Percival answered on the first ring. His tone was calm, almost polished, yet there was something underneath it—something dense and suffocating, like pressure building before a storm.

“Althea,” he said slowly, each syllable measured, “I don’t usually answer calls from the dead. Tell me why you’re calling.”

Just hearing him sent a chill down my spine. Percival Ramirez wasn’t merely Vincent’s older half brother. He was the man who ran Circolo Nero—an ancient wine-smuggling syndicate masquerading as a refined luxury empire. In Percival’s world, death wasn’t loud or messy. People simply vanished, erased so thoroughly it was as if they had never existed.

“I want Vincent destroyed,” I said, forcing the words out. “Not hurt. Not scared. Ruined. I can’t do it by myself.”

Silence followed. Not the awkward kind—the dangerous kind. Long enough for me to picture him weighing my usefulness against my mortality. Then came a low laugh, quiet and dark, not mocking… approving.

“So you finally called,” he murmured. “Go on.”

I told him everything. The affair with Natalia. Bringing her into my home the very day I buried my parents. The way he threatened to burn down the vineyard my family had built vine by vine, generation by generation. Every cruel remark. Every calculated humiliation.

Percival didn’t interrupt once. When he finally spoke, his voice dropped to something almost intimate. “How soon do you want him erased?”

“Four days,” I answered.

“Plenty of time,” he replied coolly. “I can put a man underground faster than that.”

For the first time in weeks, something warm flickered in my chest. Relief. Maybe even hope.

“I’ll take care of it,” Percival added. “But nothing comes free.”

My fingers tightened around the phone. “What’s the cost?”

“Marry me.”

I sucked in a sharp breath. “Excuse me?”

“Say yes,” he said calmly, “and you become untouchable. No one harms what belongs to me. Not the Ramirezs. Least of all Vincent.”

Then the line went dead. No farewell. No hesitation.

That night, sleep refused to come. Percival’s voice echoed in my head—steady, merciless, absolute. Becoming his wife meant stepping into a realm where executions were silent, smiles concealed knives, and wine cellars hid more than barrels. Power, in his world, was traded in blood.

But if I stood beside him… Vincent would never come near me again.

---

By morning, fate struck again.

I sat alone in the clinic’s waiting area, staring at the slip of paper the nurse had handed me.

Positive.

Not one heartbeat.

Two.

I was pregnant—with twins.

A bitter laugh escaped me as tears blurred the words. Six years earlier, doctors had told me pregnancy was impossible. After the crash. After the night Vincent drove drunk and furious, raging about a failed deal. The car had slammed into a roadside barrier, the impact crushing my lower abdomen. I remembered drifting in and out of consciousness in the hospital while he whispered, I didn’t mean it, before disappearing for days.

The doctors said the damage was irreversible. I believed them. I endured the whispers. The labels. Barren. Defective. Worthless.

And now—this.

My phone buzzed.

A message from Percival.

Three days. Make your choice.

Three days. Three days until freedom… but what about the lives growing inside me? Could I bring them into a world built on betrayal? On men like Vincent? Or worse—men like Percival?

I left the clinic numb and drove home on autopilot.

The door shut behind me.

“Well, well,” a voice drawled. “You look like death warmed over.”

I sank onto the couch without responding. Then I heard a car pull into the driveway. My chest tightened. Vincent. I stood up, intending to leave before he saw me, but Natalia stepped directly into my path.

“Don’t rush off,” she sneered. “Stay. Watch your husband kiss me hello.”

I shoved past her and locked myself in the guest room, hands trembling so badly I nearly dropped the key.

It didn’t matter.

The door flew open with a violent bang. I spun around just in time to see Vincent’s hand swing.

Pain exploded across my face. The slap knocked me off balance, ears ringing as I hit the floor. My vision went dark for a second, blood flooding my mouth with a metallic taste.

I didn’t move. I couldn’t.

He had never hit me before.

“W-what was that?” I gasped, my voice breaking. “Why would you do that?”

Vincent’s expression was stone cold. “How dare you touch Natalia,” he snapped. “She’s pregnant with my child, damn it. Is this who you are now, Althea?”

My stomach twisted violently. “I didn’t touch her. I swear.”

Natalia stepped forward smoothly, as if she’d been rehearsing. “I went to check on her,” she said softly. “I brought her tea, Vincent. I just wanted to help. But she—” Her breath hitched. “She slapped me. Told me I should’ve died instead of our parents. Said the world would be better without me.” She glanced at me, tears shimmering. “She said she hated me… and that she wanted me dead.”

