Downstairs finally fell silent.

I leaned against the wall as I descended, my legs so weak they could barely hold me.

“Omar?” Ira’s voice rang out from behind.

I flinched violently and nearly lost my balance.

She reached out to steady me, her hands resting lightly on my shoulders. “Why are you shaking like this?”

I forced a smile, biting my lip. “Maybe it’s the wind… it’s a bit cold.”

But when her fingers touched me, my body stiffened as if struck by ice.

Back inside the villa, I curled under the covers, trembling. Images of my father lying in a pool of blood and my brother’s lifeless body in a hospital bed played endlessly in my mind.

And worse—her voice echoed again: “Make Omar infertile.”

She didn’t just want to destroy my family—she wanted to erase our bloodline.

A horrifying thought surged into my mind. The "vitamins" she had made me take for years… could they have been—

I bolted upright, heart pounding, and grabbed my car keys. I didn’t even stop to put on shoes. I had to get to a hospital. I had to know the truth now.

But the moment I threw the door open—

Blinding headlights.

I froze.

A car was racing toward me.

BANG.

A searing pain tore through me before everything went dark.

In that final moment, I thought I saw her—Ira—standing at the second-floor window, staring down, expressionless.

---

I woke up in a hospital room. The sterile air, the sharp scent of antiseptic.

Ira was by my side, holding my hand, her eyes red with worry.

“Omar,” she said softly, “you were hit by a car… The vas deferens was severely damaged. The doctors… they had no choice. You’ve been sterilized.”

I stared at her, numb. Her face blurred as nausea surged up inside me.

The monitor beside me shrieked as my heart rate spiked. Darkness swallowed me once again.

---

In that darkness, I dreamed.

I was back at the university dance. The spotlight lit up Ira’s face as she walked toward me, radiant, eyes full of stars.

Back then, she was pure. Earnest. She’d wait all night outside my dorm just to hand me breakfast. She’d worked three months in secret just to buy me a pair of limited-edition sneakers.

When my father found out we were dating, he was furious.

“She’s a wild girl from the slums! You’ll ruin your life marrying her!”

I knelt on the cold floor of his study. “Dad, she’s different. She earns scholarships every year. She’s better than any pampered heiress.”

He finally relented, tears brimming in his eyes.

On the day we got our marriage certificate, her hands trembled as she held it. “Omar, I’ll make you the happiest man in the world.”

But marriage changed her.

She became unpredictable—sometimes tender, sometimes cold and cruel. I walked on a tightrope every day, never knowing which version of her I’d face.

When I got the chance to teach abroad, I took it. It felt less like an opportunity and more like an escape.

---

Now I was trapped again—this time in a deeper darkness.

Her voice floated in and out.

“Why hasn’t he woken up yet?” she asked, anxious. Desperate. Almost like the girl she used to be.

A tear slipped from the corner of my eye.

Someone wiped it away.

Then another voice: “Miss Ira, why are you doing this? After all… he’s your husband!”

Her voice turned cold.

“This is what the Moyer family owes me.”

“When Jacob Moyer demolished our village, my parents resisted. They were beaten to death in front of me. I was twelve. Hiding in a closet. Listening to their screams.

No one paid. No one cared. I spent the rest of my childhood being passed between homes like garbage.”

“But, sir—he’s innocent—”

“I said this is the best outcome!” she snapped. “The Moyer bloodline is dirty. I will not let it survive. I will wipe it off the face of Toronto.”

My chest ached. My fingers curled tightly beneath the blanket.

I couldn’t lie still anymore.

Slowly, painfully, I forced my eyes open.

Ira leaned over me immediately, her face full of false concern.

“Omar,” she whispered, “you’re awake… do you feel any better?”

When I said nothing, Ira sat quietly by the bed and gently held my hand.

“Don’t be sad,” she said softly. “It doesn’t matter if we can’t have a child. I’ll always stay by your side.”

I leaned my face against her shoulder. Hidden from her view, my lips curved into a smile—one uglier than crying.

---

After a month in the hospital, I was finally discharged.

Strangely, Ira didn’t come. She only sent a driver to pick me up.

I pushed open the familiar front door. This place that once held warmth and laughter now echoed with silence. The only reason I stayed was to dig out the truth—to find evidence of my father’s and brother’s murder.

Then I heard movement.

The door opened.

A tall, handsome man stepped inside. Lipstick stains still clung to his shirt collar.

Ira froze when she saw me. Then she quickly composed herself. “Omar, he…”

She paused, eyes flickering. “Last week I was attacked by a competitor. He shielded me and got hurt. He needs time to recover. His health isn’t good… I couldn’t just leave him out on the street.”

I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat and nodded calmly. “I understand.”

Relieved, she turned to the staff. “Take good care of Mr. Duncan.”

---

The days that followed were deceptively calm.

Until one evening at dinner, Devin raised his glass and insisted on pouring me wine.

I batted his hand away, irritated. “Don’t touch me.”

