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.

I woke up, head dizzy, body cold. My arms ached, veins sore, and the taste of metal still clung to my tongue. The room was empty, walls white and silent. No machines beeping, no IV tubes left in my hand. Just me. Alive, but barely.

I pulled the blanket off and sat up. My head spun. A bitter laugh escaped my lips.

"Time to leave hell."

I shuffled toward the door, legs shaking. Out in the hallway, I heard something—laughter. Not the comforting kind. It was cold, rehearsed.

Margot.

I pressed my back against the wall, staying just out of sight.

“…Good job,” she was telling someone, probably that fake doctor. “Here’s your payment in full.”

I peeked around the corner. Margot handed over a thick envelope. The doctor took it fast, no questions.

“Niccolo will be mine fully now,” she said, smiling as she adjusted her coat. “Keep making reports that my mother has third-degree burns to Niccolo. I want the narrative to last. I want Niccolo to dump her to prison.” Then she turned to a nurse and added, “And Geneva’s blood? Flush it down the toilet. She’s garbage anyway.”

My chest tightened, rage creeping up my throat. But I didn’t move. I didn’t scream. I didn’t confront.

I turned. Walked back to my room. Picked up my phone and scrolled to the number the secretary gave me. I dialed.

A man answered with a composed voice. “Miss Geneva Villacruz Salvacion?”

“Yes,” I said, quietly. “I want to meet him.”

“I’ll send a car. We’ll meet in a private location. Is your daughter safe?”

“She’s not with me,” I said. “But I’ll get her. Then we leave.”

The call ended.

Two hours later, I sat across a man in his late 50s at a private café, tucked deep in a quiet village district. His eyes widened the second he saw me.

“My God…” he whispered. “They did this to you?”

My cheeks were still bruised, lips cracked, wrists marked with bruises where Niccolo’s men grabbed me.

He pushed aside the coffee and took out a tablet. Pressed a button. A video call connected.

The screen lit up. A gray-haired man in a crisp suit, eyes glassy the moment he saw me. For a few seconds, he couldn’t speak. Just stared. Then his voice broke.

“Mi hija… my daughter…” His hands trembled as they touched the screen. “What have they done to you?”

I couldn’t answer. My lips parted, but nothing came out.

“I’ve waited so long,” he said. “I looked everywhere. But your mother was good at hiding you from me, so I stopped looking. If you hadn’t bid on your mother’s old photos at the auction, I never would’ve found you.”

“I thought you were dead,” I finally whispered. “Mom never talked about you.”

He nodded, eyes glistening. “She had her reasons. But you’re safe now, Geneva. Come home. Your bloodline is mine, not theirs. You don’t belong to that cursed family.”

“I’ll come,” I said. “But first I need to get my daughter.”

He smiled softly, wiping his face. “Then go. I’ll wait.”

I ended the call and didn’t waste a second.

By nightfall, I was outside the gate of my friend’s home. Dr. Mel Reyes opened the door before I even rang. Elle rushed out barefoot, and arms wide.

“Mama!”

I caught her, held her tight. I breathed her in like oxygen.

“We’re leaving, baby,” I whispered into her hair. “Somewhere no one can ever hurt us again.”

“Okay,” she said softly. “Okay, Mama.”

I hugged my friend and thanked her for watching Elle for me. She just nodded and wished me luck.

---

At the airport, the lawyer was already there. Documents, passports, boarding passes, all handed in silence.

“The private jet is ready,” he said. “Your father has cleared everything. New names. New identities. No one will find you.”

I stared at the documents. Geneva Villacruz Salvacion was gone. Dead. Buried in a mansion I never wanted. I was now someone else.

“Your father has a message,” the lawyer added. “He said: ‘Every breath they took while hurting you—I will make them pay for it. Tell her, she doesn’t run anymore. The Salvacion blood is not her future. Mine is.’”

I nodded once.

Then my phone rang. Niccolo. I answered.

“Where the hell are you?” His voice was sharp, clipped. “You leave that hospital without my permission, and I’ll bury you in lawsuits. Or do you want me to grab your twins by the neck to make you crawl back to me? You hear me? Geneva, you’re mine!”

I stepped toward the glass wall, looking out over the runway.

“Fuck you, Niccolo.”

I ended the call and pulled the SIM card out. Snapped it in half with my fingers and dropped it in the trash.

Elle clung to my waist. I hugged her back. We walked toward the stairs.

“Ready?” I asked her. She nodded happily. “Let’s go meet your grandfather.”