In my last life, Enzo Saletta saved me from the fire.

Chiara Bellini died in my place.

For months, he cared for me like a devoted husband. He guarded my hospital room. He bought gifts for our unborn child. He told me none of it was my fault.

I believed him.

Until the night after I gave birth.

Our son was asleep beside me. I was too weak to move, still aching from labor, but for one brief moment, I believed we were safe.

Then I smelled smoke.

The door would not open.

Outside the locked door, Enzo’s voice cut through the smoke.

“You took Chiara from me. Now burn with your child.”

I screamed his name until my throat bled.

No one opened the door.

The flames swallowed me and my newborn son.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back inside that burning warehouse.

Five months pregnant.

Smoke in my lungs.

Chiara still alive.

This time, I did not call Enzo.

I waited until he came.

I watched him carry Chiara out first.

Then I crawled through the fire alone, bleeding for a child he would never get the chance to kill.

Everyone believed I had set the fire.

Everyone called me jealous, vicious, and insane.

But they had forgotten one thing.

Before I became Enzo Saletta’s wife, I was the woman who helped build the Carmine family’s security system.

Chiara deleted the main footage.

She did not delete mine.

The warehouse reeked of smoke and chemicals. My lungs burned as I dragged ragged breaths through a damp cloth pressed over my mouth and nose. Pain radiated across my belly, sharp and unrelenting, yanking me fully out of the memories of my previous life. I forced myself to move. I did not reach for Enzo Saletta, the man who ran the family’s security; I dialed the family emergency channel instead.

Footsteps thundered through the corridor, boots scraping against the concrete. A team of enforcers kicked open the heavy doors and surged inside. Through the thick haze, I saw Enzo. He didn’t hesitate. He scooped Chiara Bellini into his arms and carried her to safety, the flames reflected in his cold, precise eyes. Only when she was clear did I call for help, my voice hoarse and broken.

The men around me stared through their masks. One spat. “Again?”

A solid wooden beam loosened from the ceiling and smashed onto my stomach. Pain shot through me, sharp and immediate. Blood filled my mouth. No one even flinched. I bit down to suppress a scream, crawling over scorched concrete toward the exit. Outside, every med kit and oxygen tank was deployed around Chiara. Enzo did not spare me a glance; he muttered only, “You brought this on yourself.”

Sweat soaked through my clothes, blood dripped from my lips, and I could feel the life inside me slipping away. In my past life, he had chosen to save me first. By the time he tried to go back inside, the warehouse had already been engulfed. Chiara had died.

He told me it didn’t matter then. He said not to blame myself.

Now, I understood. When I gave birth, he would kill my child.

“Gia,” he had said once, his voice cold and harsh, “do you know what it feels like to burn alive? I’ll make you suffer ten times what Chiara did.”

This time, I would not be trapped. I would survive, and I would stay far away from him.

Yet even now, not a single one of the men around me offered aid. Blood pooled beneath my knees. My voice cracked as I whispered through dry lips, “Save my baby… please.”

A junior enforcer glanced at me, smirked, and nudged my leg with his boot. “Relax. Everyone knows your history with Chiara. The crew has this under control. Stop playing to the crowd.”

The contraction tore through me like steel. My throat went silent. The heat seared my arms. Around me, the crew worked to put out the blaze, ignoring my agony.

I was slipping away when Enzo finally appeared, crouched down, and slapped my cheek twice. “Gia, wake up. I’m here. Stop pretending.”

“You burned the warehouse and hurt yourself. Do you really think this works?”

His eyes never left mine. He still believed I was jealous, insane, desperate for attention. I reached out, trembling, bloodied, gripping the heavy fabric of his coat, trying to make him see. He pressed his hand to my belly, his strength immovable.

“Very convincing,” he said. “If Chiara hadn’t confirmed it, I might have believed you set this fire on purpose and hid.”

He stood and walked away. A young enforcer shouted, “She’s bleeding everywhere. Is she losing the baby?”

