like this was normal.

“Come sit with us, Sav.”

I said nothing, pulled out a chair. He placed a plate—eggs, toast, apple slices. Didn’t taste the same.

He stood, arms crossed, watching me like a deal.

“Zoraya’s pregnant.”

Just like that. Wow.

Zoraya smiled across the table, like friends swapping news.

“With my child,” he added, low, firm, like a confession.

My fork slipped. I didn’t flinch.

“We wanted a baby. Remember? We talked adoption. We tried.”

I remembered. Every failed test, tears in the clinic bathroom. Now he looked at me like I was the problem. Like Zoraya fixed what I couldn’t.

“I’ve decided to let her stay,” he said. Like I wasn’t even part of it.

“She’ll live here until the baby’s born.”

Zoraya leaned on the table, sipping coffee from my mug.

“I told him it was up to you. I’d find a hotel, but Zeus wants us under one roof—for the baby.”

I stared. Her perfect skin. Her fake-sweet smile.

“I want what’s best for the baby. And for Zeus. This is hard. But you’ll be a good mom, Savannah. The baby’ll love you.”

My throat burned. I still felt the hospital soreness. My body a battlefield. My heart a graveyard.

They didn’t know I was pregnant too. Seven weeks. Seven fucking weeks pregnant.

They didn’t know I was dying.

Zeus sat like it was done.

I looked at him—seven years. My youth, love, loyalty. Cleaned blood off his suits. Hid bodies. Took his pain. Now he chose her, in my house, while I broke inside.

A hollow sound left me. Not a sob. Not a scream.

“You’re really doing this… after everything? After seven years? After cleaning your messes, hiding your sins? You’re cheating. Betraying me. And you stand there like it’s... It's business.”

He didn’t blink. “Don’t make this about you, Savannah.” Without looking me: “Think of the baby.”

And that moment, I knew then... I wasn’t his home.

Just another room he didn’t visit.

Morning came with a quiet I wasn’t used to. Like the apartment was holding its breath, waiting for something to break. Maybe me.

Zeus stood by the door, looking like the man who owned every damn inch of this building—and everyone inside it. He said flatly, “Savannah, you’re moving to the guest room. Zoraya’s staying here.”

I opened my mouth, ready to fight. To scream. To tell him I wasn’t some side piece in his damn life.

But my voice was gone again, swallowed by the weight of all the lies.

So I nodded.

Packed my things slowly. Tried to hold on to whatever scraps of myself I could find.

That guest room wasn’t mine anymore than the master was. It was colder, smaller, darker. And the silence in there felt like a sentence.

Back in the main room, things started disappearing. My shoes from the rack. My clothes from the closet. The little shelf where I kept my makeup and perfumes—vanished.

I found out Zoraya had claimed the master bedroom. My silk sheets, my pillows, the robe Zeus gifted me—she wore it like a trophy, like she earned it.

The first time I saw the towels in the bathroom, damp and tangled, I wanted to rip them apart. And then I noticed the strands of hair clogging the drain. Mine? Hers? Didn’t matter. It was invasion. Violation.

I caught her scent on her skin one morning. My favorite perfume—the one I wore to feel alive. Zoraya was bathing in it, laughing like she owned the damn air I breathed.

She started calling Zeus “babe” in front of me.

And Zeus? He didn’t correct her. Didn’t even blink.

Like I was invisible.

One afternoon, she smiled at me, sweet as poison.

“I think stress isn’t good for the baby,” she said, her voice dripping with fake concern. “Savannah, maybe take a walk when you feel overwhelmed? Fresh air might help.”

I wanted to spit. Instead, I swallowed the bile and nodded.

Zoraya cooked for Zeus. They ate together, drank together, walked together. I was a ghost in my own home. More like a maid who cleaned up after their happiness, their laughter, their stolen moments.

Then she started dragging me into their little bubble.

“Can you come to the OB appointment with us?” she asked one day, all innocent eyes and honeyed words.

