Sophia’s Pov

When I opened my eyes everything was white. The ceiling, the lights, the sheets.

Even the dull ache in my chest felt white—empty and lifeless.

I blinked slowly, my eyes still swollen. My throat burned like someone had poured acid down it. My head throbbed, pulsing with the rhythm of my heartbeat.

“You’re awake,” a voice said gently.

I turned my head toward the figure in the white coat. It was a doctor with kind eyes and a tired face.

“You were severely allergic to something in the air… jasmine, I believe?” he said, flipping through his chart. “You’re lucky someone found you when they did.”

I didn’t feel lucky. I felt hollow.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Like I’m still dying,” I rasped.

He gave me a small nod. “You’ve suffered quite a bit of trauma, but that’s not all.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

He looked at me carefully—like he didn’t know where to begin.

“You’re three weeks pregnant, Mrs. Moretti.”

The room swayed.

Pregnant? My lips parted, but no sound came out.

How could I be pregnant?

The memory hit me like a slap.

That night. The stench of alcohol on his breath. The way he stumbled into the room, calling me Renata. The way he pinned me down, too drunk to see the difference. I had screamed, begged, tried to push him off—

But he’d already made up his mind.

“I want to terminate it,” I said.

The words were quiet, but sharp.

The doctor looked taken aback. “Are you… sure?”

“Yes.”

His eyes softened with pity. “You’re still recovering from the allergic reaction. You’ll need to wait a few more days—three, at most. Then we can proceed.”

I nodded once. I had made my decision, Lorenzo was a monster, I wasn't going to bring another child into the world for him to torment.

“How’s my daughter?” I asked, clearing my throat.

He hesitated. That split second of hesitation nearly stopped my heart.

“Didn’t your husband tell you?” he asked, brow furrowing.

My blood turned to ice.

I sat up—ignoring the pain tearing through my skull.

“Tell me what?”

He shifted awkwardly, searching for the right words. There were none.

“There was… a brain hemorrhage. Caused by the lack of oxygen.”

My breath caught in my lungs.

“Last night… we tried to operate. But we needed parental consent.”

He paused.

“We couldn’t reach you. And your husband… he said—”

He swallowed hard.

“He said he didn’t care if the bastard died. That she’s been a pain in the ass since she was born.”

I couldn’t breathe. The walls closed in. His voice kept speaking but it felt like it was coming from underwater.

“I’m sorry… your daughter didn’t make it.”

My ears rang.

Ariella. My sweet innocent baby girl.

I surged off the bed and grabbed the doctor by his coat.

“Where is she?! Where is my daughter?!”

Tears blurred my vision as I screamed in his face.

“WHERE IS SHE?!”

He tried to steady me. “Please—Mrs. Moretti—Sophia—Renata came earlier this morning. She… she claimed the body.”

I didn’t hear the rest.

I tore out of that hospital like a woman possessed.

—

The mansion gates were open. As if they were welcoming the devil back home.

I ran through the front doors, my throat raw from screaming, my chest caving in with every breath.

She was lounging on the couch like a queen. Legs crossed. A glass of wine in one hand. A wicked smile on her lips.

“Where is my daughter?!” I shouted.

Renata didn’t even flinch. She pressed the remote.

The television turned on.

A video began to play.

The screen showed a tiny, frail body—Ariella—gasping for air. Her lips were blue. Her chest heaving.

Doctors rushed around her, trying to revive her.

And then… they stopped.

The line on the monitor went flat.

I screamed. Covered my mouth. Collapsed to the floor.

“You bitch,” I sobbed. “You heartless bitch…”

Renata turned up the volume.

I looked up at her on the screen as Renata roughly dragged her lifeless body and tossed it into a big iron can and set it ablaze.

“This is your brat’s last moment on earth,” she said with a smile. “Touching, isn’t it?”

My heart broke into a million pieces as I stared at the horrific scene on the screen. The only thought running through my mind was how I had failed my daughter.

“How could you… how could you burn her without asking me?” I stuttered, my voice breaking.

“Oh, is this so heart breaking? Does it make you want to scream and hit me?” Renata laughed mockingly, “Wait till you hear what happened last night when the doctor called.”

I narrowed my eyes at her, dread already forming in the pit of my stomach like I knew what she wanted to say.

“What did you do?” I queried.

Renata giggled like a maniac, “The doctor called and I picked the call. I'm pregnant, Sophia, you don't expect me to save your brat, do the maths.”

“You had my daughter killed for some petty reasons? How could you?!” I yelled, fury radiating off me.

She shrugged. “Because I can.”

I stood up, ready to lunge at her when from behind her, she lifted a small glass jar.

“These are her ashes,” she said sweetly. “If you want what’s left of your brat… hit your head on the floor ten times.”

I stared at her. Surely she was bluffing.

But the look in her eyes told me she wasn’t.

I dropped to my knees.

“One… Two… Three,” she counted, giggling like a maniac.

By the fourth time, blood was running down my face. My vision was blurring. My ears were ringing.

“Seven… Eight.”

I was swaying now. Barely conscious.

“Ten!” She clapped mockingly.