Enzo did not turn. His voice remained flat. “Chiara said it’s fake. Five months along. Not that easy to lose.”

In my last life, I had screamed the truth until my throat bled. Enzo had listened to every word, then chosen Chiara anyway.

So this time, I did not waste my breath.

I saved the truth for the council.

For a long time after everything went black, I floated in and out of a feverish darkness.

During the days when my fever refused to break, I kept reliving the first time I met Enzo. It was a family gathering, Enzo and I locked eyes for the first time, and there was an instant connection. It felt as if everything had been set in motion at that moment.

Our wedding was flawless. The ceremony was dignified, the vows heartfelt, and every smile reflected the happiness and trust we had built together. At the time, no one could have imagined that our peace would be shattered.

Then Chiara Bellini returned. She had been Enzo’s childhood companion, someone he had always cared for and protected. From the moment she came back, everything changed. Gradually, everyone in the family, including Enzo himself, began to see me differently.

I became the woman who was selfish, jealous, and desperate for his attention. Overnight, my reputation shifted from devoted wife to someone seen as reckless and grasping, and every gesture I made was twisted into proof of my supposed faults.

In the previous life, when Chiara died in that fire, he had remained unnervingly calm. I had believed I had won. I thought I had taken control of my life. He had brought home almost everything he could buy to care for my unborn child. His attentions had blinded me. I saw nothing clearly.

It wasn’t until he personally ended my child’s life that I understood the truth. From the beginning to the end, the only woman who mattered to him had been Chiara.

When I opened my eyes this time, I was staring at the bright white ceiling of the clinic. The face above me was not Enzo’s. It belonged to a man I had never met, a liaison responsible for this district on behalf of the family. He had found me lying outside the warehouse and brought me here.

“Can you hear me? You’re awake. I saw you collapsed outside alone and brought you here. How are you feeling?”

I tried to move, but the moment my hand touched my stomach, my body froze.

He looked at me with evident concern. “I’m sorry. When I arrived, you had already lost a lot of blood. The doctors said the baby didn’t survive.”

My lips cracked, dry and raw. I forced a smile that looked worse than crying.

“It’s not your fault. I know.”

“Thank you for bringing me here.”

Even a complete stranger could see I had been close to death. The man I had followed for five years hadn’t even looked at me once.

The liaison’s eyes burned with anger at Enzo’s men. “What were they doing? A pregnant woman bleeding out on the floor, and they ignored her?”

“If I hadn’t been passing by, you would already be gone. Where is your family? Where is the father?”

“Give me his number. I’ll call him immediately. You need someone here with you.”

“I’ve already reported this to the family council. That behavior is disgraceful.”

I nodded slowly, my voice hoarse and barely audible.

“The father of your child is dead.”

He froze for a moment, his expression softening with deeper pity. He offered to stay until I was discharged. I declined, transferring the medical fees to his phone and letting him go.

The liaison left, but the matter was far from over. Photos of me sprawled in blood reached several elders of the Carmine family. The accompanying note read: “Saletta’s woman left to die outside the warehouse.”

The message spread quickly through the family. In hidden taverns and private dinners, whispers spread that Enzo had left his wife to bleed on the floor, showing neither care nor judgment for her life. Some muttered that if he could ignore her in such danger, who could trust him to protect anyone else? The rumors hinted that even Chiara might be dragged into the fallout, caught between the family’s judgment and Enzo’s recklessness.

“Maybe they should just be called the property protection squad,” someone muttered during a private dinner.

I heard every word that trickled into my ears. Truthfully, none of it seemed to affect Enzo. I had someone deliver a message for him. I intended to sever ties. Before I could type the word, Chiara sent a photo.

She was in the same clinic, one floor below me. In the photo, Enzo fed her a bowl of soup, blowing on the spoon to make sure she wouldn’t burn herself. I had seen too many photos like this before. They no longer hurt me.

I pinned the photo to the table and sent a message through the channels. I wanted to speak with Enzo. After five attempts, he finally picked up, his voice heavy with irritation.

