Chapter 1

I used to be Favio Cunningham’s wife. Now? I’m the scar he’ll never stop bleeding from. I gave him everything—my heart, my loyalty, even my future.

Until he shoved me down the stairs. All because his dying ex and mistress, Caroline, said only my embryo could save her unborn child.

He didn’t even hesitate.

When I woke up, the baby was gone. Ripped from me. No apologies. No explanation. And through the paper-thin hospital walls, I heard them—laughing.

“But what if she'll divorce you?”

Favio laughed. “She won’t. She’s nothing. Her parents died already. No family. No one’s gonna help her.”

That was the moment something in me broke. Because Caroline wasn’t dying. The baby was fine.

So I left.

Signed the papers. And went home—to my real family. The kind that doesn’t need introductions.

Because I’m not just anyone.

I’m Amelia Rodrigo. Heiress to a global empire. Trained to rule. Born to destroy.

And when I came back?

I crushed his company. Froze every cent he had. Cancelled his wedding. Watched him fall to his knees in front of the press—begging.

“Amelia, please. I was wrong. I still love you.”

I looked him in the eye. Calm. Clear. Colder than I’ve ever been.

“You should’ve loved me when I was bleeding.”

--

“Sir, if we don’t get your wife to the emergency wing now, she won’t make it,” Ryker stammered, voice shaky. He’d been my husband's family’s head of security for fifteen years—dealt with life-threatening crises, arson, blackmail. But this? This rattled him. “You’re really planning to extract the embryo out of her to save your ex-fiancée’s baby?”

I lay at the foot of the penthouse stairs, my blood mixing with the ivory veins of the marble floor like some grotesque artwork. I wasn’t just bleeding—I was leaking life. It was everywhere. Down my thighs, across my hands, soaking into the silk dress I’d worn to dinner. I couldn’t feel my legs anymore. Everything hurt. Everything.

But I still remembered exactly how I got here.

Favio had taken a call. One glance at the caller ID—Caroline—and his whole body changed. I’d seen the shift, the way his face went slack and strange like he was listening to God herself. And then… just like that, he shoved me.

I was halfway down the staircase, hand on the polished banister, when his palm slammed into my shoulder blade. A clean, cold push.

I don’t even think he said my name.

One second I was upright, the next—I was tumbling. I hit the tiles back-first, the wind punched out of me, my skull ricocheting off the last step. And for a moment, I just lay there in stunned silence, unable to process what had happened.

I was four months pregnant. Not that it showed. Just a gentle fullness, barely more than bloat. You wouldn’t know unless you were looking for it. Favio never was.

“That’s what Dr. Lenz said,” he said now, standing over me like I was a broken appliance. “Only this embryo is viable for the neural grafts. If we don’t move now, Caroline’s going to die.”

Caroline. The ex. Favio’s first love. The one the press still called “Favio's first love” The one who tried to shove me off the rooftop at the gala last year—but it was fine, apparently.

“Get the good-for-nothing surgeon on the line,” Favio barked. “We’re doing the extraction now. While she’s still under.”

Ryker went ghost-white. “Sir… Miss Amelia isn’t even sedated. She’s in shock. If you do this—if you rip the embryo out of her—you’ll kill her child and she might never be able to carry again.”

“She’s already done her part,” Favio snapped. “She wanted to prove her loyalty to this family. Well—this is it. I know that child she was carrying isn't mine and Caroline was more important than her.”

Ryker fumbled for his phone, whispering, “I’m calling an ambulance,” but Favio snatched it, hurled it against the wall, and stepped over me like I was office furniture—like I wasn’t even a person.

--

I must’ve blacked out, because when I woke up again, I was strapped to a surgical table on Cunningham MedTech’s private floor. Tubes in my veins. Machines whining. My body hollowed out.

My hands trembled as I touched my stomach. It was flat.

No movement. No swell. No heartbeat fluttering beneath my ribs. Just a silence that screamed.

I wanted to sob, but even my throat hurt. Like I’d swallowed razors.

Night fell. The world outside turned black. Somewhere beyond the glass, life moved on.

And then I heard it.

“Favio, stop. Not here… Amelia’s in the next room,” Caroline giggled.

“She’s out,” he grunted. “We can celebrate properly.”

