He Forced the Abortion. I’ll Force His Downfall

My husband brought me to the doctor to have an abortion just to calm his mistress down. He grabbed my wrist so hard I thought the bone would snap.

I barely even touch you. Who knows whose kid that is?! he snapped. And Vexanna has not replied to me in three days because of your pregnancy! Fix it.

I tried to pull back. I begged him not to do it but he shoved me when I refused and I fell from the second floor then everything went black.

When I woke up, the baby that once kicked inside me was gone. And my right leg? My leg was broken. Screws and metal. I'm a renowned famous ballet dancer but now? No more dancing. No more stage lights. Just pain.

He walked in wearing his black suit like some king of the underworld, then dropped divorce papers on my blanket.

Sign it. Vexanna is nervous about us. I need her calm. He tapped the spot where I needed to sign. Five hundred million dollars. Cash. Enough for a luxury life even with that crippled leg of yours. What do you think?.

I nodded and bitterly signed. My hand shook and he just stared at me like I offended him by agreeing.

While the divorce cools, do not let me hear you are sleeping around, or elseHe slammed the door so hard the walls shook.

Stefano, the great mafia heir.

Stefano, the man who swore to protect me.

Stefano, who traded our child for three unread messages from another woman.

After he left, I heard him outside speaking low to the doctor. That cold mafia voice everyone feared.

When the anesthesia is gone, do not give her anything for the pain. Understood? Let her feel the fucking pain.She needs to learn.

My tears fell down freely and curled up on the bed like a corpse. My hands touched my stomach. It was still soft, still warm, but empty. That little life inside of me was gone because its father thought grief would make his mistress answer her phone.

Five years of marriage.

Three years before that of holding his hand and believing him when he promised forever What happened now?

The nurse came in later to change my dressings.

She froze when she saw my tears.

It is time, Mrs. Worthington.

I am not Mrs. Worthington anymore, I said. My voice sounded like it belonged to someone dying.

She looked away and began unwrapping the gauze. My leg looked like something out of a war. Bent. Sewn. Ruined. I remembered shielding my belly as I fell, but it did not matter in the end.

The pain crawled back up my bones. It hurts Can I have painkillers? I whispered.

She looked terrified. He told us no. He said you should feel everything.

So I lay there, shaking, swallowing sobs, realizing the truth:

He did not punish me because he thought I cheated. He punished me because he wanted to please Vexanna. Because she pouted and ignored his messages.

Our child died as an apology gift.

I stared at the ceiling, feeling the weight of it.

He was the mafia boss everyone feared. But I was the only one he destroyed slowly, quietly, on purpose.

On the second day in the hospital, Stefano sent one of his men to pick me up. No greeting. No visit. Just a driver in a black suit who did not speak a word.

He took me straight back to the Worthington estate that used to feel like home. Now it felt like a prison with marble floors.

A text came in before I even got out of the car.

During the cooling off period, you stay in the villa. Do not fucking step outside, woman, Stefano wrote.

I did not reply.

He sent two more messages immediately.

Floryn, I am warning you. If you dare talk to another man, I will deal with you myself.

Do not think of leaving this place.

I answered with a single dot. Nothing more was needed.

I dragged myself up the stairs on crutches. Every step felt like knives carving into my leg. I once danced on world stages. Now I could barely climb my own staircase.

At the top, Mrs. Coleslaw stopped me. This bedroom belongs to Mr. Worthington and Miss Vexanna now, she muttered. Your room is that storage space at the end.

She pointed. I stared. I just nodded.

This house was mine. I chose the curtains. The roses in the garden. The color of the tiles. Now his mistress sleeps in our bed while I get shoved into a room that smells of bleach and cardboard.

Alright. I understand, I said quietly.

That night, in that cramped closet space, I could not sleep. My leg throbbed so badly I thought I might scream. Then my phone buzzed.

A photo from Vexanna.

She was curled against Stefano in our bed, her fingers in a victory sign, wearing the necklace he once clasped around my neck. My lip bled where I bit it. She knew exactly how to hit where it hurt.

Morning came with shouting downstairs. I hobbled out, holding the railing.

Vexanna stood in the living room wearing my silk nightgown, ordering the staff like she owned every wall and tile.

This vase is ugly. Throw it out, she said, tossing away something from our honeymoon like trash.

