"Please… please… just help me leave. I can't take this anymore…" My voice broke into fragments as I clutched the phone so tightly my knuckles turned white, as if it were the only thing tethering me to sanity, the last fragile thread keeping me from completely falling apart.

"Seraphina? What's going on? Where are you?" The voice on the other end was sharp with concern, urgent, grounding, but it felt so far away, like it was coming from another world I no longer belonged to.

I dragged my sleeve roughly across my face, smearing tears and blood together without caring. My whole body trembled uncontrollably as I forced the words out in a hoarse whisper, each one scraping painfully against my throat. "I'm done… I can't stay here anymore. I'm leaving Enzo… and the kids."

The moment the words left my lips, something inside me seemed to collapse.

My fingers loosened without strength, and the phone slipped from my grasp, hitting the bed with a dull, lifeless thud.

Silence followed.

I stood there for a long moment, breathing unevenly, before my gaze slowly lifted toward the mirror.

The woman staring back at me felt like a stranger.

Bruised. Blood smeared across her temple. Lips cracked. Eyes hollow and empty, like all the light inside had been drained out.

I looked… ruined.

Like someone who had crawled out of a battlefield, barely alive.

And in a way… I had.

Two hours ago…

I had been standing in front of the same mirror, twirling slowly, forcing myself to smile.

The royal blue dress clung perfectly to my body, hugging every curve. The color made my dark hair look richer, softer. It was elegant. Beautiful.

Catarina's favorite color.

For a brief second, I almost believed I looked… worthy. Acceptable. Good enough to sit at the table when the family gathered, good enough that no one would whisper about why the Acting Boss kept a wife he never touched in a house she wasn't welcome in.

Thud!

The impact came out of nowhere.

Pain exploded across my skull, sharp and blinding, and my vision went white for a split second. My body staggered backward, and I slammed hard into the dresser behind me, the force knocking the air out of my lungs.

A crash echoed through the room. Somewhere down the corridor, a soldier posted outside the east wing would have heard it. None of them would come. They never did.

My hand flew instinctively to my forehead, fingers trembling as they brushed against something wet.

Sticky.

Warm.

I pulled my hand back and stared at it.

Blood.

"What the hell—" My voice came out unsteady, barely audible.

"Nice shot, Matteo!" Nico's voice rang out, loud and gleeful.

I blinked, my vision struggling to focus as dizziness washed over me in waves.

When the blur cleared, I saw them.

All six of them.

Standing in a straight line like they had planned it. Like this was a performance.

Gianna. Matteo. Nico. Lucia. Rocco. Alessia.

My babies.

At least… that's what I had always believed.

But the way they looked at me now—

Cold. Mocking. Disgusted.

It was as if I was nothing.

No… worse than nothing.

Like I was something beneath them. Something they had stepped in and couldn't wait to scrape off their shoes.

"What did you throw at me?" I croaked, struggling to stay upright as the room tilted around me.

"A rock," Rocco said with a smirk, completely unapologetic. "Next time, maybe we'll aim lower."

A ripple of laughter followed his words. Six voices in unison, the sound bouncing off the high walls of the Montecarlo estate bedroom like it belonged there. Like cruelty was just another thing this house had taught them.

"You don't belong here," Matteo added, stepping forward slightly, his eyes full of open hostility.

Gianna crossed her arms tightly over her chest, her lips curling. "Wearing Mom's color won't make you her."

"You're a fake," Lucia said softly.

Her voice was quiet, almost gentle, but it cut deeper than all the others combined.

I bit down hard on my lip, so hard I tasted blood again, trying to hold myself together. My left hand found my right wrist and pressed, two fingers digging into the bare skin where my mother's bracelet once sat, the familiar ache of its absence the only steady thing left in my body. "But I raised you—"

"Shut up!" Nico barked, his voice sharp and commanding.

They moved then.

Not chaotically. Not impulsively.

But together.

Like a pack that had practiced this moment.

Before I could even react, bowls were overturned above me.

Something cold and crawling spilled over my head, my shoulders, my arms.

Ants.

Dozens, no, hundreds of them.

I screamed, the sound ripping out of me uncontrollably as I flailed, slapping frantically at my skin. They bit down instantly, tiny sharp stings exploding everywhere at once, my neck, my arms, my scalp, crawling through my hair, slipping beneath my dress.

I couldn't breathe.

I couldn't think.

All I could hear was their laughter.