Their voices were right outside my door. The soundproof walls did nothing. They didn’t even bother closing the door.

“We did it,” she whispered. “She never would’ve agreed to give it up willingly. But now? Now we have the cells. I’ll finally be cured.”

He kissed her. I heard the bed creak. The headboard tapped the wall.

I lay there, numb, eyes open. I let a single tear slide sideways into the pillow. Then they started talking again.

“You know I only married her because of the embryo, right?” Favio muttered.

Caroline laughed. “Oh, I know. You said it so many times. Jeez, and the way she dresses? I’m sorry, but she looks like a librarian from a failed sitcom.”

“She does,” Favio snorted. “Hair always up. Turtlenecks in summer. Walking around like she’s smarter than everyone but can’t even figure out how to look half-decent. I mean… come on. She looks pathetic.”

“She’s too soft,” Caroline said, a pout in her voice. “I’m sorry I left you back then.”

Favio shushed her gently. “It’s okay. We’ve got what we needed now. Everything’s gonna be fine.”

Caroline hesitated. “But… what if she divorces you?”

He laughed. “She won’t. She’s nothing. Her parents died already. No family. No one’s gonna help her.”

“But what if she leaves anyway? What if she sues you?”

“She can’t. I’ll be the one to divorce her—but only after I’m sure you’re cured. After that, I won’t need her for anything then I'll give you the wedding you deserve.”

Caroline sighed, pleased. “I knew you still loved me.”

I closed my eyes. Didn’t scream. Didn’t cry. I just let a single tear drift sideways into the pillow, salt soaking into cotton.

They thought I was broken. They thought I was done. They had no idea who they were bleeding.

***

The next morning, I ripped out my IV and strolled into the Cunningham estate in head-to-toe black, heels clicking like daggers against their pretentious imported marble. Mrs. Cunningham was at her grand cielo, all pearls and disdain, pretending she didn’t see me.

I dropped the folder in her lap like a guillotine blade.

“Tell Favio I’m out. I'm divorcing him," I said, voice silk wrapped around steel. “He and Caroline can keep their miracle science project. But I’m taking the entire Winslock tech portfolio with me—every share. And I want ten million wired to my new firm. Today.”

She opened the folder. Her hand trembled.

“You signed over the patents to yourself,” she whispered.

“No,” I said, smiling coldly. “You signed them over. Power of attorney. That little clause in the prenup your son never read? Yeah. It matters now.”

“You’re bluffing,” she hissed.

I didn’t blink.

“Try me.”

Chapter 2

Mrs. Rodrigo’s fake little socialite smile cracked the moment I dropped the number.

“Ten million,” I said again, cool as glass.

She blinked once. Twice. And then I saw it—that twitch in her jaw. That microscopic second where her brain short-circuited because someone like me, the nobody she thought she could buy out with crocodile tears and a platinum credit card, dared to name my price.

She exhaled through her nose like a bull in heels, then waved at her assistant.

“Fine. Draft the contract. Five mil now. The rest after she disappears.”

No “please.” No “thank you.” Just pure transactional venom.

I watched the woman tap away on her tablet like she was ordering lunch, not finalizing the erasure of someone’s life.

“And you’ll swear—” Mrs. Rodrigo turned back to me, eyes like daggers. “You’ll never contact my son again. Never show your face at any Rodrigo-affiliated event. Ever.”

I stared at her for a beat. Then nodded.

“I swear,” I said. “On the last shred of respect I ever had for this family.”

She smirked, satisfied like she’d just flushed something disgusting down the drain.

“Good. Be a smart girl. Pack up whatever illusions you’ve got left and leave quietly.”

I signed the contract without blinking. My signature looked so clean under that Rodrigo Enterprises watermark it almost felt surreal. But my hands were steady.

Because I remembered.

I remembered the first time she slapped me—not with her hand, but with a wad of cash. A crisp, arrogant stack of bills tossed across my lap like I was something she ordered off a discount menu.

“Take this,” she’d sneered. “And buy yourself clothes that don’t look like a funeral home had a clearance sale.”

I remembered how she made me scrub her marble bathroom floor while she sat in the tub on her phone, sipping champagne like I was her live-in maid. The way her friends would walk past and laugh, calling it “rich people bonding.”

