The silence between us was crushing.

André’s words still echoed in my head. “The truth is... your father, Colonel—we partnered in a mafia group. I knew he killed your sister.”

I didn’t even realize my knees had given out until I felt the cold floor bite into them. Everything spun.

“You knew?” My voice cracked, barely above a whisper.

André ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tight. He looked like he was in pain. “It wasn’t that simple, Jella. Back then, I didn’t have proof. I suspected it... but I thought confronting him would get you hurt.”

I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. “So instead, you married my stepsister and turned a blind eye to her murder?”

His eyes snapped to mine, guilt flashing behind the anger. “I didn’t love Kyora. You know that. She was part of a deal—something the Colonel arranged before I even met you. But after Kyora died, and Frias woke up blaming you... it was all too convenient. I should’ve looked deeper, I know.”

After a moment, I stood, arms wrapped tightly around myself. “Too late for apologies, André. My life was destroyed. I had to run, give birth in hiding, live like a fugitive.”

He took a step forward, then stopped. “That’s why I’m here now. To fix what I broke.”

I wanted to believe him. But something inside me had hardened over the past year. I wasn’t the same naive girl who once thought love could solve everything.

Still... when he gently picked up Hoppe, who had just toddled into the room with sleepy eyes and chubby cheeks, my heart faltered.

“Hey, little man,” André whispered. “Guess what? I’m your dad.”

Hoppe blinked up at him and smiled, like he already knew.

It was unfair. How easily they connected, while I was still stuck between betrayal and forgiveness.

A few days passed in uneasy quiet. André stayed close, guarding us like a soldier on a mission. He slept on the couch, cooked simple meals, helped clean the tiny apartment Sergio left us when he went to follow a new lead.

We were starting to feel... like a family. Almost.

But peace never lasted in my life.

One morning, I noticed André hadn’t returned from the store. An hour passed. Then two. I was pacing the kitchen when a strange number popped up on the burner phone.

I answered—and immediately dropped the phone.

It was André.

Beaten. Tied to a chair. Blood dripping from his temple. The screen flickered from some basement somewhere.

A voice growled behind the camera, “Tell Sergio we want the girl. Or the fiancé dies.”

Then the line went dead.

Hoppe started crying in the other room. My hands were shaking, but I forced myself to move, to think. I grabbed the emergency phone Sergio had left and dialed the only number on it.

He answered on the second ring. “What happened?”

“They took André. Someone knows we’re here.”

Sergio cursed under his breath. “I warned him not to go out alone. I’m close to something—Kyora’s murder, the Colonel, all of it. But they’re moving faster than I thought.”

“They said they want me in exchange,” I said softly.

There was a long pause.

“Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll handle it.”

But I knew I couldn’t just sit and wait.

By nightfall, I had made my decision. I packed a bag for Hoppe, called an old friend who owed me a favor, and arranged a meet-up with someone from the black market network—someone who could trace the source of the call and help me track the location.

Three hours later, I stood outside a decaying warehouse, the wind whipping through my hair.

I was ready to trade myself for André.

But the moment I stepped inside, things didn’t go as planned.

André wasn’t alone.

The Colonel was there.

Alive. And smiling.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my runaway daughter,” he said, his voice as smooth as ever. “You always had a flair for drama.”

I froze. “You... you were supposed to be overseas. I thought you disappeared after the scandal.”

“I did,” he said. “But this little reunion was long overdue.”

That’s when the real bomb dropped.

A woman stepped out of the shadows beside him.

My dead stepsister.

Kyora.

I staggered back. “No... that’s not possible.”

She smiled, a cruel twist of her lips. “Surprise.”

My mind reeled. “But the autopsy. The funeral—”

“Faked,” the Colonel said casually. “It was all part of the plan. She needed to disappear for a while. And you, Jella, were the perfect scapegoat.”

Everything started falling into place. Frias’s memory. The way the story leaked. The Colonel’s sudden coldness. Sergio’s obsession with uncovering the truth.

Kyora had never died.

And I had been framed for nothing.

“You ruined me,” I said through gritted teeth. “Why?”

Kyora tilted her head. “Because you always got in the way. First Father’s attention. Then André’s. You had to be erased.”

André looked up at me from his restraints, eyes full of fire. “Don’t believe a word she says.”

But before I could react, something behind me exploded—a flash grenade. The whole room filled with smoke.

Sergio.

Gunfire echoed. Shouting. I ducked, clutching the bag with Hoppe inside, my heart racing as bullets tore through the walls.

Sergio’s voice boomed, “Get out! I’ve got this!”

I ran, dragging André with me, his arm around my shoulder.

We made it to the car, breathless, bloodied, but alive.

That night, after patching up André and putting Hoppe to sleep, I sat beside the window, my hands trembling.

André looked at me, his voice rough. “We’re not safe. Not until we bring them down for good.”

I nodded. “Then we’ll fight.”

