He Strapped Bombs to Our Babies—for Her

I sent my husband's mistress out of the country thinking I was cleaning up the mess. But when Niccolo found out, he took our sixyearold twins as leverage. Strapped bombs to their chests and set a timer.

He slid his phone across the table, screen glowing with the horror I couldn’t unsee. “You’ve got fortynine minutes, Geneva,” he said calmly. “Where did you send Margot?”

I flinched.

Margot.

That snake. His mistress. The woman who whispered lies into his ear until he believed our children weren’t his. Until he looked at me and saw nothing but betrayal.

I couldn’t speak.

This was the third time he’d asked. The first time, he just looked at me...like I was some stupid girl playing games. The second, he grabbed my chin, ran his thumb across my lips like he used to when we were in love, and whispered, “Geneva… stop acting up.”

Now?

Now, he had bombs on our babies.

“Yyou’re really doing this…” My voice came out broken, almost like it wasn’t mine. “Niccolo… they’re our kids…!”

He gave a short laugh. No humor. Just ice.

“THEY’RE YOUR KIDS,” he said sharply, leaning back. “Margot told me what happened during that trip to Milan. Said you were already pregnant when I married you. Said they can’t be mine. I saw the test. The DNA..”

My vision blurred.

“They’re yours,” I whispered. “Trust me! You know they’re yours. Please… you used to hold Elle like she was your little princess…Eli followed you around like your damn shadow—”

He slammed his hand on the table. “Then why the hell did you hide Margot from me?! Where is she, Geneva?!”

My breath hitched. I didn’t mean for it to go this far. I just wanted her gone. Wanted her to stop poisoning what little we had left. So I sent her away. I didn’t even tell my own damn shadow where.

I wiped at the tears streaming down my cheeks, but they just kept falling. My throat burned. My heart felt like someone took a bat to it.

“I sent her out of the country,” I finally admitted, voice raw. “I wanted her gone. I wanted you back.”

Niccolo stared at me. His jaw clenched. That muscle on his neck ticked. He stood. Walked around the table. Stopped right in front of me. Then, he leaned down until his lips were beside my ear.

“You have thirtytwo minutes left,” he said quietly. “Tell me exactly where. Or you’ll watch them blow into pieces… starting with Elle.”

My knees buckled.

He didn’t catch me. And in that moment, I realized...my husband wasn’t the man who swore he’d protect me anymore.

He was the devil Margot turned him into. And I had to figure out how to beat the devil… before he destroyed what’s left of my heart.

Back then… I was just an ordinary girl. Nothing special. Just a nobody from a quiet street and a halfbroken family.

And Niccolo Salvacion?

He was the goddamn prince of the underworld. The heir to the Salvacion family—rich, ruthless, born into power like he owned the whole damn city. Men bowed when he walked by. Cops looked the other way. People whispered his name like it was holy or cursed. Depends which side you stood on.

He was arrogant. Sharp. Always in control. And somehow, he fell for me.

Hard.

I still remember the way the city buzzed when he started chasing me. The way people stared when black Escalades lined up outside my apartment building, blocking traffic. The way strangers took photos of the night sky when he made the entire skyline light up with “G, marry me.” On my birthday, he shut down half the city with fireworks—just for me.

He made sure the world knew I was his.

I didn’t know whether to run or fall harder. My friends said I was crazy. But he was relentless. Soft with me. Dangerous with everyone else. He kissed me like I was the only thing keeping him alive.

I should’ve seen it coming. I should’ve known fairy tales in the mafia never end well.

Even when I told him it wouldn’t work, that he was too far out of my world, too different but he didn’t care. I pushed him away, said I wasn’t mafia wife material. He still showed up, night after night, sitting in the rain outside my tiny apartment like some idiot in love.

He didn’t just break his pride for me. He shattered it.

When I got pregnant with the twins, he kissed my belly like it held his whole future.

He said, “They’re ours. You. Me. Them. That’s it.”

But that was before Margot whispered her venom in his ear.

Before she told him the twins weren’t his. Before he looked me in the eye with that cold, unreadable stare and asked, “Who’s their real father, Geneva?”

That shattered me more than any bullet could.

I really thought I married the right man. I thought love would be enough.

That was before I ever heard the name Margot Jenner.

It started off harmless. Just a throwaway line from Niccolo’s righthand man, Luca, over a glass of whiskey.

Some girl at the underground auction had caused a scene, pretended to stumble right in front of Niccolo. Claimed her heel broke, but everyone knew it was staged. Girls like that were always trying to catch his eye. Thinking a fake blush and a desperate bid could earn them a seat at a table built on blood.

I laughed it off. I trusted him.

He’d always kept things clean, never messed around like the other men in our world. He told me I was different. He said he wanted a wife, not a liability. He swore I was it for him. But the second time I heard that name?

It was in our bed.

He was inside me, hot breath against my neck, my legs tangled around his waist and then he whispered, “Margot…”

When I confronted him the next morning…shaking, small, desperate to understand, he didn’t even deny it. He pulled me into his arms, calm, steady, like I was the one spiraling.

“Yeah… I thought about keeping her,” he said. “But she’s just for fun. Don’t overthink it. Everyone in our world has someone on the side. You’re the one I come home to, Geneva. That won’t change.”

That was his excuse. That I was supposed to accept it. Be grateful, even. But it did change.

He got bold.

He stopped hiding her.

He bought her jewelry. Gave her a penthouse uptown. Took her to private parties, dripping in diamonds, while I sat at home stitching lies together for our sixyearold twins. His twins.