And I remembered the time she spilled mineral water—on purpose—right in front of her media team, then handed me a mop like I wasn’t her son’s wife, but the janitor.

“You missed a spot,” she’d said, not even looking up from her mirror.

I didn’t miss anything.

Not the snide comments. Not the constant tests. Not the way she used every dinner party, every gala, every “family” meeting to remind me I didn’t belong.

But now? Now I was the one handing her terms. Naming my price. Setting the conditions.

I watched her sign beside me, her diamond pen shaking ever so slightly.

Let her call it a win if it helped her sleep.

Because this wasn’t a goodbye.

It was just my opening move.

They didn’t know it, but I was never really a Winslock. The family that raised me had adopted me when I was five. My real last name? Something even the Rodrigo’s wouldn’t be able to touch. My biological brother had found me three days ago, and wanted me back.

Mrs. Rodrigo leaned back in her designer chair, lips curling in smug satisfaction. “You’ll be on a plane in a week. One-way. I’ll have your new identity prepared.”

“No need,” I said flatly, pushing back from the table. “I’m done living under someone else’s name.”

I turned to walk out when the double doors flew open like a bad movie scene.

Favio.

Storming in with all the rage of a man who finally noticed the flames after the house had already burned down.

His hair was a mess, coat half-on, eyes bloodshot.

“Mom,” he snapped, “what on earth are you doing? Amelia just lost our baby!” He barreled forward and stood between us like a guard dog. “She’s my wife. I won’t let you use her as a bargaining chip just to keep this family name alive.”

I looked at his back, his shoulders rigid like a knight protecting his queen.

And for a second, I remembered that version of him—the man who once threatened to walk out on his inheritance if they ever forced us apart. The man who used to tell me I was it for him.

But now?

Now I saw the cracks.

The smirk he tried to hide when he spoke up. The way his eyes darted toward his mother to check if she was buying it. His hands clenched a little too dramatically. If I hadn’t heard him last night in the hallway with Caroline— I might have believed this performance.

But I wasn’t the girl he married anymore.

I’d woken up.

Mrs Cunnngham excused herself with the kind of grace only a seasoned viper could manage.

When we were alone, Favio turned and pulled me into his arms like that would fix anything.

“Amelia… why didn’t you wait for me? I thought you were dead. I was losing my mind.”

His voice cracked. I didn’t care. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I didn’t even touch him back.

If I had stayed… would I have kept pretending not to hear them? The bed creaking. The breathy sounds. The betrayal?

He looked at me like he still had a chance. And then, he dropped to his knees.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry you fell on the stairs. I should’ve caught you. I should’ve been there.”

Tears shimmered in his eyes like it was some tragic scene in a film. He even reached for my hand. But I saw him clearly now.

A man who could lie with conviction. Grieve with convenience. Smirk after betrayal and still pretend he was the one bleeding.

“Even if the doctors are right,” he said, trying to hold me tighter, “even if we can’t have kids anymore… I don’t care. You’re still my wife. We’ll adopt. We’ll figure it out. I love you.”

The words bounced off me like rain on glass.

So I looked him dead in the eye and dropped the final blade.

“Favio,” I said, calm and ice-cold, “go have your child with Caroline. The Rodrigo legacy needs an heir... I know, you killed mine."

His face fell. Color drained from it like water swirling down a sink.

Chapter 3

"Amelia—"

“Mr. Rodrigo! Miss Caroline collapsed in the lobby!” Ryker announced, breathless.

Favio bolted out the door like his life depended on it.

I followed—slowly.

By the time I reached the hallway, he was already on the marble floor, cradling Caroline in his arms like a scene out of some tragic romance movie. Panic etched across his face like war paint.

“Why are you all just standing there?” he barked. “Get the doctor up here now!”

The hotel staff scattered like ants. Paramedics swarmed in. A team of private doctors—each probably charging more per hour than most CEOs—was ushered into Caroline’s luxury suite.

Within minutes, Favio was pacing beside her bed, hovering over the doctor like a rabid executive in a crumbling boardroom.

“You said she’d be fine if she followed the prescription! So why did she faint again?!”

The doctor, a calm man with gray hair and diamond cufflinks, gave a smile too rehearsed to be sincere.