That belongs to Ms. Stewart, Mrs. Coleslaw whispered.

It belongs to Stefano. Which means it is mine! You hear me old hag?! Vexanna snapped.

She looked up, saw me, then raised her voice.

Right, Stefano?

Stefano sat on the sofa, one leg crossed, cold eyes taking everything in like a ruler watching peasants.Do whatever she wants, he said lazily.

His gaze slid to me for half a second. Something flickered. Then nothing but ice.

Come eat, he added. As if I was a stray he threw scraps too.

I made my way down the staircase. Vexanna rushed to me with fake sweetness, then slammed her hip into my bad leg. Pain exploded so bright my sight blurred.

Oh no, I did not see you! she whispered, then leaned close to my ear. You broken little thing. You stay here and I will bury you.

Stefano watched it. All of it. But his response?

His response was a tired frown. Be careful.

At breakfast she sat in my chair feeding him fruit like some plaything came to life. I chewed what was on my plate without tasting it.

Ms. Stewart, she said loudly, I heard you used to dance ballet? Shame you will only dance with clutches from now on.

I set down my chopsticks and looked right at her.

Ms. Peters, do you know why Stefano never brings you to real dinners?

Her painted smile cracked.

Because he is embarrassed by you, I said quietly. Just like right now.

Before the last word even settled, Stefano stood and his hand connected with my face.

The world rang.

His voice was low and lethal.

Enough!

The slap snapped my head to the side. My cheek burned, but it was nothing compared to the tearing emptiness in my chest. This was the same man who once held me like I was breakable. Now he broke me with no hesitation.

Floryn, stop pretending. I know exactly what you want!

My voice shook. What am I trying to get? A man who shoved his pregnant wife down the stairs? A killer I stupidly loved?

I am not crawling back to you, Stefano. I am done being pathetic. I wanted to shout that.

His jaw tightened. He pulled Vexanna close and nodded toward the door. We are leaving.

They walked out together. And me, I crawled back to the storage room that used to be a closet and cried until I could not breathe. No screams. No sobs. Just quiet shaking, like a ghost grieving itself.

Three days passed. Every attempt I made to step outside the villa, Stefanos voice came through my phone like a sentence.

You are not leaving. You will stay in the cooling off period without stepping outside. Try it and I will handle you myself.

I curled up on the narrow bed when my phone rang.

Ms. Stewart, a woman said. This is Horizon Hospital. Your parents were caught in a residential fire. Both sustained critical burns and need immediate surgical intervention. You must come and sign the consent forms now.

My blood froze. I could barely breathe.

I I will go right away.

Except I was locked inside a villa like a captive wife of a mafia boss who lost everything that made him human.

I forced myself downstairs on crutches, pain cutting through my bones.

Stefano and Vexanna were curled together on the sofa watching a movie like a radiant couple who didnt have ash and blood caked beneath their fingernails.

He looked up. His expression dropped.

Who said you could leave your room?

My parents are in emergency surgery! I cried. They might not survive. I have to sign the papers. Please let me go.

Vexanna snorted. What a dramatic coincidence. After precisely three days of silence, they suddenly burst into flames?

Stefanos eyes hardened into stone. Floryn, do you truly think this lie will save you?

I am not lying, I shouted, reaching for his phone. Call the hospital. Ask them. Horizon Burn Unit, emergency desk, the number is

He snatched it before my fingers touched it. Enough! I will not fall for your little theatre.

I dropped to my knees because there was nothing left to lose. My vision blurred. For our five years. Let me go, please! If Im lying, you can do anything you want to me when I come back. I swear.

Vexannas smile unfurled, slow and venomous.

Stefano, if she wants to go play rescuer so badly, we should enjoy the show.

She whispered into his ear. I watched his jaw tighten, then the smirk bloom.

She is right, he said. If you want to leave, get on your knees and beg her. Make her happy. Then I will think about it.

My hands shook so violently the crutches slipped.

The same man who once walked me home in the rain, who waited after every rehearsal just to carry my bag, now stared while I collapsed before another woman.

Hurry, Vexanna sang, crossing her legs. If you take too long, your parents might be charcoal by now.

She dragged a finger across her throat and laughed. I lowered myself until my forehead touched the cold marble.

Please, I whispered. Let me see them.

I did not hear you, she chimed. Louder.

