Pregnant by the Don, Betrayed by His Favorite

On the day I found out I was pregnant, my husband's god-sister, Serafina, posted a picture of her pregnant belly on social media.

"As long as you're loved, you can still be a beautiful girl even when you're pregnant!"

In the photo, she was wearing only lace lingerie, leaning against a man while taking a selfie.

The man's distinct hand rested on her smooth pregnant belly. On his ring finger was a ring identical to the one on my hand. I commented. "Congratulations."

The next second, Serafina called in a panic, apologizing and saying she posted the picture to provoke her boyfriend after a fight.

Dante took his phone and scolded me coldly. "You can't have a child yourself and now you're breaking down because someone else is pregnant? With jealousy this strong, no wonder you can't get pregnant."

Five minutes later, Serafina updated her status again.

"From now on, I'll have two strong men to protect me, one big and one small!"

Dante immediately liked her post.

I took off my wedding ring, threw it into the weeds along the estate wall, and went back to the clinic to schedule an abortion.

——

Dante came home earlier than usual that evening, stepping through the front door of the estate before nine for the first time in a long while. Two soldiers flanked the hallway behind him, but he waved them off without a word, and they dissolved back toward the gate house. His gaze swept across the room almost out of habit, sharp and assessing, until it landed on the unopened box of fertility medicine sitting in the trash can. His brows immediately drew together, a faint crease forming between them as irritation surfaced. "Nothing better to do?" he scoffed, his tone laced with cold sarcasm. "Throwing a tantrum over something so trivial?"

I didn't react to his mockery. My voice remained steady, almost detached, as I replied, "I'm not angry." I didn't bother explaining further, because I knew from experience that he would twist anything I said into something else entirely.

He let out a short, humorless laugh, clearly unconvinced. "You threw away the fertility medicine and you call that not angry?" His eyes hardened as he looked at me, judgment and impatience evident. "Do whatever you want. After all, you're the one anxious about not getting pregnant, not me." There was a sting in his words, a deliberate jab, as if my pain was something he could casually use against me.

I hesitated for a moment, my fingers brushing against the pregnancy report I had tucked away. I had planned to show it to him, to tell him everything. But before I could take it out, he suddenly handed me a dark-colored shoebox, cutting off my thoughts entirely.

"Serafina sent this for you," he said, his tone shifting slightly, though not with warmth. "That girl hasn't had it easy. When she saw you upset, she got so scared she even started talking nonsense about abortion." He shook his head lightly, as if amused and exasperated at the same time. "She insisted on sending you something as an apology."

He opened the box without waiting for my response. Inside was a pair of YSL high heels. They might have been beautiful once, but now they were obviously worn. The soles were scuffed, the edges of the heels chipped, and faint creases ran across the leather. It was clear they had been used more than just "a few times."

"Go on, take them," Dante urged, almost impatiently, as if I should feel grateful. "These shoes aren't cheap. Serafina barely wore them before giving them to you. She just started working. She doesn't have much money. Being willing to give you these already means she's sacrificing a lot."

I stared at the shoes for a second, then let out a quiet laugh before I could stop myself. The sound felt hollow even to my own ears. Just half an hour ago, Serafina had posted on social media, happily showing off a brand-new pair of Chanel slippers. The caption had been almost gleeful. "The best brother in the world! Thank you for your blatant favoritism, it gives me the confidence to flaunt it so openly!"

When I didn't reach out to take the shoes, Dante's patience snapped. His face darkened with irritation. "Bianca, what's wrong with you now?" he demanded, his voice rising slightly. "You're almost thirty. Do you really need to make things difficult for a young, innocent girl over something like this?"

Before I could respond, he tossed the shoebox at me. It hit me squarely on the head with a dull thud. The impact caught me off guard, and I let out a muffled groan, instinctively clutching my forehead. A sharp pain spread from the spot, and my vision blurred for a second as tears welled up in the corners of my eyes.

Dante froze, his expression changing almost instantly. The irritation drained from his face, replaced by a flicker of panic. "I didn't mean to…" he said quickly, stepping closer. "Let me take a look."

I instinctively leaned back, avoiding his touch. My voice came out soft, almost distant. "I'm fine." I didn't want his concern, not now, not like this.

But he didn't listen. He reached out and forcefully pried my fingers away from my forehead. When he saw the swelling forming beneath my skin, his face darkened again, this time with something closer to anger at himself. "You call this fine?" he snapped. "Stay here. I'll go get an ice pack."

Before I could say anything to stop him, his phone suddenly rang, the sharp sound cutting through the tense silence of the room. The screen lit up, displaying a contact name that made my chest tighten slightly. "Little Troublemaker."

"Dante!" Serafina's voice came through the phone, trembling and tearful.