"You witch!" Alessia shouted, her voice filled with venom. "You killed our mother!"

"You'll pay for it," Rocco added coldly, his eyes gleaming with something disturbingly cruel.

My legs gave out, and I collapsed to my knees, shaking violently as sobs tore through me.

The bites burned, but they were nothing compared to the pain of their words.

They didn't know.

They had never known.

Their mother had been my best friend.

I carried them.

I endured everything for them.

I gave them everything I had.

And now…

Now they looked at me like I was a monster.

"I didn't kill her," I choked out, my voice breaking completely.

"Don't speak her name!" Matteo roared, his face twisted with rage. His fingers curled into his palms and squeezed, knuckles white, the ghost of the toddler who'd once gripped my hand through every stuttered word now channeled into fists.

"You wanted her gone so you could take our dad," Nico spat, each word dripping with accusation. He shrugged his left shoulder as if the whole thing bored him, but his eyes were black with hate.

Their hatred carved into me, deeper than any wound.

As I struggled on the floor, desperately trying to brush the ants off my body, my skin burning, my dignity shattered, Lucia suddenly stepped closer.

Her expression softened. She tucked her hair behind her right ear and tilted her head, the picture of gentle concern.

"This is unfair, guys," she said, her tone almost sympathetic. "We can't just leave her like this."

For a moment… hope flickered.

"Let's help her," she added.

Relief flooded through me so suddenly it made me dizzy.

Finally… one of them. One of them still had a heart.

I lifted my trembling hand toward her, reaching out, desperate for even the smallest kindness.

"Psych!"

Her laughter exploded in my ears.

Before I could react, she shoved something into my hand.

A sharp, immediate sting followed.

Confusion flashed through me, then realization.

A beehive.

My scream tore through the room, raw and animalistic, as pain erupted everywhere at once. My vision blurred instantly as I tried to fling it away, my entire body shaking uncontrollably.

"Pathetic," one of them sneered.

"She really thought we wanted to help her."

"You deserve this," another voice added coldly. "And we'll make sure you keep suffering as long as you're here."

Their words echoed in my head as everything spun.

A maid rushed in at the sound of my screams, her face going pale as she hurried to help me, brushing away the hive, swatting away the remaining insects. The woman's hands were practiced, efficient, the way all household staff in the Montecarlo compound learned to clean up messes without asking questions.

"What kind of cruelty is this?" she snapped at them, her voice trembling with anger.

"Shut up, maid!" they hissed back in unison.

Alessia turned her gaze to me one last time, her eyes sharp and unforgiving. She went completely motionless, not a blink, not a breath, before she spoke.

"Know your place, Seraphina," she said coldly. "And it's not here."

Then they left.

Just like that.

Leaving me behind.

Broken.

Shaking.

Crawling on the floor like I was nothing.

"I'm sorry, Miss, do you need—" the maid began softly.

"Just go," I rasped, my voice barely holding together.

She hesitated, then left.

Slowly, painfully, I dragged myself back up, crawling toward the mirror, gripping its edge as if it were the only thing keeping me from collapsing completely.

This wasn't me.

This couldn't be my life.

And that was the moment I made the call.

I didn't pack anything.

Didn't take a single possession.

Just my phone.

And my wallet.

On the wall, Catarina's photograph stared back at me. Perfect. Beautiful. Untouchable. Framed in dark wood beside a votive candle that someone in the household kept lit, the way the Montecarlo family honored their dead.

I reached out, my fingers brushing lightly against the frame, my chest tightening painfully.

They didn't know.

They didn't know she stole Enzo from me.

They didn't know she begged me, begged me, to keep the truth hidden.

That I was their real mother.

That I gave everything up for them.

Everything.

My left hand found my wrist and pressed hard against the bare skin where my mother's bracelet once sat, fingers digging in until the ache bloomed through bone.

"I'm sorry, Catarina…" I whispered, my voice trembling as tears blurred my vision again. "But I can't do this anymore."

Footsteps echoed from the hallway.

Closer.

"Seraphina?" Enzo's voice called out. "Where are you? The gathering's starting. You need to play the piano for Don."

The Old Don's Christmas Eve dinner. The one night a year when the entire Montecarlo family sat at the same table and pretended to be holy. I was expected to perform, the way I was always expected to perform.

I said nothing.

Not a word.

When the door finally opened, he froze.

"Jesus, Seraphina, what happened to you?"

Blood streaked down my face. My body trembled. Tears slipped silently from my eyes.