They kept asking why Daddy never tucked them in anymore.

And when I cried, when I screamed, when I begged him to choose us over whatever illusion Margot had woven, he just stared through me…cold, detached.

“Stop being so fucking dramatic, Geneva.”

That’s all he said. I wasn’t a wife to him anymore. Just noise. A problem that needed quieting.

So I did what any cornered woman would do.

I sent her out. Margot disappeared, erased from our lives before she could finish tearing apart what little was left of our family.

I thought that would be the end. But instead? He kidnapped our twins.

“She’s in Monochalie,” I said, my voice splintering. “That villa under my name. The one by the lake in Klarevia”

Niccolo didn’t move for a few seconds. He just stared at me, those dark eyes drilling into mine, silent, cold, unreadable.

Then he picked up his phone and made a call.

He didn’t even step out of the room to do it.

After a few words in Italian, he hung up, grabbed his suit jacket, and turned to leave...fast, urgent. Going to get his precious Margot.

I grabbed his sleeve, fingers trembling. “What about the twins? Niccolo!”

He stopped. Turned halfway. His face was stone. “They’re at the old hospital. Eastwood District.” His voice was flat. “Go get them yourself.”

My knees almost buckled.

I didn’t say anything else. I just ran.

I drove so fast my vision blurred, nearly crashed into a truck at an intersection. My heart was beating in my throat, my mind was already there already in that hospital, already pulling them out and wrapping them in my arms.

When I finally got there, the place was dead quiet. Rusted gates, broken glass, old machines halfcovered in dust. But inside… I found them.

Eli and Elle.

Tied to chairs. Mouths gagged. Bomb strapped to their chests.

My heart shattered right there.

Elle’s eyes were soaked in tears. Eli looked at me and started shaking his head over and over, as if telling me to run.

“No… no, no, baby…” I rushed forward, hands shaking so badly I couldn’t even grip the damn ropes right.

The timer on the bomb ticked louder than my own breathing. 03:12.

I kept fumbling, crying, doing everything I could to loosen the straps. Elle sobbed beneath the gag. I let go of Elle first and told her to run. She listened. Then I turned to Eli. My brave boy just stared at me.

And then he did something I’ll never forget. He looked straight at me… calm. Too calm.

And then he moved. “I love you, Mommy. Tell Daddy, I love him, too.”

He threw himself forward, hard, toward me. His small body slammed into mine and knocked me back. I fell, hit the concrete, scraped my hands.

“Eli!” I screamed.

But he didn’t stop. He turned… and lunged at the bomb.

“ELI!”

The blast threw me back. My head hit the floor. My ears rang so loud I couldn’t even hear myself scream. Blood poured into my mouth. Smoke choked me. And through it all… I couldn’t hear my son’s voice anymore.

—

I woke up in a hospital bed. Tubes in my arm. Elle beside me, hooked to machines, but breathing. The doctor said we made it out alive.

But not all of us.

Eli was gone.

I knelt beside the hospital bed, forehead pressed against the edge of the mattress where Elle lay, wrapped in bandages and wires.

Tears slid down my cheeks, “I’m so sorry, baby…” I whispered, my voice torn. “Mama chose the wrong man. I thought he’d protect us. I thought he loved us.”

Her eyelids fluttered weakly, “You don’t have to be sorry, Mama…” she mumbled. Her voice was dry and broken. “You’re here now.”

That shattered me. I buried my face in her small hand and cried. I cried until I couldn’t breathe. Until my chest hurt. Until all I could taste was salt and grief.

Eli was gone.

My son. My brave, bright boy. The one who used to call me “soldier mama” when I patched up his scraped knees. The one who used to hum lullabies to his sister when she had bad dreams. The one who shielded her in the end, and paid for it with his life.

I wasn’t strong enough to protect him.

I wasn’t fast enough.

And I let a man like Niccolo Salvacion into our lives, into my body, into my heart thinking he’d be the kind of father he never was.

When I first found out about Margot, I should’ve walked. I did try. Wrote the divorce papers three times. Each time, he tore them up in my face.

"Don’t be dramatic."

"She’s just a toy, Geneva. You’re my home."

"You belong to me. Always."

I begged him to let me go. He never did. Until now.

Now I had something he didn’t remember. Something he signed without reading, back when he still trusted me. One piece of leverage.

It happened months ago. Right after our twins got into that elite academy for mafia heirs' children. There was a stack of paperwork, and he was sitting behind his desk, signing with one hand while sipping whiskey with the other.

Margot had walked in midway wearing my silk and threw herself into his lap like she owned him. They started kissing right there, right in front of me.

I felt invisible.So I slid the divorce agreement quietly into the pile.

Just one signature.

When I handed him the pen, I said, “The twins’ school needs your signature for the field activity clearance.”

He paused. Squinted at me. “Didn’t I sign something for them already?”

“Just this one more,” I said, calm, collected.

Margot giggled and tugged at his collar. “Come on, Nic, let her finish whatever housewife thing she’s doing. We’ve got plans.”

He scribbled his name across the page without looking and waved me off.

“Go,” he said. “I’m busy.”

He didn’t even notice.

And now, a week later, after we buried Eli… just me and Elle, no flowers, no family, no father beside us we walked into that law office hand in hand.

I sat there with her tiny fingers wrapped around mine, while the lawyer flipped through the document, brow raised in surprise.