“Relax, Mr. Rodrigo. She’s perfectly healthy. In fact—congratulations. Miss Caroline is two months pregnant.”

Silence.

And then… joy.

Raw, unfiltered joy lit up Favio’s face like he’d just clinched the deal of the decade. Like every dream he'd ever had was suddenly safe inside Caroline’s body. Like he didn’t kill my child for his other woman.

I stood there frozen.

Not because I was shocked.

Because I already knew.

I’d seen them. More than once. Twice in the guesthouse. Once in the elevator when they thought I wasn’t home. Another time when I’d come back early from a checkup and heard the creaking from behind the guest room door—their breathless laughter after.

But I told myself lies. Sweet ones. Like a fool clinging to a burning curtain.

"It’s just the hormones," I whispered. "You’re fragile, Amelia. The OB-GYN said no intimacy until the second trimester. He’s just venting. Just relieving heat... He still loves you."

But love doesn’t look like that.

Love doesn’t sound like her calling his name while I held onto our unborn child in a bed soaked with worry and blood.

And after the embryo incident—something inside me snapped awake. My eyes opened. Wide. Brutal. Unforgiving.

So now, I just watched him. Smiling. Glowing. Celebrating over a child he created while mine was being taken from me.

Caroline shifted slightly and clung to his shirt like a lover in a soap opera. And he let her. He kissed her forehead and murmured something I didn’t even want to hear.

I said nothing.

Because now… now I knew everything. And knowledge is a far crueler weapon than heartbreak ever could be.

Mrs. Cunningham swept into the suite like she owned the entire floor, heels clicking like a war drum.

“Oh, my sweet Caroline! Pregnant already? You’re simply radiant—our little miracle-maker!” She grabbed Caroline’s hand with both of hers like she was presenting her with a crown.

Favio smiled at her with eyes that used to belong to me. The kind of look that made you feel chosen.

I turned away.

I wasn’t going to cry. Not here. Not in front of them.

“Amelia,” Caroline called sweetly behind me, voice dripping with venom masked in sugar. “Aren’t you happy for me?”

I paused.

She knew what she was doing. That smug curve in her lips, the satisfied glint in her eye. But before I could say anything, Mrs. Cunningham—always waiting for a moment to strike—cut in like she was born for it.

“Oh, don’t force her to pretend,” she said with a laugh. “She’s probably still bitter about the whole… falling down the stairs and losing the baby situation.”

My stomach clenched.

“She tried and failed, and now the doctor says she won’t be getting pregnant ever again.” She tsked. “Such a shame, really. All that effort, and nothing to show for it. Caroline here gets it done in one try. That’s a real woman.”

She turned to me with mock pity. “I mean, darling… some women were just meant to be mothers. Others? Well. Some people are just… built for tragedy.”

Caroline giggled as if it was the best joke she'd ever heard. And Favio? He just stood there.

Silent.

Didn’t defend me. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe in my direction. He was too busy holding Caroline’s hand.

Then Caroline bent her neck.

A silver chain dangled there—my necklace.

The one my mother gave me. The one I wore at her funeral. The one that survived the car crash that killed her. The last real piece of her I had left.

And now it was draped across Caroline’s throat like some accessory off a clearance rack.

My heart dropped.

I stepped forward, voice shaking. “Where did you get that?”

Before she could answer, Favio moved in front of her, blocking me.

“Amelia, don’t start. Caroline’s pregnant. Don’t get hysterical over a necklace.”

I blinked, stunned. “You know what that necklace means to me.”

He looked away. “I’ll buy you another. Oh, I’ll get you hundreds”

“That’s not the point, Favio!” I said, voice cracking. “It’s not just jewelry. It’s the only thing I have left of her.”

Caroline smirked, fingers rising to unclasp it. “Relax. You’re acting like it’s sacred or something.”

She let it fall. A soft clink as the chain hit the marble.

Then she stepped on it. Pressed her Louboutin heel into the pendant until it snapped.

Snap.

I didn’t even think. My hand flew before reason could catch it.

Crack.

Her head moved to the side. A red mark already blooming on her cheek.

“You psycho!” she screeched, stumbling back.

And then—Mrs. Rodrigo was on me.

Her perfectly manicured hand yanked my arm, and the next thing I knew, she shoved me hard against the wall like she’d been waiting for years to do it.

