They opened the basement door the next morning. Elle was shivering in my arms, her lips cracked, cheeks pale. I was barely conscious, running on nothing but instinct and the will to protect what little I had left.

Two bodyguards stood at the door. One of them spoke without emotion. “Boss says next time, you won’t leave with your legs still attached.”

I said nothing. Just clutched Elle tighter and helped her up the stairs, one shaky step at a time. My limbs felt like iron. My mouth was dry. My pride was ash. But Elle was alive. That was all that mattered.

We reached our room. I wrapped her in every blanket I could find, holding her close while tears slipped silently down my cheeks. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, over and over. “Mama’s so sorry, baby…” She looked up at me, eyes dull but brave. I kissed her forehead, pressing promises into her skin. “I’ll fix this. I swear to you. Just a few more days, okay? Just a few more.” She nodded. That broke me all over again.

By that afternoon, I made arrangements. I sent her to stay with Dr. Mel Reyes—a friend from my university days, one of the few people I still trusted. She had kids, a safe house outside city borders, and the kind of warmth Elle hadn’t felt in a long time. Elle didn’t want to leave me at first. But when I told her it was just for a little while, that we’d meet again soon, she finally agreed. She hugged me so tight I could barely breathe. And when she let go, I felt like a part of my soul left with her.

That night, Niccolo summoned me. Taylor delivered a dress. Blood-red velvet, low back, diamond straps. Along with it came a note in Niccolo’s handwriting:

“Auction. Mafia-only. Don’t embarrass me.”

That was it. No apology. No mention of locking his daughter in a basement. Just a command. I showed up.

The event was held in one of Niccolo’s luxury hotels—top floor, secured by at least thirty men in black, all armed and silent. Every face inside belonged to someone who had blood on their hands and power stitched into their veins. I walked in wearing his name like a chain around my neck.

And then I saw her. Margot. Wearing haute couture and smugness like perfume. Her makeup soft, her curls perfect, and around her neck was my necklace. Yhe one Niccolo once bid eight figures for, said he wanted our daughter to inherit someday. She wore it like she owned him.

I stopped just short of entering the ballroom. Niccolo stood beside her, hands in his pockets, suit crisp and dark. The second he saw me, his lips curled into that cold smirk he always wore when he thought he had control.

“She’s here too,” I said, my voice steady. “So what the hell do you need me for?” He glanced at Margot, then back at me with that gravel-deep voice of his. “Didn’t plan on bringing her. But she wanted to come. She begged. What was I supposed to do? Say no?” He stepped closer, lowering his tone just enough for me to hear. “Geneva, don’t be fuckin’ petty. This ain’t the time.”

My hands curled into fists, nails biting into my palms. Petty? I was standing in a room full of murderers and traffickers, being paraded beside my husband while his mistress flaunted my life in front of the entire underworld and I was petty?

Margot gave a soft giggle, linking her arm with Niccolo’s like she was born there. The whispers started before I even made it ten steps.

“Isn’t that Niccolo’s wife? Then who’s that beside him?”

“Oh, that’s the mistress. They say he treats her like royalty. Heard the wife got kicked out of his bed months ago.”

Someone turned and smiled awkwardly at me. “Sorry. I thought she was Mrs. Salvacion… I mean, she’s wearing the real diamonds.”

I said nothing. Just walked to my seat like I couldn’t hear a thing. But inside? I was collecting every word. Every look. Every breath.

The auction began. I raised my paddle a few times… for antiques, small treasures, nothing too flashy. But every damn time, Margot lifted her paddle too, raising my bid by a single dollar. Over. And over.

People started laughing. “First time I’ve seen a mistress bully a wife in public…” I didn’t even blink.

Then I raised my hand again. “Open bid,” I told the auctioneer. The entire room stilled. Margot’s smile faltered.

“Niccolo…” she whispered, tugging at his sleeve. “I really want that piece…”

Niccolo looked at me. His jaw ticked. “Geneva,” he growled, “just let her have it.”

I looked straight at him, my voice sharp but calm. “She can’t open-bid. I can. Because I’m your wife. We share assets.” Then I turned to Margot. “No matter how much he gives you, sweetheart, you’ll never be me.”