My heart pounded. “That’s not true—”

“She grabbed a knife,” Natalia continued, ignoring me. “Pointed it at me. Said she wanted to see the light leave my eyes. I thought she was going to stab me right there.”

And in that moment, as Vincent’s fury burned into me and Natalia’s lie settled perfectly into place, I realized something terrifying.

This house was no longer my home.

It was a cage.

“You’re a liar. A damn witch.”

She turned her face away as if my words had wounded her deeply, playing the victim to perfection. But I caught it—the brief flash of triumph in her eyes before she hid it.

Vincent’s voice cut through the room, sharp and dangerous. “Get out of my sight before I completely lose my temper.”

“You actually believe her?” My throat burned as I spoke, raw with disbelief.

He didn’t hesitate. Not even for a second. “You’ve changed, Althea. Losing the baby back then shattered you. All that’s left now is resentment.”

A hollow laugh slipped out of me, harsh and broken. Blood trickled to my lip, warm and sticky. I brushed it away with the back of my hand. His gaze dropped to the red stain, and for the briefest moment, something like regret flickered across his face.

“Li—” he began.

A soft whine sounded behind him.

“My head hurts…” Natalia murmured weakly. “She hit me so hard, Vincent.”

He turned to her instantly, pulling her into his arms as if I no longer existed. Over his shoulder, Natalia met my eyes, her mouth curving into the faintest, cruelest smile.

Three days.

I only had to endure three more days.

---

The next morning, I left the house before anyone noticed. The air outside was crisp, but my chest felt unbearably heavy as I sat once again in the clinic’s waiting room. My hand rested over my stomach—still flat, still quiet—but I knew what was there. Two heartbeats. Two lives I never believed I’d be given.

When the nurse called my name, my legs felt unsteady as I followed her inside. The doctor looked up, surprise crossing his face.

“Mrs. Ramirez,” he said slowly. “I remember you.”

I managed a small nod.

He skimmed my file, then met my eyes again. “Are you absolutely sure this is what you want?”

I stayed silent.

“Althea,” he said gently, “this pregnancy is nothing short of a miracle. If you terminate it, there won’t be another chance.”

His words landed hard. I pressed my palm against my stomach. I remembered every night I cried myself to sleep, begging for just one miracle. Every forced smile when someone else announced their pregnancy. Every quiet moment of heartbreak. And now that the impossible had finally happened, I was moments away from throwing it away because of Vincent. Because of his cruelty.

Something cracked inside my chest. Tears spilled down my face before I could stop them. My voice trembled, barely audible. “I’m… I’m keeping them.”

The doctor’s expression softened. “You’re making the right decision.”

When I stepped outside, the world felt lighter somehow. I wasn’t free yet—but in three days, I would be. I would vanish with my children and build a new life far from this rot.

“Althea!”

I froze.

Turning slowly, I saw Vincent walking toward me, his stride urgent.

Before I could move, his hand closed around my arm. “Thank God I found you,” he said, gripping me so tightly I knew bruises would bloom later.

“What now?” I asked dully, exhaustion weighing down every word.

“It’s Natalia,” he said. “She’s in the hospital. High fever all night—from stress, and from what you did to her.” His stare was sharp, condemning. “This is on you.”

A dry, bitter laugh escaped me. “I’ve told you a hundred times—I never touched her.”

He ignored me. “She collapsed this morning. Her fever spiked. She’s weak. The doctors say she needs a blood transfusion.”

I frowned. “And why is that my problem?”

His jaw clenched. “You’re her twin. You’re a match. You’re the only one who can save her.”

“You expect my blood? After everything she’s done?” My stomach twisted violently.

His grip tightened until pain shot up my arm. “This isn’t about your feelings. This is about saving lives. You can wallow later. Right now, you’re doing the right thing.”

I tried to pull free, but he dragged me toward the parking lot. My heels scraped against the pavement. “There are other donors. Find someone else. I’m not doing this.”

He stopped abruptly and turned to me, his voice turning icy. “You will. Because this is your fault.”

“You’ll never choose me over her, will you?” I asked quietly.

He didn’t respond. Just tugged me forward again.

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding, then finally said the words I’d been hiding.

“I’m pregnant.”

That finally made him stop.

He turned slowly, disbelief written all over his face as he stared at me. “What did you just say?”

“I’m pregnant,” I said again, my voice trembling but steady enough to carry. “The doctor told me it’s practically a miracle I conceived at all. It’s a high‑risk pregnancy… and it’s twins, Vincent. If you take my blood, you could kill them. Our children.”

For a brief second, everything went quiet.

Then he laughed.