“This is valid,” he said after a pause. “Legally binding. His signature is here. The divorce is effective immediately.”

But the lawyer told me the identity erasure would take two weeks, I just nodded and said okay. Two weeks. That’s all we needed.

Elle and I left the lawyer’s office the same day we buried Eli.

Now we were back in the Salvacion estate, pretending to be the pictureperfect family for just a little longer. Because if Niccolo suspected anything, if he found out I planned to disappear with Elle... we’d never make it out alive.

The staff still looked at me with pity. I didn’t care. I wasn’t here for them.

I spent the first day emptying the house of him—quietly, methodically. His favorite mug disappeared from the cabinet. I deleted every playlist he ever made me, even the one we danced to at our wedding.

On the second day, I repainted the bedroom. I changed the sheets, replaced the curtains, moved the bed to the opposite wall. Not a single trace of how it used to be.

On the third day, I visited the safe.

Inside was the antique watch I gave him on our first anniversary. The one he said he’d pass down to our son one day. I took it. Sold it to a collector overseas. Not for the money. For the knowledge that it’d never land in his hands again.

When I came back to the mansion, Elle was waiting in the foyer. But so were two other people. Niccolo. And her. Margot.

She was curled up on the couch beside him like some porcelain doll; thin, fragile, the kind of fake sick that men fall for. Her hands wrapped around his arm like she belonged there.

I held Elle’s hand and walked past them without a word.

“Stop,” Niccolo’s voice rang out behind me. Cold. Commanding.

I paused but didn’t turn around.

“Where’s the bastard boy?” he asked.

My hand twitched, but I said nothing. Not here. Not in front of Elle.

“Where’s Eli?” he pressed.

Still, I said nothing. I felt Elle's fingers tighten around mine. I looked down at her. Her face was calm. Too calm for a sixyearold. So I knelt, brushed her hair behind her ear, and said softly, “Come on, let’s go cook something, sweetheart.”

We walked toward the kitchen, but before I could step inside, Niccolo’s hand wrapped around my arm and yanked me back hard.

“Don’t fucking ignore me,” he snapped. “You think you can just act like nothing happened? Where is my son?”

I yanked my arm free.

“You said he wasn’t yours,” I said flatly. “So why are you asking now?”

He glared at me. But before he could say anything else, Margot’s voice came in, soft and pitiful.

“Niccolo, don’t… you’re scaring her.”

I turned. Margot was curled up on the couch like some frail little thing, one hand clutching his sleeve, the other resting over her heart as if it was all too much for her.

He softened immediately.

“You always get anxious when I raise my voice,” he murmured, brushing her hair back. “You should rest.”

He kissed the top of her head. Right in front of me.

Elle watched in silence. Not a sound. She just stood beside me like a ghost.

I turned to leave again.

Then Niccolo said it—real smooth, real slow:

“Geneva, apologize to her. She’s been suffering ever since you dumped her in Monochalie. She couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t eat. You went too far.”

That made me stop.

I turned, expression empty. “And if I don’t?”

Margot straightened slightly, eyes glistening like she was about to cry but I saw the smirk underneath. “It’s okay, Niccolo… I don’t mind. Geneva’s still the lady of the house.”

She looked down shyly, but I caught the flicker of smugness in her eyes.

Niccolo kissed her forehead. “You’re too kind. From now on, I’ll spoil you. You don’t have to take anything from anyone.”

I nearly laughed. It was pathetic. A joke.

Just then, a maid brought in a cup of chamomile tea.

“For Miss Margot,” she said politely.

Chamomile. Her favorite.

I stood there, cold, blank, dead inside. Then his phone rang.

He glanced at the screen. “You always get headaches when I talk business around you,” he whispered to Margot. “I’ll take this outside. Drink your tea.”

And just like that, he left. The moment the door closed, Margot’s whole act dropped. Elle hiding behind my leg. Margot sitting on that damn couch like a queen.

“See that?” she said with a light laugh. “You sent me away, but he still chose me.”

I said nothing.

“He holds me now. Loves me now. You’re just a ghost in this house.”

I looked at her, calm. Empty. “If you want him, Margot,” I said, “then take him.”

She blinked, like I’d slapped her. “I don’t need your permission!” she snapped. “I’ll have everything—him, this house, his name...everything!”

Her voice grew louder, panicked. Then Niccolo’s footsteps echoed outside. She acted fast. Grabbed the scalding tea and poured it over her own chest. Screamed. Elle screamed too, clutching my leg. Niccolo burst in seconds later. Margot was on the floor, sobbing, clothes soaked.

His eyes locked on me.

“Geneva!”

“I didn’t touch her,” I said flatly. “There are cameras. Check them.”

He looked ready to kill. But before he could speak, Margot gasped through fake tears, “It’s not her fault, Niccolo. I just... I probably spilled it myself. I shouldn’t have tried to stay here… I’ll go.”

She stepped forward dramatically.

He caught her wrist. “You’re not going anywhere. I searched every corner of this planet for you, and now you think you can walk out again? You trying to kill me?” Then he looked at me. “Lock them both in the basement.”

My heart stopped. I stepped in front of Elle instantly, arms stretched wide. “No—no, please, don’t punish her! Niccolo, she’s just a child! She’s been through too much already!”

He didn’t even look at me.

Margot, still clinging to his arm like some bruised porcelain doll, gave a little whimper. “You saw how she looked at me… I can’t live like this, Niccolo. I’m scared she’ll hurt me again…”

“You’re overthinking it,” I snapped. “You faked the entire thing!”