"Ask your precious kids," I snapped, the bitterness in my voice sharp enough to cut.

"What… what do you mean?" he asked, confusion flashing across his face. His thumb drifted along the edge of his jaw, that unconscious tell he'd carried since boyhood, already preparing to deflect whatever came next.

I looked at him. Really looked at him.

And for the first time, I felt nothing.

"I want a divorce, Enzo," I whispered.

"I want a divorce, Enzo," I whispered, the words barely leaving my lips, yet feeling heavier than anything I had ever said in my life.

For a moment, he didn't react. He just stood there, blinking at me as if he hadn't heard correctly, as if his mind refused to process what I had just said. Then confusion crept across his face. "What… what are you saying?"

"I'm done," I said again, this time a little steadier, even though my chest felt like it was caving in on itself.

He stepped closer, his brows knitting together in annoyance more than concern. "Is this about the kids? They're just acting out, Seraphina. You know how they are."

A hollow, bitter laugh escaped me before I could stop it. "Acting out?" I repeated, my voice shaking with disbelief. "They almost killed me."

"They're just kids—"

"They're monsters, Enzo," I cut in sharply, my voice rising despite how exhausted I felt. "And you let them become this."

He opened his mouth, ready to argue, to dismiss me again like he always did, but I lifted my hand, stopping him before he could say another word.

"No more, Enzo," I said, my voice dropping into something cold, something final. "I gave you ten years. Ten years of my life. I gave you everything I had. And all you ever did was take, take, take…" My throat tightened, but I forced myself to keep going. "You never once looked at me like I was your wife."

His expression hardened instantly, his eyes turning cold. The same face he wore across the table at sit-downs when a man owed tribute and came with excuses instead of cash. "Don't be dramatic. You know I had to marry you because of the kids. Catarina made me."

"And I stayed," I shot back, tears burning in my eyes. "For them. For you. I stayed when I should have left a long time ago. But not anymore."

I didn't wait for him to respond. I couldn't. If I did, I might break.

I pushed past him, my shoulder brushing against his chest, my vision blurred with tears I refused to let fall. "I'm leaving, Enzo. For good."

A sharp knock on the door startled both of us.

"Sir, it's time. Don Montecarlo's entrance," one of the household soldiers called from the hallway, his tone respectful but urgent.

Enzo exhaled, as if irritated by the interruption, and adjusted his tie, his expression smoothing over into that familiar mask of composure. That perfect, untouchable image he showed the world. His thumb ran along the edge of his jaw, slow, unconscious, as if the gesture could seal over whatever crack I'd just put in his armor.

"Come on, Seraphina," he said, as if nothing had just happened, as if I hadn't just told him I was leaving him. "Clean yourself up. You're still playing the piano for Don. We can discuss this nonsense later."

Nonsense.

That was all this was to him.

"No, Enzo," I said quietly, but firmly. "I said I'm done."

His hand twitched at his side, like he wanted to grab me, to stop me. But in the end, he didn't.

Instead, he gave me one last cold, dismissive look before turning away. Without another word, he walked out and closed the door behind him softly, as if sealing everything that had just happened inside this room.

Like it didn't matter.

Like I didn't matter.

That was Enzo Montecarlo. Always pretending. Always smoothing things over. Always pushing everything inconvenient out of sight, burying it under layers of silence and omertà, that code he wielded not to protect the family but to protect himself from having to feel anything at all.

I sank down slowly onto the edge of the bed, my body giving out beneath me. Exhaustion washed over me in waves, heavy and suffocating. I felt broken… completely shattered. Somewhere beyond the bedroom door, the compound hummed with preparations for Don Montecarlo's arrival. Silver being polished. Soldiers checking the perimeter. The whole estate performing its loyalty. And here I sat, in the silence they left behind, pressing two fingers against the inside of my left wrist where my mother's bracelet once sat. The press deepened into a grip.

But then something caught my eye.

A small slip of paper, barely visible, sticking out from beneath my pillow.

My brows furrowed. That hadn't been there before.

With trembling fingers, I reached for it and pulled it out.

Something else came with it.

Photos.

No… not just photos.

My photo.

The one I had kept hidden. The only picture I had left of my parents. The last piece of my old life I had managed to protect in this house that had taken everything else from me.

Or at least… it had been.

Now it was destroyed.

Shredded into countless tiny fragments, each piece torn cleanly, deliberately, like someone had taken their time to make sure it could never be whole again.