Her eyes flared with red, but she stood quickly and covered her face. “I get it,” she sobbed. “You’re the wife, I’m just some shameful secret. I never should’ve come. I just wanted to feel… loved.” She turned and ran, dramatic and fragile and fake to her core.

Niccolo glared at me and grabbed my wrist so hard I swore I heard something crack. “You just couldn’t fucking help yourself, huh?” he hissed. “I told you this thing with her would pass but now you’ve gone and pushed her away.”

I yanked my wrist back. “Whether she stays or leaves… what’s that got to do with me?” His eyes darkened. A storm without mercy.

Then he turned and stormed out after her, leaving me in the center of a room filled with mockery and knives behind smiles.

---

The sharp buzz of my phone jolted me awake.

A breaking news alert flashed across the screen—bold, vulgar, and soul-crushing.

BREAKING: “299 PRIVATE PHOTOS OF SALVACION CEO’S MOTHER-IN-LAW TO BE AUCTIONED TONIGHT!”

For a few seconds, I couldn’t move. The breath caught in my throat. My fingers went numb. My vision blurred. Only one word repeated in my mind—Mom.

With trembling hands, I called Niccolo. It rang once. Twice. Then he answered, voice casual, cold, bored.

“Already awake? That was fast.”

I didn’t even greet him. “Did you do this?” My voice cracked. “Those photos… they’re of my mom.”

He laughed.

“Didn’t you enjoy that last auction so much?” his oice laced with cruel amusement. “Thought I’d give you something more meaningful to bid on this time.”

My stomach twisted. I could barely stand.

“They were taken years ago,” I whispered. “She was working in a club… she got pregnant with me and quit. She raised me alone. She worked three fucking jobs just to keep me alive—!”

“And now she’s dead,” he cut in coolly. “She won’t mind. Besides, the crowd loves vintage.”

Then came her voice.

Margot’s fake, breathy sweetness oozed into the call.

“Niccolo… is that Geneva again? I…I should go. I shouldn’t be near you when she’s upset…”

“Don’t talk like that,” he murmured gently to her, like I wasn’t on the line. “You’ve been through enough already. I’ve got your back, yeah? I’ll deal with her.”

There was the unmistakable sound of him kissing her. Lips. Cheek. Something sickeningly close.

Then the line went dead.

I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

My mother who died three years ago from heart failure was the one woman who stood by me through everything. She used to wash dishes at midnight, fall asleep sitting up, cry behind closed doors because she didn’t have enough to buy me a prom dress. And now Niccolo had stripped her dignity in death, for sport. For Margot.

---

I rushed to the auction house, barely remembering how I got there. The second I stepped into that hall, I wanted to collapse.

Her face.

Young, frightened. Posing under harsh lights, forced smiles while men loomed around her. Images from her club days, before I was even born.

They plastered her across giant screens like she was a trophy. Men lounged in velvet chairs, wine in hand, staring like animals.

“That’s the wife’s mother?”

“Back in her day, she must’ve been something.”

“Maybe sluttiness runs in the blood…”

Each word stabbed me. Each laugh drowned me.

I stood frozen as the auctioneer cheerfully announced, “Lot 1: The legendary Sapphire Queen in her prime—opening bid: $3,000!”

They called her that because of the jewel she wore at the club. My mother never told me why she kept it... but now I knew. It was the only thing that made her feel like more than property.

I swallowed the bile in my throat and raised my paddle. Bid after bid, I fought to buy back my mother’s dignity. Every time I won, I felt emptier. By the 299th photo, I was shaking.

Dead. Inside.

As I stepped outside, my phone rang again. I answered.

His voice came through, mocking.

“Well? How’d that feel? You like making open bids so much—was this round as thrilling?”

I said nothing. My fingers were bleeding from how hard I’d been clenching my hand around the paddle.

“Come on, Geneva,” he sighed like I was exhausting him. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking about leaving me over this?”

“Don’t you think I’d have grounds?” I rasped.

He snorted. “You can’t divorce me. Not without my signature. That’s not how this works.”

I said nothing. He didn’t remember.

He forgot he’d already signed the divorce papers months ago.

He paused again, then softened his voice.

“Today was just a little reminder. You act out, I act worse. And, my grandfather’s wedding anniversary is tomorrow evening. You're coming with me.”

I opened my mouth. But the line had already gone dead. Just like my love for him.