“Enough!” His voice cut through the air.

I turned to him, desperate. “Check the damn cameras. Please. Just check them.”

“There’s no need,” he said, eyes like ice. “She’s the only person I trust.”

My stomach twisted. Elle gripped my hand tighter.

Margot turned, her voice suddenly steady—too steady. “Drag them down. No food. No water.”

“Wait! Niccolo!” I screamed. “Not Elle. Do whatever the hell you want to me, but not her! She’s your daughter—”

“She’s not,” he said flatly.

That silenced me. Two of his men grabbed me. Elle screamed and clung to my waist, sobbing.

“Mama! Don’t let them—”

“I’m right here, baby. I won’t let go,” I said, holding her tight even as they yanked us both down the hall. My knees scraped the floor. My arms burned. Elle cried into my shirt.

The basement door creaked open. Dark, damp, and cruel. They shoved us inside like we were garbage. Then the door slammed shut.

They opened the basement door the next morning. Elle was shivering in my arms, her lips cracked, cheeks pale. I was barely conscious, running on nothing but instinct and the will to protect what little I had left.

Two bodyguards stood at the door. One of them spoke without emotion. “Boss says next time, you won’t leave with your legs still attached.”

I said nothing. Just clutched Elle tighter and helped her up the stairs, one shaky step at a time. My limbs felt like iron. My mouth was dry. My pride was ash. But Elle was alive. That was all that mattered.

We reached our room. I wrapped her in every blanket I could find, holding her close while tears slipped silently down my cheeks. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, over and over. “Mama’s so sorry, baby…” She looked up at me, eyes dull but brave. I kissed her forehead, pressing promises into her skin. “I’ll fix this. I swear to you. Just a few more days, okay? Just a few more.” She nodded. That broke me all over again.

That night, Niccolo summoned me. Taylor delivered a dress. Bloodred velvet, low back, diamond straps. Along with it came a note in Niccolo’s handwriting:

“Auction. Mafiaonly. Don’t embarrass me.”

That was it. No apology. No mention of locking his daughter in a basement. Just a command. I showed up.

The event was held in one of Niccolo’s luxury hotels—top floor, secured by at least thirty men in black, all armed and silent. Every face inside belonged to someone who had blood on their hands and power stitched into their veins. I walked in wearing his name like a chain around my neck.

And then I saw her. Margot. Wearing haute couture and smugness like perfume. Her makeup soft, her curls perfect, and around her neck was my necklace. Yhe one Niccolo once bid eight figures for, said he wanted our daughter to inherit someday. She wore it like she owned him.

I stopped just short of entering the ballroom. Niccolo stood beside her, hands in his pockets, suit crisp and dark. The second he saw me, his lips curled into that cold smirk he always wore when he thought he had control.

“She’s here too,” I said, my voice steady. “So what the hell do you need me for?” He glanced at Margot, then back at me with that graveldeep voice of his. “Didn’t plan on bringing her. But she wanted to come. She begged. What was I supposed to do? Say no?” He stepped closer, lowering his tone just enough for me to hear. “Geneva, don’t be fuckin’ petty. This ain’t the time.”

My hands curled into fists, nails biting into my palms. Petty? I was standing in a room full of murderers and traffickers, being paraded beside my husband while his mistress flaunted my life in front of the entire underworld and I was petty?

Margot gave a soft giggle, linking her arm with Niccolo’s like she was born there. The whispers started before I even made it ten steps.

“Isn’t that Niccolo’s wife? Then who’s that beside him?”

“Oh, that’s the mistress. They say he treats her like royalty. Heard the wife got kicked out of his bed months ago.”

Someone turned and smiled awkwardly at me. “Sorry. I thought she was Mrs. Salvacion… I mean, she’s wearing the real diamonds.”

I said nothing. Just walked to my seat like I couldn’t hear a thing. But inside? I was collecting every word. Every look. Every breath.

The auction began. I raised my paddle a few times… for antiques, small treasures, nothing too flashy. But every damn time, Margot lifted her paddle too, raising my bid by a single dollar. Over. And over.

People started laughing. “First time I’ve seen a mistress bully a wife in public…” I didn’t even blink.

Then I raised my hand again. “Open bid,” I told the auctioneer. The entire room stilled. Margot’s smile faltered.

“Niccolo…” she whispered, tugging at his sleeve. “I really want that piece…”

Niccolo looked at me. His jaw ticked. “Geneva,” he growled, “just let her have it.”

I looked straight at him, my voice sharp but calm. “She can’t openbid. I can. Because I’m your wife. We share assets.” Then I turned to Margot. “No matter how much he gives you, sweetheart, you’ll never be me.”

Her eyes flared with red, but she stood quickly and covered her face. “I get it,” she sobbed. “You’re the wife, I’m just some shameful secret. I never should’ve come. I just wanted to feel… loved.” She turned and ran, dramatic and fragile and fake to her core.

Niccolo glared at me and grabbed my wrist so hard I swore I heard something crack. “You just couldn’t fucking help yourself, huh?” he hissed. “I told you this thing with her would pass but now you’ve gone and pushed her away.”

I yanked my wrist back. “Whether she stays or leaves… what’s that got to do with me?” His eyes darkened. A storm without mercy.

Then he turned and stormed out after her, leaving me in the center of a room filled with mockery and knives behind smiles.

The sharp buzz of my phone jolted me awake.

A breaking news alert flashed across the screen—bold, vulgar, and soulcrushing.