“How dare you lay a finger on her!” she spat. “No wonder you lost your baby—you probably threw yourself down the stairs for attention!”

I inhaled sharply, wind knocked from my lungs. But then Favio grabbed me. Yanked me away from his mother.

For a second, I thought—finally. He’d defend me.

He didn’t.

Instead—

SLAP.

The sound echoed off the walls like a thunderclap. I tasted copper. My cheek stung.

My eyes met his, wide and trembling. “You hit me.”

His voice was ice. “You put your hands on Caroline again, I'll kill you.”

Chapter 4

He didn’t even flinch.

And that was the moment I knew—really knew—I meant nothing.

Not anymore.

“For now,” he said, barely looking at me, “stay away from Caroline. You need time to reflect.”

I laughed. Actually laughed. A sharp, bitter thing that didn’t sound like it belonged to me anymore.

“Take her to her room,” he snapped to the staff. “I don’t want her out until I say so.”

A bodyguard reached for me.

“Don’t touch me.” My voice was low. Frigid.

I stood on my own. No one stopped me.

--

But being locked in a penthouse sounds glamorous until it’s because your billionaire husband wants you out of sight, out of mind.

The gossip still found me. Whispered through cracks, sliding under doors, filtering in with every maid who forgot to shut her mouth properly.

“Mr. Rodrigo stayed in Caroline’s suite again last night. Guess we know who really runs this place now.”

“I heard Caroline was his first love. He only married Amelia because of her embryo. But some say because of family's debt."

“Still, her kid died because of that stem cell transplant… and it wasn’t even enough to fix Caroline. Now Caroline’s pregnant with the heir? Amelia’s days are numbered.”

I heard it all. Every word.

But the worst part? I wasn’t even surprised anymore.

The bitterness was just… dull now. Like the aftermath of a fire. Charred, empty, and silent.

I caught one of the maids outside my room whispering, and when she turned, her eyes widened like she’d seen a ghost.

“M-Mrs. Rodrigo…”

She didn’t mean it. Not anymore.

As she rushed off, she muttered something that hit harder than anything she’d said before.

“Mr. Rodrigo said… from now on, the only Mrs. Rodrigo is Caroline.”

That night, my body gave out.

Fever. Chills. I could barely walk, but I still dragged myself downstairs to the in-house medical office. My vision was swimming.

“Please,” I whispered, clutching the wall for balance. “I just need something for the fever. Anything.”

The family doctor didn’t even meet my eyes.

“I’m sorry, Miss Amelia. Mr. Rodrigo instructed us to prioritize Caroline’s needs. You’re no longer—”

I didn’t hear the rest.

I laughed, hollow and cracked, like something inside me finally gave up trying to pretend it was still whole.

On the way back to my suite, I passed Caroline’s door. It was cracked open. I shouldn’t have looked.

But I did.

Inside, Favio was wrapped around her like she was oxygen. Hands on her body. Lips on her neck.

“Easy, love,” she giggled. “We’ve got a one-in-a-million baby in there.”

“I know.” His voice was soft, adoring. “Our son. Our legacy.”

I felt sick. But I couldn’t move. Then she said it.

“I wonder if Amelia ever made those same noises. She seems… so boring.”

He winced, still pressed against her. “Don’t bring her up. She’s cold. Always was. Being with her was like kissing marble. I only married her because I had to.”

I didn’t realize I was crying until I tasted salt.

I bit down on my lip so hard I drew blood. The pain was nothing compared to what I felt inside.

When I finally stumbled back to my room, I collapsed in bed, burning up and empty.

The next morning, I messaged my brother.

"I’m coming home."

His reply came quick.

"Are you serious?! Amelia, this is the best news! Mom and Dad will be over the moon. I’ll book you a ticket right away."

He paused.

"What about Favio?"

"I’ll divorce him."

I lay back, eyes heavy, throat raw. It hurt to breathe.

Then… the door creaked open. I didn’t need to guess.

Caroline strolled in, all silk pajamas and smug confidence, one hand gently resting on her stomach.

“You saw last night, didn’t you?” she purred. “Favio’s been sleeping in my bed for weeks now. And this baby? It’s his. His real legacy.”

I didn’t answer.

She walked over like she owned the place.