He reached over, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek. “Jella, no matter how twisted this gets—I need you to know I still love you.”

And just as I leaned in, needing to feel something real again, the burner phone buzzed.

A text.

From an unknown number.

“You still don’t know the truth about Hoppe’s bloodline. Ask Sergio who he really is.”

I stared at the screen, my pulse freezing.

What did that mean?

Who really was Hoppe? Perhaps, is André hiding something from me?

And Sergio along with André knew that?

I frowned. “DAMN! What is this, huh? Even our son? WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!" I yelled at him.

In a few seconds, his face started to look pale. I shook my head.

He gasps. “Jella, i-it's time for you to know. The night we made love. Y-You were sobber. And that's why I injected you a sperm of that mafia prince that Colonel gave me ‘cause supposedly it should be for your sister. I-I'm sorry. I thought... I thought she died and I have no choice."

My world stopped. On the other hand, André tried hugging me but I pushed him.

“H-Hoppe... h-he is the son of that damn mafia prince? WHO IS HE?" I asked inside my mind.

I never expected the truth to sting this bad.

After André admitted what he did with Colonel—the betrayal, the secret mafia alliance—I walked straight out the door. No screaming. No crying. Just this gut-punching silence between us as I left. For weeks, I ignored him. Not a word. Not even a look. We still shared the same space, but the air between us felt colder than death.

Hoppe became my only reason to hold it together.

But the more I held him in my arms, the more guilt chewed at my chest. I fought for this child. Risked my life for him. And yet… the people I trusted the most had built their entire foundation on lies.

One sleepless night, my decision snapped into place.

If André wouldn’t be honest with Frias, I would.

I snuck into his study and found his phone left carelessly on the desk. I copied his tone, the way he texted, and messaged Frias to meet at the city park—just to talk. I didn’t know what I was walking into, only that it felt like the right thing to do. Maybe the only thing.

To my surprise, Frias was already there when I arrived, pacing by the fountain. When he saw me, his face twisted in confusion—then anger.

“So this is why André’s been gone for weeks?” he snapped. “Hiding out here with you?”

“Please, just listen.”

He turned to walk away, but I grabbed his arm and begged him to stay. Just five minutes. That was all I asked.

And somehow, he gave it.

I told him everything. About Kyora. About the mafia prince she was supposed to marry. I laid out the files I’d dug up—illicit transactions, offshore accounts, coded emails. His hands trembled as he flipped through them, then fell completely still.

He looked at me, eyes glossy.

“I looked up to her,” he whispered. “She was my entire world. And now I find out she was tangled in something like this?”

I didn’t know what came over me. I just… hugged him. He stood frozen at first, then slowly returned the embrace. A kid, broken in ways no one saw.

That’s when he revealed something else—something I didn’t expect.

“André had me tested,” Frias said, voice low. “DNA. I’m not even his son.”

My heart cracked. For him. For André. For all the twisted layers of this web.

“You’re not alone,” I told him. “We’ll figure this out. Together.”

So we agreed. Our secret meetings would stay just that—secret.

Months slipped by. I pretended everything was fine for Hoppe’s sake. Even André, though he seemed suspicious of my sudden calm, didn’t push too hard. I forgave Frias in silence—for my ruined wedding, for dragging me through hell. He was still Kyora’s son. Still a part of me.

Then, one night, I opened an old forgotten email account—and there it was.

A message.

It said only this: “I know the truth. Meet me.”

I didn’t hesitate. I replied instantly. Days later, the sender responded with a location—an abandoned train depot just outside town. Sketchy, but I had nothing left to lose.

She was already waiting when I arrived.

A woman in her mid-fifties. Faded scarf. Worn hands. But sharp, watchful eyes.

“I’m Sereia,” she said. “I was Colonel’s nanny once. I raised him. And I know what he’s hiding.”

I wanted to ask a million things at once. But I didn’t get the chance.

A car screeched to a stop nearby.

“André?” I gasped as he rushed over. “What the hell—?”

“I installed a tracker on your phone,” he admitted, breathless. “For your safety.”

Of course he did.

His gaze shifted to Sereia. Recognition flared in his eyes. “Are you safe? Has he threatened you again?”

“I don’t have much time left,” she said, her voice raspy. “The Colonel—he knows I’ve started talking. He’s been watching me. And he won’t stop.”

She turned her tired eyes to me.

“You deserve to know the truth.”

I nodded, barely breathing.

“André,” she added, looking directly at him, “your son—Frias—is also a child of the Mafia Prince.”

The ground dropped under me.

“What… what do you mean?”

But before she could explain, a gunshot rang through the night.

Blood splattered across the gravel. Sereia's body jolted and collapsed at our feet.

“No!” I screamed, falling beside her. “No, no, no!”

André yanked me back, his gun already drawn, eyes scanning the dark around us.

But whoever fired was already gone.

Gone, just like the truth we were finally about to uncover.