BREAKING: “299 PRIVATE PHOTOS OF SALVACION CEO’S MOTHERINLAW TO BE AUCTIONED TONIGHT!”

For a few seconds, I couldn’t move. The breath caught in my throat. My fingers went numb. My vision blurred. Only one word repeated in my mind—Mom.

With trembling hands, I called Niccolo. It rang once. Twice. Then he answered, voice casual, cold, bored.

“Already awake? That was fast.”

I didn’t even greet him. “Did you do this?” My voice cracked. “Those photos… they’re of my mom.”

He laughed.

“Didn’t you enjoy that last auction so much?” his oice laced with cruel amusement. “Thought I’d give you something more meaningful to bid on this time.”

My stomach twisted. I could barely stand.

“They were taken years ago,” I whispered. “She was working in a club… she got pregnant with me and quit. She raised me alone. She worked three fucking jobs just to keep me alive—!”

“And now she’s dead,” he cut in coolly. “She won’t mind. Besides, the crowd loves vintage.”

Then came her voice.

Margot’s fake, breathy sweetness oozed into the call.

“Niccolo… is that Geneva again? I…I should go. I shouldn’t be near you when she’s upset…”

“Don’t talk like that,” he murmured gently to her, like I wasn’t on the line. “You’ve been through enough already. I’ve got your back, yeah? I’ll deal with her.”

There was the unmistakable sound of him kissing her. Lips. Cheek. Something sickeningly close.

Then the line went dead.

I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

My mother who died three years ago from heart failure was the one woman who stood by me through everything. She used to wash dishes at midnight, fall asleep sitting up, cry behind closed doors because she didn’t have enough to buy me a prom dress. And now Niccolo had stripped her dignity in death, for sport. For Margot.

I rushed to the auction house, barely remembering how I got there. The second I stepped into that hall, I wanted to collapse.

Her face.

Young, frightened. Posing under harsh lights, forced smiles while men loomed around her. Images from her club days, before I was even born.

They plastered her across giant screens like she was a trophy. Men lounged in velvet chairs, wine in hand, staring like animals.

“That’s the wife’s mother?”

“Back in her day, she must’ve been something.”

“Maybe sluttiness runs in the blood…”

Each word stabbed me. Each laugh drowned me.

I stood frozen as the auctioneer cheerfully announced, “Lot 1: The legendary Sapphire Queen in her prime—opening bid: $3,000!”

They called her that because of the jewel she wore at the club. My mother never told me why she kept it... but now I knew. It was the only thing that made her feel like more than property.

I swallowed the bile in my throat and raised my paddle. Bid after bid, I fought to buy back my mother’s dignity. Every time I won, I felt emptier. By the 299th photo, I was shaking.

Dead. Inside.

As I stepped outside, my phone rang again. I answered.

His voice came through, mocking.

“Well? How’d that feel? You like making open bids so much—was this round as thrilling?”

I said nothing. My fingers were bleeding from how hard I’d been clenching my hand around the paddle.

“Come on, Geneva,” he sighed like I was exhausting him. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking about leaving me over this?”

“Don’t you think I’d have grounds?” I rasped.

He snorted. “You can’t divorce me. Not without my signature. That’s not how this works.”

I said nothing. He didn’t remember.

He forgot he’d already signed the divorce papers months ago.

He paused again, then softened his voice.

“Today was just a little reminder. You act out, I act worse. And, my grandfather’s wedding anniversary is tomorrow evening. You're coming with me.”

I opened my mouth. But the line had already gone dead. Just like my love for him.

The day of Niccolo's grandfather’s wedding anniversary came—one of the few Salvacion traditions still treated with reverence. A mafia reunion masked as elegance. Under the suits and speeches were blood pacts and silent power games.

Niccolo picked me up in his black Maserati. He didn’t bother getting out of the car. I opened the door myself and slid in.

His gaze flicked over me once. “You look thinner. Bamboo.”

“Didn’t bring Margot?” I asked, voice flat.

His fingers drummed the leather wheel. “Not today. I’ll keep her away from you from now on. You’ve embarrassed the family enough.”

A bitter smile touched my lips. He wasn’t protecting me from her… he was protecting her from me.

Then, halfway through the highway curve, he asked, far too casually, “Where are the twins? Those old geezers will ask.”

I answered without flinching. “Eli’s gone. He’s dead. The bomb. Or did you already forget?”

His laugh was short and brutal. “Is this another act? Playing the grieving mother now? You’re so desperate.”

He stared at me, waiting to see if I’d crack. But I didn’t respond.

I just watched the trees blur past the window.

There was no grief left for him to see. Nothing left for him to mock. He could humiliate my name, smear my son’s death, worship that girl like she was made of gold.

I’d already buried the pain.

And soon, I’d bury him too without ever lifting a shovel.

+++

The party was a loaded gun dressed in velvet.

Legacy. Power. Appearances. That’s all anyone cared about in the Salvacion family. Everyone smiled with knives behind their backs.

Niccolo didn’t let go of my hand the moment we stepped in. We were putting on a show.

The moment his grandfather spotted us, he stood up and walked toward me, arms open.

“Geneva, my girl,” the old man said, kissing both my cheeks. “Still the classiest one in the room. Niccolo doesn’t deserve a woman like you.”

I gave him a soft smile. “Thank you, Grandpa.”

But beside him, his wife the infamous Salvacion matriarch looked me up and down like I was a smudge on her crystalware.