“I know you’re not over the whole necklace thing, but… I did that on purpose. That little family heirloom? Smash. Just like that baby of yours.”

My breath caught.

“And here’s the kicker—when I told Favio that your baby’s stem cells might help me? He didn’t even blink. He chose me. He authorized the surgery himself. Personally signed off on it.”

I felt my stomach twist, bile clawing its way up my throat.

But Caroline smiled wider. Crueler.

Then she leaned in, her voice silk-wrapped poison.

“Only… there’s one tiny detail I forgot to mention.”

She giggled. Actually giggled.

“It was a lie.”

I stared at her.

“W-what?”

She rolled her eyes like I was slow. “I paid the doctor to fake the report. Your embryo? Useless to me. It was never about that.”

The room tilted.

“I just… wanted to see,” she whispered, brushing imaginary dust off her designer sleeve. “If Favio would choose me over your child.”

She grinned.

“And he did. Without hesitation. Didn’t ask questions. Didn’t need proof. He was ready to kill your baby for me.”

My breath caught.

She stepped closer, voice sweet as rot. “So I win. Again.”

“G-get out,” I said. My voice cracked, low and shaking.

She tilted her head like she pitied me. “Poor Amelia. Always the backup plan.”

“GET OUT!” I screamed, my throat burning.

Caroline flinched—but just smiled, stepping back with one last look of pity.

“I’d say I’m sorry… but I’m really not.”

She closed the door behind her, and I collapsed against it the second it clicked shut. I really wanted to clawed her face but my body was betraying me.

They didn’t just kill my child.

They killed everything I ever believed in.

And I was done pretending I wasn’t going to burn this empire to the ground. And as I sat there, surrounded by the wreckage of my faith, my love, my motherhood—I made a silent vow.

They will pay.

Every single one of them.

Favio. Caroline. His wretched mother. The doctor who signed the lie. The guards who held me down.

I would dismantle their dynasty piece by piece.

I would ruin them the way they ruined me.

No more tears. No more begging.

The next time they saw me… it would be far too late. I wasn’t just going to survive this.

I was going to make it a blood-stained legend

Chapter 5

My fever hadn’t broken. My legs were weak, the room spinning—but I moved anyway.

Sickly, I reached into the drawer of my nightstand and pulled out the crisp manila envelope I’d kept hidden for over a year. The divorce papers. My signature already scrawled across the bottom in ink that had dried long before Caroline ever slithered her way into this house.

Only one signature left.

Favio’s.

I stared at it for a long moment. The weight of everything sat heavy in my chest, but nothing fell from my eyes. I was beyond crying now. Beyond mourning. This wasn’t grief.

It was clarity.

I grabbed my phone and the envelope, then stumbled out of the bedroom, barefoot and burning from the fever, but determined.

I was done being polite. Done being patient. I was going to find Favio, put these papers in his hand, and end whatever illusion we were still living in.

But fate—being the cruel, theatrical cunning woman she is—had other plans.

Because the moment I reached the stairs, Caroline appeared like a snake uncoiling from the shadows. Before I could step around her, she lunged—grabbing my wrist, eyes gleaming.

And then, like some deranged soap opera villain, she threw herself backward.

We both went tumbling down the grand staircase of the penthouse.

Marble. Because of course it had to be marble.

I hit my back, then my shoulder, then finally slammed my head against the edge of a stair so hard I saw stars. The pain was instant. Blinding. Like déjà vu from that night in the hospital—when I lost my baby.

I couldn’t breathe.

“Favio!” Caroline’s voice shrieked from somewhere below me. “Oh my God—the baby! I think something’s wrong!”

Seriously? That was her game? That was her angle?

Footsteps thundered, and Favio burst into view like some overdramatic hero, except his face didn’t twist in concern for me—no, not even close.

“Caroline, baby—are you okay?” he crouched beside her, touching her face like she was made of porcelain. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should’ve never gone along with that stem cell transfer. If you’re mad, Amelia, then take it out on me—but not on the baby. Please.”

…What?

I blinked up at him from the bottom of the stairs, blood in my mouth, my ribs screaming with every breath.

Wait. Did he just—?

“You’ve really lost it,” he snapped, eyes narrowing when they finally landed on me. “I didn’t think you’d go this far. If anything happens to Caroline or that baby, I’ll make sure you never show your face in Manhattan again.”