Enzo’s voice crashed through the line.

“You actually called? To see if Chiara burned? Sorry to disappoint you. I saved her. She’s alive and recovering.”

“Gia, do you even know whose warehouse you burned? That belonged to the Carmine family. The old man called this afternoon. What was I supposed to say?”

“I’m giving you one chance. Come down and face it in front of Chiara. I’ll tell the council you lost control. Otherwise, you handle it yourself.”

Before I could respond, Chiara’s soft, trembling voice reached me. “Enzo, don’t scold her. It’s my fault. If she wants to say me set the fire, let her. Don’t argue. She’s pregnant.”

Enzo sneered, not at her, but at the situation.

“You’re too soft. She burned a family warehouse, not her own home. Step aside.”

Then he turned back to me. “Did you hear that? She’s speaking for you. Now come down. I won’t call others to get you.”

I waited until he finished.

“No need. Prepare the dissolution papers. I’ll sign.”

He was stunned. He froze for two seconds.

“What did you say?”

“I said dissolve the relationship. Clear enough?”

I hung up before he could respond.

Soon after, someone arrived at the clinic to deliver a message from Enzo.

“Where are you? Have you lost your mind? I saw your stomach—your baby was safe, and you’re playing games?”

“Do you think I’m afraid because I’m pregnant? Think carefully. When you need to sign on the operating table, you’ll beg me.”

“Also, take back those photos. Carmine has already seen them. You can’t handle this alone.”

I didn’t listen. I sent the messenger away.

In my past life, I had already died for this man. Hearing his voice now made my hands tremble, but only for a few seconds.

Two nurses came in to change my dressings. They kept their heads down, doing their work, but their comments were meant to be heard.

“That Bellini girl is lucky. Saletta locked one of the private kitchens so he could cook for her himself every day.”

“When I went down to change her dressings, he wouldn’t even let me touch her arm. He did it himself. What do you call that?”

“Attention. The Bellini family and the Salettas are old friends. She grew up with him. How could someone barging in halfway compare?”

They never mentioned my name. I focused on the IV needle in my hand. Most of my skin had peeled away, aching and itching.

When they left, I finally drew a deep breath. My chest felt heavy and tight.

Later that evening, a family elder, one of the doctors, came in and spoke bluntly.

“The blow to your abdomen was severe. It’s unlikely you will carry another child.”

He said it lightly, as if remarking on the weather.

I nodded slowly, but my chest felt hollow and my vision blurred. In that instant, only one thought remained: the life I carried was gone.

After he left, I sat alone, sending someone out to check the situation outside.

The news spread quickly. The photo of me lying in blood reached the Carmine family. They were furious. The elders immediately called Enzo.

Enzo’s solution was to push me aside.

The council released a statement. They claimed the incident was entirely my doing. That I acted out of jealousy, burned a warehouse, and tarnished Enzo’s reputation as head of security.

To make the story believable, Enzo showed our marriage contract. It established that I was his woman, he had no part in starting the fire, yet the blame landed entirely on me.

All scorn and whispers turned toward me. In family taverns, at private tables, every warning, every caution was relayed to my ears. Each time I tried to speak, I was shut down.

In the following days, everyone in the clinic looked at me differently. No one openly pushed me out, but their intent was clear.

Every day, anonymous messages arrived. No preamble, no explanations, just the same sentence over and over. I did not reply. Not a single word.

On the day the doctor cleared me for discharge, I arranged for a message to be delivered to Enzo.

“Tomorrow. Council. Sign the papers.”

He called through another line.

“Finally showing your face? You still dare to appear?”

“I gave you a chance to apologize. You didn’t. Carmine is watching now. Do you think I can protect you?”

“Fine. Sign it. But remember, the child in your womb will grow up without a father. Your choice.”

He hung up before I could answer.

I opened the hidden backup feed from the warehouse.

Enzo had forgotten one thing.

Before I became his wife, I was the one who designed the Carmine family’s security archive.