Please, I gasped. I am begging you! Let me go.

My injured leg screamed beneath me. My pride lay scattered like broken glass.

Vexanna clapped, delighted. Look at her, Stef. She kneels perfectly. A trained pet.

Stefano didnt smile. His voice, when it emerged, was colder than extinguished embers.

To escape me, you kneel for someone else. Fascinating.

He stepped forward, eyes as empty as scorched houses at dawn. You fucking want out this badly? Who is waiting for you? Another fucking damn man? Huh?

I stared at him, my voice shaking. Stefano, those are my parents!

They raised me with my brother. They gave up everything just to make sure I and my brother had a chance in life. The only time I ever went against them was when I chose him. That's my biggest mistake I ever did.

For a brief moment, something in his eyes softened, then his phone rang.

He answered, annoyed. What the fuck now? His face changed. He glanced at me, slower this time. Fine. Im coming.

He hung up and looked at Vexanna. Its real.

She rolled her eyes. What a mood killer. Hmp!

I stood up, grabbing my crutch. So I can leave now.

He yanked it from my hand without warning. Im driving you. No one else touches you. He said it like a threat, not care.

By the time we reached the hospital, I could not even cry anymore. The halls smelled of disinfectant and endings.

The emergency room is that way, a nurse said.

I limped toward it, heart pounding, and stopped dead.

A gurney. White sheet. Still.

No. No, please! I grabbed the doctors sleeve. Where are they? Where are my parents?

Please, tell me ..

He removed his mask, and pity flooded his face. Im sorry. They did not make it. They called your name until the very last moment.

My body dropped on its own. I kneeled on the cold floor and lifted the sheet with shaking hands.

Their faces were pale. Quiet. Too quiet.

Mom Dad, I whispered, touching their cold skin. Im sorry. I came too late. Im sorry.

What were their last words? I asked.

The doctor hesitated. They were fading in and out. They kept saying Floryn, leave your husband.

Stefano snapped. Dont spout that fucking nonsense from a dying person! Show some fucking respect.

The doctor flinched, confused by his rage, but I was already somewhere else, drowning under the truth.

When we returned to the villa, I walked through it like a soul that never made it to heaven.

My parents were gone and now nothing Vexanna did could break me any further. My pain was already complete.

For the funeral, Stefano let me go, but placed four guards around me like I was a criminal. Rain soaked through my clothes as I knelt in front of their grave. My brother Clint was't even there. The guards waited behind me, bored and cold.

Times up, one of them said.

I touched their names on the stone. Mom Dad, I will leave. I promise.

Back at the villa, my silence seemed to infect him. Stefano started flaunting his mistress harder. Ordering me to pour them wine, clean their shoes, kneel and scrub floors.

Vexanna smiled like a spoiled cat. She pressed her heel into my fingers. Look at you. The great ballerina. Now a crawling mutt.

I felt nothing. Pain was just air now. Anger settled in my bones like iron.

That night, the screaming hit like a siren straight from hell, and it wasnt pain nor fear. It was a craft. It was a curtain rise.

Vexanna sat crumpled outside my door, mascara bleeding down her cheeks like deliberate ink strokes and her white slip torn exactly at the places that would scandalize without crossing into indecency. Thin red lines streaked her arms and neck, the kind shallow enough not to sting yet dramatic enough to photograph. She raised her eyes to me, wide and wet, not with grief but with calculation polished over mirror rehearsals.

Why are you doing this to me?!

She was breathless but not weak, and she waited with the poise of someone who knew her next cue. Stefano rushed out from the far end of the corridor, his steps frantic as he fell to his knees beside her. His hands hovered over her like she was some fragile relic instead of a creature who sharpened her narrative like a blade.

What happened? Who touched you?

Vexanna grasped his wrist, trembling in perfect tempo.

She your ex-wife she attacked me.

She pointed at me not with fear but with precision,

I only tried to speak to her. I only wanted to help her cope after everything shes lost because of me. I know she blames me for her baby. And her parents. I know she resents you for choosing me. I just I just wanted to be kind.

The sob that followed was so polished it deserved lighting crew and applause. Stefano turned to me, fury already locked and loaded.

What did you fucking do?!

I met his stare, steady and tired.

Nothing.