“You look… worn,” she said, voice sharp but fake. “Try to keep yourself together, dear. People talk.”

Niccolo didn’t say anything. He never did when it came to her.

We hadn’t even reached the main table when Margot walked in with her parents. White silk dress. Head slightly tilted. Her mother had a full smile ready, the kind that said I know we’re winning.

Her father greeted Niccolo first, a firm handshake and a proud nod. “Boss Salvacion,” he said, as if his daughter wasn’t just the mistress of a married man but royalty itself.

Then they turned to me.

“Mrs. Salvacion,” Margot’s mother said sweetly. “You look... resilient. We were just saying how much we admire your strength.”

Her husband nodded. “Must be difficult, juggling all these events. Especially with Margot still recovering from everything she’s been through. But she insisted on showing her respect today. She’s such a kind soul.”

“Truly,” her mother added. “No resentment at all. It’s inspiring.”

Margot bowed her head slightly, playing the perfect fragile flower.

I didn’t respond.

I just walked straight past them.

An hour passed. I sat alone at our table, wine glass in hand, watching Niccolo twirl Margot across the ballroom like they belonged on the cover of some cursed magazine.

I sipped my wine slowly. But in my chest, Eli’s laugh played like a ghost. I remembered the way he used to run up to me barefoot in the kitchen, cheeks full of frosting. The sound of his tiny voice saying, "Mama, look what I made."

‘I swear to you, Eli… I’ll tear down everything they ever built. But first, I need to walk out of this cage alive.’

“Another glass, Mrs. Salvacion?” A waiter leaned close, offering another glass. But Niccolo saw.

From across the room, his hands dropped from Margot’s waist midspin. His stare pinned me like a sniper’s scope. Possessive. Cold. Boiling.

Next second, he was striding across the marble, brushing Margot off without a word. He grabbed my arm.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he hissed. “You're my wife. Not some bored debutante making eyes at waiters.”

I calmly pulled my hand from his grip. “Maybe if you remembered that before, we wouldn’t be like this.”

And I walked off. Straight to the powder room, clutching nothing but a pulse steady with rage.

I shut the door behind me, but it didn’t take long. Margot slithered in seconds later, shutting the door behind her.

“Well, look at you,” she said, voice too sweet. “Still playing queen in a house where no one listens to you.”

I didn’t speak.

“I mean, you couldn't even protect your own son,” she continued. “What kind of mother lets her child die like that?”

My hand curled slowly at my side.

“He was just a kid,” she went on, smile stretching. “Six, right? That’s how old he was? Must’ve screamed when the bomb started ticking. Did he cry for you?”

That was the last straw. I lunged, hand raised to knock her head sideways but she beat me to it.

She slammed her own palm into her cheek. Then again. Hard. She scratched her collarbone, let out a guttural sob, and threw herself against the sink.

Then she screamed.

“Help! Help me! Geneva—she’s gone crazy!”

Margot bolted out of the powder room, her sobs echoing like a siren.

Makeup smeared, red finger marks rising on her cheek, her neckline clawed up like she’d escaped a beast. She collapsed to the floor of the ballroom just as Niccolo arrived.

He caught her midfall. “What happened?” His voice was tight. Rough.

“She attacked me!” Margot sobbed, clutching at his suit. “She grabbed my hair, slammed me into the mirror. Look at me!”

Niccolo’s jaw clenched. “Smith! Get Geneva out of there. Now.”

Two of his men pushed into the powder room. I didn’t fight. What was the point? They dragged me out by the arms, heels scraping across the tiles.

Eyes turned. Conversations died.

Every pair of eyes in the hall snapped to me—some scandalized, some gleaming with gossip. Others pretending to look away but watching every second.

Margot was now on the ground in front of her parents, trembling and crying like some shattered porcelain doll.

“Oh my poor baby!” her mother cried, cradling her like a child.

“This is what she’s been enduring all this time,” her father said with fake sorrow, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “She’s always been too forgiving.”

Niccolo’s grandmother was already storming forward, lips tight with venom.

“Shameful!” she spat, eyes raking over me. “You humiliated this family. In front of all our allies. You’ll bring our name to ruin!”

Then Niccolo’s grandfather—slammed his cane hard against the marble floor.

“I tolerated your cold face,” he growled, “but hurting an innocent guest? On our name’s night? You’re no longer welcome in this family!”

I looked at all of them. My throat burned, my chest rising and falling like I was standing on the edge of a building about to jump. Then I snapped.

“Innocent?” My voice rang out like a cracked bell. “You want to talk about innocent?”

I looked directly at Niccolo. “She’s the reason Eli’s dead.”

Silence.

A thick, suffocating silence wrapped the room. Even the musicians stopped tuning their instruments.

I stared at him, tears stinging, fury shaking through my ribs. “She fed you lies about him not being yours. She hated him. And now he’s gone.”

Niccolo’s brows pulled together, confusion warring with something darker.

Margot’s voice suddenly shot out like a blade.

“She’s lying! I—I saw Eli this afternoon,” she cried. “He was running around at some doctor’s house! She’s delusional! She’s cursing her own son just to make me look bad!”

She turned to the crowd, sobbing harder. “Look what she did to me. Look at this—this isn’t a woman. She’s insane!”

And that was all it took. Niccolo’s eyes flared. He marched toward me. I didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even flinch when his hand came down like thunder across my face.

Slap.

Then again.

Slap.

The third one cracked across my mouth. The fourth sent me backward, head snapping sideways.

