The coldness of the room felt like it seeped into my bones as I opened my eyes. The sharp scent of antiseptic lingered in the air, and my body ached with exhaustion. Beside me sat Jordan, his expression filled with concern.

“You’re awake,” he said softly. “You had a rough night.”

I didn’t respond immediately. My mind raced back to what had happened—the sight of Deanne’s sinister smile, the needle in my arm, her chilling words. My heart pounded as I remembered the panic, the helplessness.

Well, it might just be a nightmare? I hope so.

But then the door opened, and a nurse entered, cradling a small bundle. My breath caught as she placed the baby beside me.

“Your son,” she said with a gentle smile.

I stared at the tiny face, tears welling in my eyes. He was so small, so fragile. Relief washed over me. He was alive. My baby was alive.

Jordan leaned closer, his voice gentle. “You’ve been staring at him for a while. What’s wrong?”

I quickly wiped my tears, forcing a shaky smile. “Nothing. I’m just... tired.”

Jordan didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push further. I held my baby close, silently vowing to protect him, no matter what.

Years passed, and my son, Ysmael, grew into a lively and curious toddler. He was the light of my life, the only thing that kept me grounded in a world that still felt unstable.

But Prinston? He remained distant.

He was polite when necessary, but his coldness toward me was undeniable. Worse, he wasn’t particularly warm toward Ysmael either. He rarely played with him or even smiled in his direction. Sometimes, I’d catch him watching Ysmael with a calculating expression, as though he was trying to decide if the boy was truly his.

Jordan was the one who stepped up, filling the gaps Prinston left behind. He became Ysmael’s constant companion, teaching him how to build toy castles, reading him bedtime stories, and making him laugh when I couldn’t. For that, I was endlessly grateful.

When Ysmael’s sixth birthday arrived, I wanted it to be special. Despite everything, I was determined to give him a day filled with happiness. We held a small party in the mansion’s garden, complete with balloons, cake, and a magician who made Ysmael laugh until his cheeks turned red.

For a brief moment, it felt like everything was perfect.

But the happiness was short-lived.

That night, as I was cleaning up after the party, I realized something was wrong. Ysmael wasn’t in his room. I searched the entire mansion, panic building with every step.

Then came the call.

My phone buzzed in my hand, the unknown number sending a chill down my spine. I hesitated before answering, my hands trembling.

“H-Hello?” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

There was silence for a moment, then a voice—low, rough, and filled with menace. “Looking for your son?”

My heart stopped. “W-Who is this? Where’s Ysmael?”

A sinister chuckle echoed through the line. “He’s with us. And let me tell you, he’s not having a good time.”

In the background, I heard Ysmael’s voice—faint, trembling, and full of fear. “Mommy, it hurts! Please, help me!”

Tears streamed down my face as I gripped the phone tighter. “Don’t hurt him! Please, I’ll do anything! Just tell me what you want! H-How much?"

The man’s voice turned colder. “Such a hypocrite. We don’t want anything from you. This is about Prinston Saludés. He’s made enemies, and now your son will pay the price.”

“No!” I screamed. “Please, I’ll talk to him. Just don’t hurt my baby!”

But the man ignored me, his voice laced with cruelty. “We will fucking torture him to death. Can’t wait to behead him.”

The call ended abruptly, leaving me frozen in place, the phone slipping from my hand.

Sleepless nights consumed me. I couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t stop thinking about Ysmael. Days turned into a blur, each passing moment a reminder that we still hadn’t found him. Prinston threw everything into the search, but even with all his resources, Ysmael remained missing.

Then, one morning, a package arrived. A plain box, sitting ominously in front of the door.

I rushed downstairs, my heart pounding. Something about it felt wrong, yet I couldn't stop myself from opening it. With trembling hands, I lifted the lid—and froze.

It was Ysmael. My baby boy. Lifeless.

“No!” I screamed, my cries echoing through the house. My knees buckled as I cradled his small, cold body.