He retracted his hand, his smile chillingly cold.

Then, without warning, he clutched his abdomen and doubled over in pain.

“The wine…” he gasped. “The doctor said alcohol could reopen my wound!”

He pointed at me, voice shaking. “You… you did this on purpose! You’re trying to hurt me!”

“I didn’t touch you,” I replied flatly.

Ira’s expression turned to ice. She rushed to his side. “I’ll take you to the hospital.”

---

They returned late that night.

Devin’s face was pale. Ira’s voice was sharper than a blade. “Omar, that was too far.”

A pang shot through my chest.

Devin leaned weakly against the doorframe, voice trembling with just the right hint of performance. “Mr. Moyer… I know you’re struggling with being… unable to have children. But you can’t take that out on others. You could’ve killed me.”

I let out a low laugh, saying nothing.

Ira suddenly grabbed my wrist, her eyes ablaze. “Apologize!”

“I did nothing wrong!” I snapped, trying to pull free.

Devin began coughing violently at that exact moment.

The fury in Ira’s eyes burned hotter.

“Fine,” she said through clenched teeth. “Since you won’t apologize…”

She gave a subtle nod.

Two bodyguards appeared and dragged me out into the courtyard.

They forced me to the ground.

A tray was brought out—a bowl piled with steaming shrimp.

I froze. My heart dropped.

“You don’t want to apologize?” Her voice was as soft as ever, but now it was edged with cruelty. “Then try this.”

The hot shrimp meat was shoved into my mouth. I choked, and my body began to tremble. My vision blurred, rashes bloomed across my skin, and breathing became harder with each second.

“Apologize!” she screamed, eyes filled with disgust.

I turned my face away, jaw clenched.

The suffocation hit me like a wave. My limbs spasmed. Darkness rushed in.

She knew. She knew I was deathly allergic to seafood.

And she still did this.

---

I blacked out.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back in a hospital bed.

Ira stood over me, her expression unreadable, but her voice was trembling with rage.

“Omar,” she said coldly, “why do you always refuse to bow your head? Why can’t you just admit when you’re wrong?”

At that moment, Devin appeared at the doorway, his eyes red and rimmed with tears.

“Miss Ira, let it go,” he said weakly. “Mr. Moyer looks down on people like me… nightclub trash. He wants me gone. I understand.”

As he spoke, his gaze shifted, almost imperceptibly, toward Ira’s abdomen.

Suddenly, a young nurse burst into the room, flustered and breathless.

"Excuse me—is anyone here from Anthony Moyer’s family?"

My heart dropped.

"What happened?"

Her face turned grim.

"The ventilator was displaced. By the time we discovered it... it was already too late."

"No... impossible!"

I shot up instinctively, but my legs gave out beneath me and I crashed to the floor.

When I looked up, I met Devin’s smug, satisfied smile.

I forced myself upright and lunged at him.

"Was it you?!"

He recoiled dramatically, shouting, "What are you doing?!"

A sharp kick knocked me back.

"Omar!" Ira’s voice cracked like a whip.

I hit the floor again. But the pain in my body was nothing compared to the hollow agony in my chest.

Later, in the morgue, I held my brother’s cold body and sobbed in silence.

My fingers trembled as they traced his familiar features—his brows, his eyes—so much like my own.

"Brother… please wake up… please…"

My voice was hoarse. My tears were dry.

Ira tried to pull me away, but I clung to him, unwilling to let go.

"Divorce," I said numbly.

She froze.

"What did you just say?"

"You have someone else. A child. I’ll make it easy for you. Let’s end it."

Her voice flared with anger.

"Don’t even think about it! You can’t tolerate him just because he saved me?"

Silent tears rolled down my face.

"I’ve lost everything. I have no one left. Just let me go."

"And you think you’re the only one who’s lost family?" she snapped.

"Where were you when my parents died? Devin lost his whole family too! And you—you threw him back into that place, injured and helpless!"

I looked at her, at the fury twisting her face, and all I could feel was exhaustion.

Right on cue, Devin spoke up, voice trembling.

"If my family hadn’t been poor, I would never have worked at night… I begged you not to send me back. You knew how dangerous it was. But you still did. If Miss Ira hadn’t arrived in time…"

I laughed bitterly, watching the woman who once vowed to love me destroy everything I cared about—for a man like him.

"He’s unstable," Ira said coldly.

"Sedate him."

A bitter taste rose in my throat, but I didn’t resist as the needle slid in.

When I awoke, the ward was empty.

My phone screen lit up—Devin’s latest post.

Luxury restaurants. Designer boutiques. Racetracks.

Every photo tagged me, like it was all just a game.

I sneered and blocked him.

Then I scrolled through my contacts and dialed a number I hadn’t touched in years.

The hospital halls were eerily quiet that night.

After changing out of the hospital gown, I stepped into the black Maybach waiting at the entrance.

As we pulled away, Ira’s car passed us in the opposite lane.

I didn’t look back.

Goodbye, Ira.