Manhattan. Not jail. Not a hospital. No. Because in Favio Rodrigo’s world, being exiled from the billionaire elite was worse than prison.

I tried to speak but my throat burned. My vision blurred again. The edges of the crystal chandelier above me went fuzzy. All I could hear was Caroline’s shaky, angelic voice.

“Favio, I was so scared… she pushed me.”

Liar.

Then I feel it. Hot. Deep. A tearing sensation that made my body seize up like someone had set fire to my insides.

And then—

Blood.

I felt it before I saw it. Warm and wet, running down my thighs, soaking into the silk of my nightgown and pooling beneath me like some slow, horrifying flood. I tried to move, to reach for something—anything—but pain lashed through my stomach so sharp, so violent, I choked on my own breath.

The stitches. From the surgery. From losing the baby.

They’d ruptured.

And God, there was so much blood.

My head hit the cold marble again. My vision flickered, then spiraled out. Darkness took me under like a wave. No warning. No mercy.

***

I woke up to white. Not heaven. Hospital.

Or some version of it—sterile walls, soft beeping somewhere nearby, the smell of antiseptic so strong it made my stomach turn.

I was bandaged. Everywhere. Under the covers, I could feel gauze wrapped tight around my abdomen, my thighs, even one shoulder. My mouth tasted like copper and cotton.

I turned my head—slow, dizzy.

There were no nurses. No machines. No call buttons. No windows.

Just a room. One bed. One chair.

One man.

Favio.

He stood at the foot of my bed, glass of red wine in his hand like this was a casual dinner party and not the aftermath of an attempted murder.

“Oh,” he said, spotting the blood on the floor by the base of the bed. “Wow. You’re so dramatic.”

He sipped the wine.

Like nothing was wrong.

I tried to speak, but my lips were cracked and dry. I could barely whisper, let alone scream. My throat stung, my ribs ached, and every inch of me felt like it had been stitched back together with barbed wire.

Then he raised the divorce paper. Read the first page, then flipped to the last.

His name. My name.

Only his signature was missing.

He laughed. Low and cold and cruel.

Then without a word, he ripped it straight down the middle.

The sound of it—paper tearing—it hit harder than I expected.

“You want to divorce me?” he said, voice soaked in amusement. “Not until Caroline is okay. You owe her. After everything she’s done for you? You really think you get to just walk away now?”

I opened my mouth, tried to say something—anything—but all that came out was a raw, painful sound.

He pulled his phone from his pocket as it rang, smirk already blooming across his face.

“Hey, baby,” he said, turning slightly toward the window like I wasn’t even there. “Yeah. Yeah, she’s awake. She looks like a mess, but she’s breathing. Don’t worry.”

He paused, laughed at something she said, then turned back to me. His eyes scanned my face—bloodied, swollen, helpless—and yet there was still that gleam in them. Like he enjoyed this.

“I know you hate me,” he said, tucking the phone against his shoulder. “But I also know you’re still in love with me too. You can’t let go. You never could. Don’t fight it, Amelia.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice like he was telling me something romantic.

“If you want… you and Caroline can both be my wives. Let’s be happy. Just the three of us.”

That was it.

I spat.

Right in his face. Blood and bile, the only weapon I had left.

“Get. Lost.”

Chapter 6

Then his expression shifted—rage, pure and immediate. His hand came down fast and hard, slapping across my mouth before I could turn away. My head snapped sideways. I tasted iron again, fresh and metallic and hot.

He left without another word. Didn’t even glance back. He didn’t ask if I’d survive the night.

I curled in on myself, shaking, bleeding, barely stitched together—but still breathing.

Barely.

For now.

***

A week. Seven full days.

No calls. No texts. Not even a lousy assistant showing up with some pathetic apology bouquet.

Favio never visited.

Not once.

I healed in silence. Ate plain broth alone. Changed my own bandages with shaking hands. Listened to my own heartbeat echo off the hospital walls while his world spun on like I didn’t exist.

I wasn’t surprised.

I was just done.

So on the seventh day, I signed myself out, put on my sunglasses, and walked through the lobby like I hadn’t just lost everything twice in the same year.

A driver was waiting for me outside. Not one of Favio’s.