And the fifth, sharp and ruthless, landed so hard it made the floor tilt.

My knees buckled.

Blood filled my mouth as my cheek burned. I collapsed to the marble, one palm catching me just barely, eyes on the floor. Niccolo carried Margot out bridal style while the entire hall watched, some clapping, some murmuring.

I stayed on the floor.

+++

I don’t even remember how I got home. One minute I was on cold marble, the next I was staring at the ceiling in our room. My cheek throbbed, my lip was cracked. But none of it hurt more than what he did to my heart. That was the last time I cried for Niccolo Salvacion.

One tear. One breath. That was all he had left of me.

Then my phone rang.

I didn’t want to answer, but I did.

“Hello?”

A man’s voice came through, upbeat. “Is this Miss Geneva Villacruz Salvacion?”

“Yes…”

“At last! Your father will be thrilled to hear it.”

I sat up slowly. “My father?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m his lawyer and personal secretary. He’s been searching for you for years. We finally found you.”

I couldn’t speak.

“Miss Geneva, when you’re ready… I’ll send you his number and address. He wants to meet you. He’s been waiting a long time.”

The call ended. I stared at the screen, heart pounding. For the first time in a long time… something felt like hope.

After an hour of sitting in silence, I finally forced myself to treat my split lip and wash away the last of the blood on my face. My body ached from the beating, but the part that hurt the most couldn’t be touched—my heart. It was done breaking. Now it just rotted.

The room was quiet. Until it wasn’t.

The door slammed open. Niccolo’s men stormed in. Their faces was unreadable, voices silent. I barely had time to stand before one of them gripped my arm. Another grabbed my wrist like I was a criminal. I tried to ask what was happening, but no one responded.

I was dragged out like garbage. No shoes. No dignity. Just a ruined woman being hauled through her own house.

They shoved me into a black SUV and locked the doors. No words. No explanations. I was taken straight to a private hospital building bearing the Salvacion name.

The moment we reached the top floor, I was thrown into a private suite. And what I saw made my stomach turn.

Margot’s parents were lying in hospital beds—bandaged from head to toe. Her mother’s face was completely wrapped, with only her eyes showing, one of them red and swollen. Her arms were wrapped in gauze. Her voice came out hoarse through a throat tube.

“She… she tried to kill us,” she rasped. “We were inside the car when it went up in flames…”

Her husband stood nearby with a cast on his wrist, eyes wet like he’d survived a war. “I pulled her out with my own hands,” he said, looking right at Niccolo, who had just entered behind me. “She would’ve died if I wasn’t there.”

Three unfamiliar men knelt on the floor. Crying.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am Geneva!” one blubbered. “We only did what you paid us to!”

“You said burn the car, make it look like an accident!” another one wailed.

I couldn’t speak. My lungs locked. My mind tried to make sense of how far they were taking this.

And then I saw her.

Margot. In the corner, hunched like some fragile child, her eyes puffy and red, makeup running just enough to look pitiful. She was clutching her elbows, pretending to tremble.

“Why… why, Geneva?” she whispered, like her soul was crushed. “Just because I love him… you went after my family? What did I ever do to deserve this?”

I didn’t answer. There was no use.

Niccolo stepped forward, jaw tight, eyes dark. He didn’t ask if I was guilty. He didn’t ask anything at all.

“You’re a fucking monster,” he said low. “I gave you everything and you turn into this?”

I opened my mouth, but before a word escaped, Grandma Salvacion stepped in and slapped me across the face. My head snapped sideways.

“You think we’ll let you keep humiliating this family?” she snapped. “You disgust me. If you want to stay under our name, then kneel!”

I looked at Niccolo. He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. I didn’t kneel. So she forced me. Her bony hands gripped my shoulders and shoved me down hard.

I knelt on that cold tile floor. Staring up at the man I once called my husband. He didn’t flinch. Not once.

Then Margot’s mother suddenly gasped, clutching her chest like she couldn’t breathe. Her head rolled to the side. She whispered something I couldn’t catch, then her eyes fluttered shut.

Margot screamed. “Doctor! Hurry! She’s crashing!”

The doors burst open. A man in a white coat ran in, stethoscope swinging, voice loud and urgent. I’d never seen him before.

“Blood pressure dropping fast. She’s hemorrhaging. We need an immediate transfusion,” he said. “Her blood type is AB negative. Extremely rare. Check the database.”

A silence filled the room, sharp and suffocating.

“That’s a hard match to find,” the doctor added. “Only a few compatible donors are listed.”

Margot placed a hand over her belly. “I have AB negative,” she said softly. “But I can’t donate.”

Everyone turned to her.

“I’m pregnant,” she said, eyes wide, voice shaking just enough to sound fragile. “With Niccolo’s baby.”

My stomach turned. I felt sick.

Grandma gasped, covering her mouth, already tearing up. “A child... an heir,” she whispered.

Grandpa didn’t say anything, just nodded once, tight and approving. Niccolo looked at Margot like she was something sacred.

No one looked at me. Then all eyes finally turned.

“She’s compatible,” the doctor said. “Geneva Villacruz Salvacion. She’s a viable donor.”

Niccolo snapped. His boots thundered toward me. He grabbed my arm roughly, yanking me to my feet. “You heard the doctor.”

I pulled back. “She’s lying,” I said, voice shaking. “She faked all of this. She’s not even pregnant—”

“I said take her blood,” he barked at the doctor. “As much as it takes.”