Vexanna thrust herself into another sob, She cornered me in the hallway. She grabbed me. She said if you didnt return to her, shed finish what the fall started. I tried to run but she

The note she hit was agony wrapped in silk, and Stefanos gaze settled into finality, not sharp but sealed.

You lost your child. You lost your family. Your ability to dance and yes, I understand your pain. But I wont let you harm her.

I laughed, soft and hollow, too dry to be hysteria yet too real to be denied.

You actually believe that.

He stepped closer, his breath carrying cold and regret in equal measure.

She tries to make peace while you hold onto bitterness. This is what youve become.

My palm met his cheek in a quiet strike and his head snapped to the side.

SLAP!

He looked at me not with rage but with the ache of someone who wanted to remember when love was easier than clarity.

You used to be gentle.

And you used to be loyal.

Before he could answer, Vexanna gasped louder than necessary, Stef Im scared dont leave me. She hates our baby. She wants me gone.

That was all he needed. He gathered her into his arms and strode past me, issuing orders like vows.

Get the car. Now.

The guards followed without hesitation.

---

The hospital air tasted like disinfectant and quiet disaster. I was dragged into the private wing, and guards gripping my arms while Vexanna lay in the bed. IV threaded into her arm, skin pale in that delicate way actresses wear during award season. Stefano ignored me until I was placed in front of him, and when he finally spoke, there was nothing soft left in his voice.

Kneel.

I blinked, more from disbelief than defiance.

What?

He pointed to the floor. Coarse salt waited there, grains thick enough to bruise, arranged deliberately.

You assaulted my Vexanna. You will stay on your knees and think about the woman you have become.

He leaned close, his voice a storm sealed behind teeth.

And when she wakes up, you will apologize. For everything. The jealousy. The cruelty.

I didnt move, and I didnt breathe, yet I didnt resist either. The room held its judgment like a sealed ritual and I walked to the center of the salted floor, kneeling without a word.

Pain arrived with precision. Salt didnt simply sting, it burrowed and burned, and every grain felt engineered to remind me that humiliation was the point, not correction. Skin cracked open on contact, slow and quiet, creating tiny bleeding constellations across my knees.

The first hour turned warm and wet as blood surfaced. The second slid into numbness that wasnt mercy but shock. By the third, I felt my body hollow into a vacant house, and they kept swinging at the beams to see what collapse looked like.

I stayed still and silent because stillness was the last thing they expected me to own.

Then she woke up.

Not groggy, not disoriented. Vexanna lifted her lashes.

Stef

He was at her side before the sound finished leaving her mouth. I remained on the salt, bleeding into white tile.

Her gaze drifted, searching, then stopped on me with a perfect measure of pity.

Baby why is she on the floor?

Stefano didnt soften, at least not in my direction.

She needs to understand what shes done. She cant keep hurting you.

Vexanna turned her face just enough to appear fragile without appearing weak. "I only wanted to help her grieve. She lost her baby, and I know she resents me because of everything because of the decision you made. But I never wanted her pain. I only wanted to talk. I only wanted peace.

She took his hand with trembling fingers, and her eyes watered like she was afraid compassion might drown her.

She threatened me, Stef. She said I ruined her life. She blamed me for her parents. For her useless leg but I swear... I never touched her."

She sniffed delicately, then added the final stroke.

Please dont make her kneel because of me. Shes hurting enough.

Stefanos features eased, not toward me, never toward me, but toward her performance wrapped in tragedy silk.

I laughed.

You almost convinced me you believed that.

Vexanna blinked, feigning confusion. What do you mean?

I lifted my head, Youre not comforting anyone. Youre rewriting. You threatened to end your life unless he left me, unless he made me erase a child he didnt want because you wanted his world without my shadow. Now you need him to believe Im the danger.

Stefanos shoulders tensed. Vexannas throat caught on its own script. Floryn I never meant to

You meant everything, I said calmly. You wanted his ring. My home. My perfume on his collars. My seat beside him. You didnt take a man, you took a life and wore it.

Stefano stepped forward, voice sharp. Enough!

No, I said, rising without asking my legs if they still belonged to me. Salt clung to torn skin and blood slid in quiet lines down my shins, yet I didnt tremble.

I bled for you. I lost a child because it was easier for you to protect her comfort than my existence. My parents begged you to let me go and you turned their pleas into ashes. And now you kneel me on salt while she plays saint, while she paints me unhinged because she cares?

