“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.

After an hour of sitting in silence, I finally forced myself to treat my split lip and wash away the last of the blood on my face. My body ached from the beating, but the part that hurt the most couldn’t be touched—my heart. It was done breaking. Now it just rotted.

The room was quiet. Until it wasn’t.

The door slammed open. Niccolo’s men stormed in. Their faces was unreadable, voices silent. I barely had time to stand before one of them gripped my arm. Another grabbed my wrist like I was a criminal. I tried to ask what was happening, but no one responded.

I was dragged out like garbage. No shoes. No dignity. Just a ruined woman being hauled through her own house.

They shoved me into a black SUV and locked the doors. No words. No explanations. I was taken straight to a private hospital building bearing the Salvacion name.

The moment we reached the top floor, I was thrown into a private suite. And what I saw made my stomach turn.

Margot’s parents were lying in hospital beds—bandaged from head to toe. Her mother’s face was completely wrapped, with only her eyes showing, one of them red and swollen. Her arms were wrapped in gauze. Her voice came out hoarse through a throat tube.

“She… she tried to kill us,” she rasped. “We were inside the car when it went up in flames…”

Her husband stood nearby with a cast on his wrist, eyes wet like he’d survived a war. “I pulled her out with my own hands,” he said, looking right at Niccolo, who had just entered behind me. “She would’ve died if I wasn’t there.”

Three unfamiliar men knelt on the floor. Crying.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am Geneva!” one blubbered. “We only did what you paid us to!”

“You said burn the car, make it look like an accident!” another one wailed.

I couldn’t speak. My lungs locked. My mind tried to make sense of how far they were taking this.

And then I saw her.

Margot. In the corner, hunched like some fragile child, her eyes puffy and red, makeup running just enough to look pitiful. She was clutching her elbows, pretending to tremble.

“Why… why, Geneva?” she whispered, like her soul was crushed. “Just because I love him… you went after my family? What did I ever do to deserve this?”

I didn’t answer. There was no use.

Niccolo stepped forward, jaw tight, eyes dark. He didn’t ask if I was guilty. He didn’t ask anything at all.

“You’re a fucking monster,” he said low. “I gave you everything and you turn into this?”

I opened my mouth, but before a word escaped, Grandma Salvacion stepped in and slapped me across the face. My head snapped sideways.

“You think we’ll let you keep humiliating this family?” she snapped. “You disgust me. If you want to stay under our name, then kneel!”

I looked at Niccolo. He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. I didn’t kneel. So she forced me. Her bony hands gripped my shoulders and shoved me down hard.

I knelt on that cold tile floor. Staring up at the man I once called my husband. He didn’t flinch. Not once.

Then Margot’s mother suddenly gasped, clutching her chest like she couldn’t breathe. Her head rolled to the side. She whispered something I couldn’t catch, then her eyes fluttered shut.

Margot screamed. “Doctor! Hurry! She’s crashing!”

The doors burst open. A man in a white coat ran in, stethoscope swinging, voice loud and urgent. I’d never seen him before.

“Blood pressure dropping fast. She’s hemorrhaging. We need an immediate transfusion,” he said. “Her blood type is AB negative. Extremely rare. Check the database.”

A silence filled the room, sharp and suffocating.

“That’s a hard match to find,” the doctor added. “Only a few compatible donors are listed.”

Margot placed a hand over her belly. “I have AB negative,” she said softly. “But I can’t donate.”

Everyone turned to her.

“I’m pregnant,” she said, eyes wide, voice shaking just enough to sound fragile. “With Niccolo’s baby.”

My stomach turned. I felt sick.

Grandma gasped, covering her mouth, already tearing up. “A child... an heir,” she whispered.

Grandpa didn’t say anything, just nodded once, tight and approving. Niccolo looked at Margot like she was something sacred.

No one looked at me. Then all eyes finally turned.

“She’s compatible,” the doctor said. “Geneva Villacruz Salvacion. She’s a viable donor.”

Niccolo snapped. His boots thundered toward me. He grabbed my arm roughly, yanking me to my feet. “You heard the doctor.”

I pulled back. “She’s lying,” I said, voice shaking. “She faked all of this. She’s not even pregnant—”

“I said take her blood,” he barked at the doctor. “As much as it takes.”

I struggled as his men grabbed me. “Don’t touch me!” I screamed. “She’s lying, she planned this!”

“Shut her up!” Grandma snapped. “Get it done. Now.”

They strapped me into the chair. My wrists burned under the leather cuffs. Tubes jammed into my veins, metal cold against skin. The blood flowed. Too fast. Too much. I could feel it draining me.

The doctor looked uneasy. “She’s turning pale. We should slow down—”

Niccolo gave him a cold glance. “I said continue.”

My head started spinning. Margot stood at the side, fake tears streaking her face, rubbing her stomach like she was cradling something precious. Her eyes glinted when no one was looking.

“She’s losing color,” a nurse said.

My arms were cold. My fingertips tingled.

“She’s about to crash,” another voice called out.

I blinked slowly, breath shallow. My eyes fluttered shut.

Then the machines beeped.

“She’s going into shock!”

“Get her to the emergency wing—now!”

I couldn’t feel my body anymore. Only the thought in my head, circling over and over. They’re going to kill me before I ever get out.