It was a harsh, ugly sound that cut straight through me. “You really expect me to buy that?” His lips curled in contempt. “You’re disgusting enough to fake a pregnancy just to avoid helping your own sister?”

“I’m telling the truth,” I whispered.

“No, you’re not,” he snapped. “You’ve always been a liar, Althea. You’ll give the blood. End of story.”

Something inside me finally shattered. “I’m not killing my babies for her!”

His face darkened, fury rolling off him like a storm. “Then I’ll burn that vineyard your parents spent their lives building. Row by row. I’ll make you stand there and watch while I rip out every vine, crush the soil until nothing ever grows again. No wine. No barrels. No trace that they ever existed.”

My blood went cold.

That vineyard wasn’t just land—it was my parents’ legacy. Decades of work since the eighties, every vine planted by their hands. I grew up running between those rows, breathing in the sweetness of harvest season. It was our family’s heart, and he knew exactly how to use it against me.

“Y-you wouldn’t,” I stammered.

Vincent stepped closer, invading my space until I could feel his breath against my skin. His eyes were sharp, merciless. “Test me.”

I stared at him, my chest heaving. This was the man I once loved. The man who once swore he’d protect me. Now he was the one I needed protection from.

My hand drifted to my stomach without thinking. The twins. My babies. Tears slid down my face, silent and helpless.

When he grabbed my arm and yanked me forward, I didn’t resist. Fighting him had never ended well. I followed quietly, swallowing the sobs clawing at my throat.

He took me straight into the VIP hospital room he’d arranged for Natalia. She lay in the bed, pale and frail, IV lines running into her arm, eyes rimmed red. She let out weak little whimpers, like she was barely holding on.

Vincent rushed to her side. “I’m here, Daph,” he murmured, brushing her hair back gently—so tender, so different from how he treated me. “You’re going to be okay. I brought her.”

Her lips quivered. “Everything hurts, Vincent… I feel so bad.”

I stood frozen, watching my husband cradle my sister like she was made of glass. Then Natalia cracked one eye open and looked at me.

She smiled.

No—she smirked. Just for a split second before closing her eyes again.

Bitch.

Anger churned violently in my gut.

I stepped forward to speak, but Vincent turned so fast I barely had time to react. His hand clamped around my wrist, grip iron‑hard. One look from him told me exactly what would happen if I opened my mouth.

The door swung open, and a doctor entered, eyes flicking between us.

“She’s deteriorating,” Vincent said flatly, not even glancing at me. “Start the transfusion immediately.”

“She’s stable enough to—” the doctor began, but Natalia whimpered again.

“We’re not waiting,” Vincent cut in. “The donor’s right here.”

The doctor’s gaze settled on me. He nodded once and instructed the nurses to prepare.

My body went rigid when I saw the needle. Cold sweat broke across my skin. I’d always been terrified of needles, and Vincent knew it. Years ago, he used to hold my hand, murmur reassurances, distract me until it was over.

Now, he didn’t even look at me.

At Natalia’s next whimper, he abandoned me entirely and rushed back to her side.

I turned my head away as the doctor approached. In my mind, I begged anyone—God, fate, even the devil—to make this stop.

The needle hovered inches from my arm when the door slammed open.

“Stop!”

Another doctor rushed in, clutching a folder, breathless. “You can’t proceed.”

The room fell silent.

“Mrs. Ramirez is pregnant!” he announced loudly.

The needle was lowered at once.

Vincent blinked, his face twitching. “That’s impossible. She can’t—”

The doctor stepped forward and shoved the file into his hands. “She was here this morning for an abortion consult and cancelled it. She’s carrying twins. High‑risk.”

Relief crashed over me so hard my knees nearly buckled. Finally. Proof. Someone believed me.

But before I could fully breathe, Vincent lifted his head.

His voice was cold as ice. “I don’t give a fuck. Take her blood.”

I stared at him, stunned. “What?”

“You heard me,” he said, jaw tight.

The room went dead quiet except for the steady beeping of machines.

One of the nurses hesitated, then spoke carefully. “Mr. Ramirez, your wife cannot donate blood. She’s pregnant—with twins—and it’s a high‑risk pregnancy. Proceeding could cost both babies.”

Vincent didn’t even blink. He stepped forward, voice sharp and commanding. “I heard you. Do it anyway.”

The doctor looked between us, shaken. “Sir, this could endanger her life as well. We can’t—”

“You can,” Vincent snapped. “I’m paying you enough to do exactly what I say.”

My chest tightened painfully. This was my husband. The man I once trusted with my life.

Vincent’s gaze swept the room. “I am Vincent Ramirez. Every one of you works here because I allow it. Defy me—and you’ll regret it.”