Prinston came running. “What happened?” His voice was frantic, but as he looked inside the box, his expression changed. Horror. Rage. Despair.

He let out a guttural cry, his fists slamming against the walls. It was the first time I’d ever seen him so broken. He dropped to his knees beside me, sobbing like a child.

For a brief moment, I saw a part of him I had never seen before—a man who truly loved Ysmael. But that moment didn’t last.

His grief quickly turned to anger.

“This is your fault!” he roared, his voice like thunder.

“P-Prinston, no,” I pleaded, tears streaming down my face.

But he didn’t listen. “You were careless! You only ever think about yourself! You’re selfish, Jermaine! You don’t care about anyone but my wealth! You are a piece of gold digger."

His words cut through me, but what he said next shattered me completely.

“You know why I loved your sister more than you? Because she wasn’t like this. You’re just a piece of shit.”

Before I could respond, he lashed out. His hands weren’t gentle—they weren’t the hands of the man I once thought loved me. Pain shot through my body as I crumpled to the floor, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the words that lingered in the air.

Prinston stormed out, leaving me broken in every sense of the word.

The day of Ysmael’s burial was the hardest of my life. I stood by his grave, feeling like the worst mother in the world. Regret clawed at my insides—regret for everything I had done, for every choice that led to this moment.

But the nightmare didn’t end there. After the funeral, Prinston left me behind. He didn’t just leave emotionally; he left physically, financially, entirely. I was nothing to him now.

Homeless and penniless, I wandered the streets, sleeping wherever I could. It wasn’t until Jordan found me that I had a roof over my head again. He took me to his small apartment, offering me safety when I had nothing.

For a while, I thought I could piece my life back together. But one day, Jordan confronted me.

“I need to know the truth, Jermaine,” he said, his voice firm.

“What truth?” I asked, avoiding his eyes.

Jordan placed a folder on the table. “Before Ysmael’s last birthday, I had him tested. A DNA test.”

I froze.

He continued, “The results showed that Prinston isn’t Ysmael’s father.”

My world tilted. “N-No. That’s impossible,” I whispered.

Jordan slid the papers toward me. “It’s true. Look for yourself.”

I stared at the results, my heart racing. No matter how much I denied it, the truth was staring me in the face.

“Prinston still doesn’t know,” Jordan said, his tone sharp. “But he will. And when he finds out, your life is in danger. Good thing, I changed the result and gave it to him. In that way, I'll be able to protect you... for now."

“I—I can explain,” I stammered.

“You’d better,” he snapped. “Why did you make Prinston believe Ysmael was his son? What are you hiding?”

I couldn’t tell him. Not the real reason. “I just thought it was better this way,” I lied.

Jordan shook his head, disappointment etched across his face. “I’m giving you one chance to escape. Take this. Don't cha worry about me."

He handed me a plane ticket. “Leave now, Jermaine, while you still can.”

The day of my flight, I sat on a bench at the airport, clutching my ticket. I tried to calm my nerves by scrolling through my phone. But then, a post caught my eye.

It was Deanne with Prinston with a little kid that looks exactly like Prinston.

She was smiling in the photo, holding a young boy. The caption read: “The reunited fam.”

My blood ran cold.

The post date was just a few days ago.

PRINSTON IMPREGNATED DEANNA THAT NIGHT? H-HOW?

I stood abruptly, my heart racing. My hands trembled as I read the caption again and again. This couldn’t be real.

I stumbled into the bathroom, locking myself inside. My breaths came in gasps as I tried to process what I had just seen.

I banged my head lightly against the cold tile wall, overwhelmed by the disappointment and rage coursing through me.

SHIT!

Suddenly, a loud gunshot shook the building, followed by screams. I froze, my heart pounding.

I was about to leave the bathroom when I heard a voice outside.

“Mom, the hitman had shot Jermaine succesfully, ” Deanne said, her tone smug. “Now that Jermaine is gone, nothing can stop us from taking everything Prinston owns. Tell our boss it’s mission accomplished. I want my bonus for this.”

A BOSS?! Damn!