---

The day of Niccolo's grandfather’s wedding anniversary came—one of the few Salvacion traditions still treated with reverence. A mafia reunion masked as elegance. Under the suits and speeches were blood pacts and silent power games.

Niccolo picked me up in his black Maserati. He didn’t bother getting out of the car. I opened the door myself and slid in.

His gaze flicked over me once. “You look thinner. Bamboo.”

“Didn’t bring Margot?” I asked, voice flat.

His fingers drummed the leather wheel. “Not today. I’ll keep her away from you from now on. You’ve embarrassed the family enough.”

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

Then, halfway through the highway curve, he asked, far too casually, “Where are the twins? Those old geezers will ask.”

I answered without flinching. “Eli’s gone. He’s dead. The bomb. Or did you already forget?”

His laugh was short and brutal. “Is this another act? Playing the grieving mother now? You’re so desperate.”

He stared at me, waiting to see if I’d crack. But I didn’t respond.

I just watched the trees blur past the window.

There was no grief left for him to see. Nothing left for him to mock. He could humiliate my name, smear my son’s death, worship that girl like she was made of gold.

I’d already buried the pain.

And soon, I’d bury him too without ever lifting a shovel.

+++

The party was a loaded gun dressed in velvet.

Legacy. Power. Appearances. That’s all anyone cared about in the Salvacion family. Everyone smiled with knives behind their backs.

Niccolo didn’t let go of my hand the moment we stepped in. We were putting on a show.

The moment his grandfather spotted us, he stood up and walked toward me, arms open.

“Geneva, my girl,” the old man said, kissing both my cheeks. “Still the classiest one in the room. Niccolo doesn’t deserve a woman like you.”

I gave him a soft smile. “Thank you, Grandpa.”

But beside him, his wife the infamous Salvacion matriarch looked me up and down like I was a smudge on her crystalware.

“You look… worn,” she said, voice sharp but fake. “Try to keep yourself together, dear. People talk.”

Niccolo didn’t say anything. He never did when it came to her.

We hadn’t even reached the main table when Margot walked in with her parents. White silk dress. Head slightly tilted. Her mother had a full smile ready, the kind that said I know we’re winning.

Her father greeted Niccolo first, a firm handshake and a proud nod. “Boss Salvacion,” he said, as if his daughter wasn’t just the mistress of a married man but royalty itself.

Then they turned to me.

“Mrs. Salvacion,” Margot’s mother said sweetly. “You look... resilient. We were just saying how much we admire your strength.”

Her husband nodded. “Must be difficult, juggling all these events. Especially with Margot still recovering from everything she’s been through. But she insisted on showing her respect today. She’s such a kind soul.”

“Truly,” her mother added. “No resentment at all. It’s inspiring.”

Margot bowed her head slightly, playing the perfect fragile flower.

I didn’t respond.

I just walked straight past them.

An hour passed. I sat alone at our table, wine glass in hand, watching Niccolo twirl Margot across the ballroom like they belonged on the cover of some cursed magazine.

I sipped my wine slowly. But in my chest, Eli’s laugh played like a ghost. I remembered the way he used to run up to me barefoot in the kitchen, cheeks full of frosting. The sound of his tiny voice saying, "Mama, look what I made."

‘I swear to you, Eli… I’ll tear down everything they ever built. But first, I need to walk out of this cage alive.’

“Another glass, Mrs. Salvacion?” A waiter leaned close, offering another glass. But Niccolo saw.

From across the room, his hands dropped from Margot’s waist mid-spin. His stare pinned me like a sniper’s scope. Possessive. Cold. Boiling.

Next second, he was striding across the marble, brushing Margot off without a word. He grabbed my arm.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he hissed. “You're my wife. Not some bored debutante making eyes at waiters.”

I calmly pulled my hand from his grip. “Maybe if you remembered that before, we wouldn’t be like this.”

And I walked off. Straight to the powder room, clutching nothing but a pulse steady with rage.

I shut the door behind me, but it didn’t take long. Margot slithered in seconds later, shutting the door behind her.

“Well, look at you,” she said, voice too sweet. “Still playing queen in a house where no one listens to you.”

I didn’t speak.

“I mean, you couldn't even protect your own son,” she continued. “What kind of mother lets her child die like that?”