“What a devoted little mother you are,” she said, stepping forward with the jar.

I reached out to take it, hands trembling, heart pounding.

But then—

She let go.

The jar hit the floor.

It shattered and my daughter’s ashes were scattered everywhere.

Sophia’s Pov

I didn’t move. I couldn’t.

I just stared at the floor where my daughter’s ashes had scattered like dust.

The glass shards from the broken jar glinted under the chandelier light, mixing with what little remained of her.

My baby. My Ariella. Gone again—this time for good.

“Oops,” Renata giggled, clapping her hands like a child at a birthday party.

“Well, what’s left of that brat is now trash. Just like her mother.”

Something inside me snapped.

I lunged. “You bitch!”

I slapped her so hard her head jerked sideways, her wine glass crashing to the floor.

She screamed.

I grabbed her hair and yanked with everything in me, dragging her to the ground.

She clawed at my arms as I pinned her, my nails sinking into her scalp. All I could see was red—ashes, blood, pain.

“You evil, disgusting monster!”

“GET HER OFF ME!” Renata shrieked.

Two of Lorenzo’s guards burst into the room and ripped me off her.

My legs kicked. My nails were still full of her hair.

She scrambled behind the couch, sobbing and shrieking like she hadn’t just shattered the last thing I had left.

Lorenzo stormed in seconds later, eyes wide as he rushed to Renata’s side.

“Renata? Baby, what happened?!”

She buried her face in his chest, wailing.

“She’s gone mad! She attacked me, Lorenzo—she said she’d kill me!”

“She’s lying!” I yelled, “Please—just listen to me for once—”

I tried to speak, but the moment I opened my mouth—

A heavy slap landed on my left cheeks that sent me reeling back with shock.

Then another, and another, and another until I lost count and all I could taste in my mouth was blood.

My ears rang. My cheek was swollen. My knees buckled as he kept slapping me until I couldn’t hear anything but the rush of my own pulse in my head.

Tears streamed down my face. I looked up at the man I once loved, the man who used to kiss my hands and promise to protect me forever.

“You never learn,” he muttered, “It seems I will stop paying your bastard’s hospital bills since you're so stubborn.”

“You can stop paying her hospital bills,” I whispered through cracked lips. “You don’t need to anymore.”

His face darkened as he spat, “How do you intend to afford it, huh? By your continuous whoring around?”

“She’s dead, Lorenzo,” I said, the words tearing out of me like knives. “Ariella’s gone.”

He froze. For a split second—he hesitated.

Renata pulled away from his chest and gasped, her voice thick with fake shock.

“That’s a lie! She’s lying! I—I visited Ariella this morning! That’s why she attacked me! She told me never to go near her daughter!”

“You liar! You didn’t go near that hospital…” I tried to speak again but Lorenzo interrupted me.

“You have a wicked heart,” Lorenzo snarled, eyes burning. “How dare you say that? You’ll say anything just to make her look bad.”

“Her ashes are right there on the floor!” I screamed, pointing at the shattered remains near the couch. “That’s our daughter—YOUR daughter!”

Renata held up her hand. A small, pathetic burn on her wrist.

“She burned me. She even burned papers and said they were Ariella’s ashes!”

“You lying bitch—”

But it was too late.

Lorenzo’s fury snapped again.

“Maids! Sweep it up. Throw it out. I don’t want to see that filth on my floors.”

My world crumbled.

“No—NO! Please! Don’t touch it! That’s my baby! That’s my daughter!” I screamed, thrashing against the guards. “Please don’t sweep her away—PLEASE!”

I broke free for a second and crawled toward the ashes, my fingers reaching. But Lorenzo grabbed me by the hair and dragged me backwards, toward the kitchen.

“You really don’t learn, do you?”

“Lorenzo, no—PLEASE!”

He yanked my hand and slammed it onto the hot stove.

The scream that ripped from my throat didn’t sound human. I writhed and kicked, but he pressed harder until the skin sizzled and the pain exploded like lightning through my spine.

I crumpled to the floor, gasping, shaking.

But just as I saw the maids sweeping up my daughter’s ashes, I ignored the pain and ran toward them.

“Stop it!” I yelled, trying to grab their broom.

“Hold her down, she's truly gone crazy!” Renata cried.

The guards held me as I thrashed in their arms sobbing profusely as the maids gathered my daughter’s ashes and emptied them in the trash.

“No!” I cried, my heart shattering.

“I was going to let you off this time but since you insist on continuing your charade I will teach you a lesson,” Lorenzo said.

But I wasn't looking at him, I was crumpled on the floor massaging my burnt hand as I stared into space.

“Beat her up!” Lorenzo ordered.

Suddenly, I recalled the doctor’s words.

“I’m pregnant!” I screamed. “I’m pregnant, Lorenzo—please—don’t—”

He stared at me for a second. Then—

He laughed.

“I’ve never touched you,” he spat. “So you can’t be. And if you are? Another bastard? I’ll make sure it doesn’t make it out.”

“No—please… Please, not again.”

But he was already moving.

His foot slammed into my stomach.