Zeus added, “It’s important. Savannah needs to bond with the baby now.”

I wanted to scream at them both. But instead, I went. And at the clinic, the doctor congratulated Zoraya, all smiles and good news.

She pretended to cry, those crocodile tears dripping down her cheeks, acting like this was some miracle.

I was frozen. Watching them—the way Zeus looked at her like she was the world. Like I was a shadow disappearing in the background.

Later, back at the apartment, Zeus handed me a bottle of prenatal vitamins.

“Make sure she takes these on time,” he said, voice low and steady. “She forgets sometimes.”

I accepted the bottle with a bitter smile.

Then I looked him in the eye.

“Will you be happy if I’m gone forever?”

His face didn’t change. No flicker of emotion.

“If it’s because of you that you can’t get pregnant with my child and you’re throwing tantrums, please stop it, Savannah,” he said. “Can you just be happy that Zoraya’s pregnant for us? I don’t love her. It’s you I’m still going to marry.”

I held my breath. His words hit like ice.

Marriage. Love. Hope.

But I was dying inside. And my baby was buried deep in my silence.

And that night…

Zeus’s annual dinner party.

It wasn’t just a dinner—it was the event. No outsiders. No mistakes. Only trusted allies, inner circle, the kind of men and women who wore blood under their perfume and smiled through secrets. I was always meant to go with him. My name was on the guest list. Had been for years. Standing beside him like I actually belonged.

I waited until the house got quiet.

Zoraya was in the bath. Zeus was downstairs, probably going over security with Nicco or pouring whiskey over ice like the cold bastard he pretended not to be.

I crept into the master closet.

The gown was supposed to be there.

A custom black satin dress with a slit up the side. The one he had tailored for me last year after we survived the warehouse bombing. He gave it to me wrapped in silver paper, whispering, "Only death could outshine you in this."

It wasn’t hanging anymore.

What I found instead—crumpled in the back corner—was a crime scene.

My dress was torn to shreds. Like someone took a blade to it. Fabric slashed, straps ripped, one side of the bodice almost shredded down the seam. Red lipstick smeared across the chest—mocking, messy, deliberate.

My heels were gone. My earrings? Snapped in half.

Not an accident. Not a mistake.

Zoraya did this.

I stormed out, fists clenched, the ruined gown balled up in my arms. My voice was shaking, but I still spoke.

“What the hell is this?”

And there she was. Already dressed. Black velvet. Tight. Expensive. Sleeves draped off the shoulders. She looked like a widow at a funeral she planned herself.

Zeus stood behind her, zipping her up like she was fragile. Like he was hers. She turned slowly when she saw me. Smiled. That soft, sugary smile that always came right before the knife.

“Oh no…” she said, her tone low, fake concern curling at the edges. “Did something happen to your dress?”

I didn’t say a word. Just stared.

Zoraya placed a delicate hand on her chest like she cared. “That’s so unfortunate. I did see one of the maids messing around in the closet earlier. I thought she was trying to help… I didn’t realize she’d ruin it. You should talk to Zeus about getting new staff.”

She tilted her head, eyes wide with fake innocence. “I’ll bring you takeout, don’t worry. You rest.”

I looked at Zeus. Waiting. Hoping—pathetically—for him to speak. To defend me. To say something that didn’t make me want to burn the whole building down. Instead, he just fixed the cuff on his sleeve.

“We don’t have time for drama tonight, Sav,” he said. “The car’s already waiting.”

Like I was some tantrum he had to manage. Like I wasn’t the woman who bled beside him, kept his secrets, buried his bodies.

Zoraya looped her arm through his like a prize. “Come on, babe. You’ll make us late.”

They walked out the door like I wasn’t even there.

The moment it clicked shut, silence swallowed the apartment.

Lights dim. Kitchen empty. The scent of her perfume lingered like poison in the air. I sat at the counter, staring at the bottle of prenatal vitamins he left behind.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just… sat there. Until my phone buzzed.

Unknown number.