My hand curled slowly at my side.

“He was just a kid,” she went on, smile stretching. “Six, right? That’s how old he was? Must’ve screamed when the bomb started ticking. Did he cry for you?”

That was the last straw. I lunged, hand raised to knock her head sideways but she beat me to it.

She slammed her own palm into her cheek. Then again. Hard. She scratched her collarbone, let out a guttural sob, and threw herself against the sink.

Then she screamed.

“Help! Help me! Geneva—she’s gone crazy!”

Margot bolted out of the powder room, her sobs echoing like a siren.

Makeup smeared, red finger marks rising on her cheek, her neckline clawed up like she’d escaped a beast. She collapsed to the floor of the ballroom just as Niccolo arrived.

He caught her mid-fall. “What happened?” His voice was tight. Rough.

“She attacked me!” Margot sobbed, clutching at his suit. “She grabbed my hair, slammed me into the mirror. Look at me!”

Niccolo’s jaw clenched. “Smith! Get Geneva out of there. Now.”

Two of his men pushed into the powder room. I didn’t fight. What was the point? They dragged me out by the arms, heels scraping across the tiles.

Eyes turned. Conversations died.

Every pair of eyes in the hall snapped to me—some scandalized, some gleaming with gossip. Others pretending to look away but watching every second.

Margot was now on the ground in front of her parents, trembling and crying like some shattered porcelain doll.

“Oh my poor baby!” her mother cried, cradling her like a child.

“This is what she’s been enduring all this time,” her father said with fake sorrow, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “She’s always been too forgiving.”

Niccolo’s grandmother was already storming forward, lips tight with venom.

“Shameful!” she spat, eyes raking over me. “You humiliated this family. In front of all our allies. You’ll bring our name to ruin!”

Then Niccolo’s grandfather—slammed his cane hard against the marble floor.

“I tolerated your cold face,” he growled, “but hurting an innocent guest? On our name’s night? You’re no longer welcome in this family!”

I looked at all of them. My throat burned, my chest rising and falling like I was standing on the edge of a building about to jump. Then I snapped.

“Innocent?” My voice rang out like a cracked bell. “You want to talk about innocent?”

I looked directly at Niccolo. “She’s the reason Eli’s dead.”

Silence.

A thick, suffocating silence wrapped the room. Even the musicians stopped tuning their instruments.

I stared at him, tears stinging, fury shaking through my ribs. “She fed you lies about him not being yours. She hated him. And now he’s gone.”

Niccolo’s brows pulled together, confusion warring with something darker.

Margot’s voice suddenly shot out like a blade.

“She’s lying! I—I saw Eli this afternoon,” she cried. “He was running around at some doctor’s house! She’s delusional! She’s cursing her own son just to make me look bad!”

She turned to the crowd, sobbing harder. “Look what she did to me. Look at this—this isn’t a woman. She’s insane!”

And that was all it took. Niccolo’s eyes flared. He marched toward me. I didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even flinch when his hand came down like thunder across my face.

Slap.

Then again.

Slap.

The third one cracked across my mouth. The fourth sent me backward, head snapping sideways.

And the fifth, sharp and ruthless, landed so hard it made the floor tilt.

My knees buckled.

Blood filled my mouth as my cheek burned. I collapsed to the marble, one palm catching me just barely, eyes on the floor. Niccolo carried Margot out bridal style while the entire hall watched, some clapping, some murmuring.

I stayed on the floor.

+++

I don’t even remember how I got home. One minute I was on cold marble, the next I was staring at the ceiling in our room. My cheek throbbed, my lip was cracked. But none of it hurt more than what he did to my heart. That was the last time I cried for Niccolo Salvacion.

One tear. One breath. That was all he had left of me.

Then my phone rang.

I didn’t want to answer, but I did.

“Hello?”

A man’s voice came through, upbeat. “Is this Miss Geneva Villacruz Salvacion?”

“Yes…”

“At last! Your father will be thrilled to hear it.”

I sat up slowly. “My father?”

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

I couldn’t speak.

“Miss Geneva, when you’re ready… I’ll send you his number and address. He wants to meet you. He’s been waiting a long time.”

The call ended. I stared at the screen, heart pounding. For the first time in a long time… something felt like hope.