I struggled as his men grabbed me. “Don’t touch me!” I screamed. “She’s lying, she planned this!”

“Shut her up!” Grandma snapped. “Get it done. Now.”

They strapped me into the chair. My wrists burned under the leather cuffs. Tubes jammed into my veins, metal cold against skin. The blood flowed. Too fast. Too much. I could feel it draining me.

The doctor looked uneasy. “She’s turning pale. We should slow down—”

Niccolo gave him a cold glance. “I said continue.”

My head started spinning. Margot stood at the side, fake tears streaking her face, rubbing her stomach like she was cradling something precious. Her eyes glinted when no one was looking.

“She’s losing color,” a nurse said.

My arms were cold. My fingertips tingled.

“She’s about to crash,” another voice called out.

I blinked slowly, breath shallow. My eyes fluttered shut.

Then the machines beeped.

“She’s going into shock!”

“Get her to the emergency wing—now!”

I couldn’t feel my body anymore. Only the thought in my head, circling over and over. They’re going to kill me before I ever get out.

I woke up, head dizzy, body cold. My arms ached, veins sore, and the taste of metal still clung to my tongue. The room was empty, walls white and silent. No machines beeping, no IV tubes left in my hand. Just me. Alive, but barely.

I pulled the blanket off and sat up. My head spun. A bitter laugh escaped my lips.

"Time to leave hell."

I shuffled toward the door, legs shaking. Out in the hallway, I heard something—laughter. Not the comforting kind. It was cold, rehearsed.

Margot.

I pressed my back against the wall, staying just out of sight.

“…Good job,” she was telling someone, probably that fake doctor. “Here’s your payment in full.”

I peeked around the corner. Margot handed over a thick envelope. The doctor took it fast, no questions.

“Niccolo will be mine fully now,” she said, smiling as she adjusted her coat. “Keep making reports that my mother has thirddegree burns to Niccolo. I want the narrative to last. I want Niccolo to dump her to prison.” Then she turned to a nurse and added, “And Geneva’s blood? Flush it down the toilet. She’s garbage anyway.”

My chest tightened, rage creeping up my throat. But I didn’t move. I didn’t scream. I didn’t confront.

I turned. Walked back to my room. Picked up my phone and scrolled to the number the secretary gave me. I dialed.

A man answered with a composed voice. “Miss Geneva Villacruz Salvacion?”

“Yes,” I said, quietly. “I want to meet him.”

“I’ll send a car. We’ll meet in a private location. Is your daughter safe?”

“She’s not with me,” I said. “But I’ll get her. Then we leave.”

The call ended.

Two hours later, I sat across a man in his late 50s at a private café, tucked deep in a quiet village district. His eyes widened the second he saw me.

“My God…” he whispered. “They did this to you?”

My cheeks were still bruised, lips cracked, wrists marked with bruises where Niccolo’s men grabbed me.

He pushed aside the coffee and took out a tablet. Pressed a button. A video call connected.

The screen lit up. A grayhaired man in a crisp suit, eyes glassy the moment he saw me. For a few seconds, he couldn’t speak. Just stared. Then his voice broke.

“Mi hija… my daughter…” His hands trembled as they touched the screen. “What have they done to you?”

I couldn’t answer. My lips parted, but nothing came out.

“I’ve waited so long,” he said. “I looked everywhere. But your mother was good at hiding you from me, so I stopped looking. If you hadn’t bid on your mother’s old photos at the auction, I never would’ve found you.”

“I thought you were dead,” I finally whispered. “Mom never talked about you.”

He nodded, eyes glistening. “She had her reasons. But you’re safe now, Geneva. Come home. Your bloodline is mine, not theirs. You don’t belong to that cursed family.”

“I’ll come,” I said. “But first I need to get my daughter.”

He smiled softly, wiping his face. “Then go. I’ll wait.”

I ended the call and didn’t waste a second.

By nightfall, I was outside the gate of my friend’s home. Dr. Mel Reyes opened the door before I even rang. Elle rushed out barefoot, and arms wide.

“Mama!”

I caught her, held her tight. I breathed her in like oxygen.

“We’re leaving, baby,” I whispered into her hair. “Somewhere no one can ever hurt us again.”

“Okay,” she said softly. “Okay, Mama.”

I hugged my friend and thanked her for watching Elle for me. She just nodded and wished me luck.

At the airport, the lawyer was already there. Documents, passports, boarding passes, all handed in silence.

“The private jet is ready,” he said. “Your father has cleared everything. New names. New identities. No one will find you.”

I stared at the documents. Geneva Villacruz Salvacion was gone. Dead. Buried in a mansion I never wanted. I was now someone else.

“Your father has a message,” the lawyer added. “He said: ‘Every breath they took while hurting you—I will make them pay for it. Tell her, she doesn’t run anymore. The Salvacion blood is not her future. Mine is.’”

I nodded once.

Then my phone rang. Niccolo. I answered.

“Where the hell are you?” His voice was sharp, clipped. “You leave that hospital without my permission, and I’ll bury you in lawsuits. Or do you want me to grab your twins by the neck to make you crawl back to me? You hear me? Geneva, you’re mine!”

I stepped toward the glass wall, looking out over the runway.

“Fuck you, Niccolo.”

I ended the call and pulled the SIM card out. Snapped it in half with my fingers and dropped it in the trash.

Elle clung to my waist. I hugged her back. We walked toward the stairs.

“Ready?” I asked her. She nodded happily. “Let’s go meet your grandfather.”