I screamed so loud the windows should’ve shattered.

Another kick and more followed as I curled up into a ball on the floor.

I tasted blood. I felt something rupture inside me.

“Stop—please—STOP—” I sobbed.

“You think I’m stupid? You think I’d raise another bastard?!” he roared.

Another kick.

“Lorenzo…” I whimpered.

Blood soaked through my dress. Down my thighs. Pooling on the cold tile.

He stood over me, chest heaving.

I stared up at him through blurry eyes. His face, once my salvation, now looked like hell itself.

You killed her, I thought.

And now… you’ve killed the only piece of me I had left.

The pain swelled. My vision spun.

And then— Darkness.

Sophia’s Pov

When I opened my eyes, I wasn’t sure if I was alive.

I felt nothing. And yet, I felt everything.

Pain pulsed beneath every inch of my skin—my abdomen throbbed like something had been ripped from it.

My head pounded against the tightness of fresh bandages, and my hand… God, my hand felt like it was still on the stove.

I turned my face slightly, blinking against the white light flooding the hospital room.

I recognized the dull scent of antiseptic, the steady beep of machines, the weight of grief settling into my bones before the words were even spoken.

The doctor was already there, standing by the window, clipboard in hand.

His expression was tight, unreadable at first—until his eyes met mine. And I saw it —Pity.

“Mrs. Moretti… I’m sorry.”

He didn’t have to finish the sentence.

I already knew.

The baby was gone.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t ask for details. I didn’t even flinch.

“Can I be discharged?” I asked, my voice hoarse.

He blinked, surprised. “You… just came out of a second trauma. You need time to heal. The burns on your hand still—”

“I said I want to leave.”

He hesitated and looked down at his clipboard. Then finally nodded.

By the time I walked out of that hospital, I was limping slightly, and every step sent another wave of fire through my ribs and legs.

But I didn’t stop. I hailed a cab and gave the address I had memorized on my phone.

The law office was quiet. The kind of place where people walked in broken and walked out free—or at least with a settlement.

I didn’t want money, I didn't want to just erase my identity, I wanted to cut all ties with him and that started from an official divorce.

“I want to file for a divorce,” I told the man behind the polished desk. “I need the documents to sign. Now.”

The lawyer looked at me with faint curiosity, like I was just another woman in a long line of desperate clients. He asked me my name. My husband’s.

I gave them to him.

He typed for a moment. Then frowned.

“Mrs. Moretti…” he began slowly. “According to the civil record… you and Mr. Lorenzo Moretti have been divorced. For two years.”

My heart stilled.

“That’s not possible.”

“It is because Mr. Lorenzo Moretti is currently married to Renata Giordano.”

He turned his screen. The scanned document stared back at me.

There was my signature. My full name and his details.

And the date? Two years ago.

Right around the time he had coaxed me into signing what he said were joint account papers. I had trusted him. I was still his wife. We were still… something.

He had lied to me. Deceived me. Kept me under his control like a prisoner with no idea I was free to run.

He had married Renata. And I… I had been nothing more than a shadow woman in my own life.

My breath hitched.

I stood up, but the floor seemed to tilt beneath my feet. My legs buckled slightly and the lawyer rushed to help me, but I waved him off.

“Thank you,” I whispered. “I need… I need to leave.”

As I walked out, I was glad to finally be rid of him even though he had done it deceitfully.

—

The sun was already setting when I stepped out of the cab, my mind numb, my body screaming, and my soul hanging on by a single thread.

The mansion was quiet when I stepped in, but not for long.

I walked through the front doors with the divorce certificate in my hand, still warm from the printer. I didn’t hide it. I wanted him to know that I've found out about his deception.

Lorenzo was in the living room, glass of whiskey in hand.

He looked up.

“Where have you been?” he asked me.

“I know everything,” I said, lifting the paper. “You divorced me two years ago. You lied. You’ve tortured me under a marriage that didn’t exist.”

His face darkened.

“So you have the guts to go see a lawyer,” he said coldly. “That’s what today was about?”

“Don’t change the subject!” I snapped.

“You think you can leave me?” he said, standing now. “That’s why you went there? You actually think you’re free?”

I didn’t blink. “Why won’t you just let me go? I have the divorce papers, I can leave whenever I want.”

His voice was calm.

“You can't leave because I’m not done with you yet. You want to leave? It’ll be in a coffin.”

He turned, grabbed something off the couch—a black velvet dress. He threw it at me.

“Put that on. We’re attending the mafia gala tonight. And bring your bastard child. People will ask.”

I stared at him coldly.

“My daughter isn’t obligated to come. She’s not yours, remember?”

He stared at me with a shocked look on his face. I didn't wait for him to reply, I walked away.

In my bedroom, I shut the door and pulled out my phone. My hand still trembled from the pain. But my voice didn’t.

The line rang once before someone answered.

“It’s me,” I said quietly.

“Have you changed your mind?”

I looked in the mirror. I looked like a ghost of the woman I used to be.

“Yes, Grandpa. Make the arrangements.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow, that's when I’ll disappear. I can't wait anymore.”