Mine.

The suite was quiet when I got back. Too quiet.

I limped through the marble entryway, ignoring the sharp pull in my abdomen. The housekeeper gave a soft burst when she saw me, then tried to pretend she hadn’t.

“Where is he?” I asked.

She hesitated. Shifted awkwardly. “Mr. Rodrigo flew to Saint Barthélemy… with Miss Caroline.”

I smiled. Big. Wide. But it wasn’t sweet.

It was the kind of smile that tastes like ash and ends in fire.

“Of course he did,” I murmured.

I walked past her without another word and went straight to the master bedroom. The same one I had decorated in warmer days, back when I still believed love could build anything.

I opened the walk-in closet and yanked out my suitcase—the rose gold one he bought me in Milan after our honeymoon. The tag still had his initials printed on it like he owned me.

I set it down and began to pull every piece of clothing I still cared about.

Designer gowns. Vintage jackets. A pair of black stilettos that could slice glass. I moved slowly. Still tender. But there was something about packing up your life that made you forget the pain for a second.

I didn’t cry.

Not once.

On the pillow, I placed what was left of the divorce papers—torn, creased, but still legal. Still mine. Still waiting for his cowardly signature.

Beside it, I left one of my old calling cards. The ivory one with my name embossed in gold. And on the back, written in bold black ink, I scrawled a single note:

> “The next time I see you, I won’t be the woman you broke. I’ll be the one who buries you.”

I zipped the suitcase, took one last look around the bedroom we used to pretend was a castle, then walked out. Head high. Spine steel.

Physically, I was still healing. But mentally?

I was titanium.

***

The airport was chaos. It always was. Paparazzi. Influencers. Wannabe moguls dragging matching luggage and broken dreams.

I wore black. Chanel. Sunglasses low on my nose. No makeup. No entourage. Just me and a carry-on full of fury.

I was halfway through security when my phone rang.

Him.

Of course.

I let it buzz twice before answering.

Favio’s voice came through, arrogant as ever. “When we get back from vacation,” he said, not even a hello, “you’ll be moved into the other penthouse. The main one’s going to be Caroline’s. I’m having it redecorated.”

I didn’t say anything at first. Just smiled like I had a knife between my teeth.

Then: “Of course,” I said softly. “You can play house with her all you want.”

He paused. “So… you’re saying yes?”

“To what?”

“To my offer. About the two wives.”

I laughed.

Not the fake laugh I used at charity events. No, this was the real thing. Dark. Hollow. The kind that echoes in empty bank vaults.

“Yes,” I said. “I’ve made my decision.”

He sounded hopeful. “So you’ll stay?”

“No,” I said. “I decided I’m going to bury you alive.”

Then I hung up.

Just like that. Cut him off mid-sentence, the same way he cut me out of his life like I was disposable.

I slid the phone into my coat pocket, handed the boarding pass to the gate agent, and walked toward the plane.

No looking back.

No goodbyes.

Just steel in my veins, fire in my lungs, and a one-way ticket to a new empire—mine.

--

FAVIO’S POV

I stared at the phone for a second after she hung up. Then I laughed.

A deep, smug laugh that echoed through the suite like I’d just won a deal worth a billion.

“Bury me alive?” I scoffed, pouring myself a glass of scotch. “Sure, baby. With those shaking legs and stitched-up stomach? Please.”

She always said nonsense like that when she was furious. Dramatic. Beautiful. Unhinged.

But I knew her. Amelia was obsessed with me. Still is. Always would be.

She could throw her tantrums, slam doors, spit blood if she wanted to—but she wouldn’t leave.

She never could. I was her addiction. Her curse. Her oxygen.

She’d crawl back like she always did. Cry in my arms. Swear she hated me while wearing my ring.

I downed the scotch, reached for my phone again, and hit speed dial.

“Rosa,” I said lazily when the maid answered. “Don’t feed her for two days.”

A pause.

“Sir?”

“Just water. Moldy bread, maybe. She’ll eat when she’s ready to apologize to Caroline. For pushing her down the stairs.”

“...But sir,” Rosa hesitated, her voice small. “Miss Amelia already left.”

I stilled. “She—what?”

“She packed her bags and boarded a plane two hours ago, sir. She’s gone.”