Silence thickened until breathing felt intrusive. I faced him fully, the man who called destruction devotion and named control love.

Youre not punishing me, I said, voice low. Youre punishing yourself every time I stand back up. You hate that I survived you.

Stefanos jaw locked and Vexannas breath faltered, and in the stillness they finally saw what they built. Not ruin. Not a ghost.

By the time I got back from the hospital, blood had already seeped through the gauze on my knees.

Stefano followed, quiet and composed, as if the last twelve hours hadnt happened.

He placed a cup beside me, Drink a little... Its ginger. You always said it settled your stomach. I just want you to rest.

I didnt answer.

I need air, I said quietly.

He flinched. Not visibly. But I saw the tiny betrayal flicker in his jaw.

Floryn, he tried, softer now, I know today was

You dont get to narrate my pain, I cut in. Not after you ordered it.

Before he could reply, the upstairs intercom crackled alive. Vexannas voice burst through perfectly pitched panic.

Stefano, pleasecome up. I cant move my arm. I think somethings wrong. Im scared.

Stay in the house, He was halfway to the stairs before he even looked at me, "Ill be back.

He turned, taking the steps like salvation waited at the top. I didnt bother replying. The door clicked behind me before his footsteps reached the landing.

No running. No slamming. No theatrics. Just leaving. Because after kneeling, bleeding, and losing a child by his decree, I finally understood something fundamental:

He didnt want a wife.

He wanted an audience.

And tonight, I chose not to sit in his theater anymore.

My hands wouldnt stop shaking as I typed. Clint, my brother, was the only name that ever meant safety, even when he swore he was done with me. Bureau men quit nothingnot blood, not loyalty, not vengeance.

Me: I need out brother. Not just leaving. I want him to think Im gone. For good.

The phone rang before I could breathe.

Floryn. Clints voice was controlled steel. You swore youd die for him. You cut us out for him. You threw your entire life at his feet. And now youre calling me? After our parents death? Wow.

I swallowed. He made me end my pregnancy, I said, He pushed me when I cried. He already signed the divorce yet still keeps me on a leash. I dont want freedom... I want absence. I want him to lose me the way I lost my child.

Silence.

Then Clints tone shifted. Details, he said. Location. Timeline. Ill handle the rest.

I know you resent me, I whispered. I know I chose him over everyone. I just I need to disappear before he decides how I will die.

Another beat of quiet. Then the man who interrogated terrorists and erased identities spoke with finality.

Tomorrow at dawn. You vanish. Records, files, tracesgone. Youll be a shadow with a new pulse. And Floryn

Yes?

This isnt mercy for you. This is punishment for him. He wanted you erased.. now he gets to live with the version he never finds.

Then the call ended.

The next morning

The taxi waited at the curb. Not luxury. Not attention seeking. Just a quiet black sedan with tinted windows and a driver who nodded once when I opened the door.

I managed to get out from the house.

I slid into the backseat. My knees burned beneath the bandages but I kept my face still.

Ms Worthington, the driver said.

Yes.

Good. Everything is cleared. Clint locked all signals within ten kilometers. Once we reach Marker seventeen, the operation starts.

I rested my head against the cool glass. The city slipped away behind us like a memory that had already decided to forget me.

The mountain road was steep, filled with thick trees and air that tasted like metal. Halfway up, the driver spoke again.

We already placed the substitute. Female body. Same height. Correct proportions. The medical tags were prepared weeks ago. His voice remained calm, professional. There will be an explosion. Not accidental. Not suspicious. Just tragic.

I listened without reacting.

Your clothes are duplicated, he continued. Your signature perfume has been applied to the bodys collar. Your clutches. The watch you always wore is beside her. Dent visible. Name engraved. Enough for confirmation. Enough for tears.

Clint planned it well, I said quietly.

He did. He said you do not need comfort. Only closure.

He looked at me in the mirror. Not pity. Not judgment. Just accuracy.

You died long before today, Ms Worthington.

He was right. I stopped breathing when Stefano told me to get rid of my child. I stopped hoping when he pushed me down the stairs. Everything that came after was just noise.

The trees thickened. Marker seventeen appeared in faded yellow paint.

Now, he said.

He turned the wheel, smooth and controlled, toward a narrow dirt cut in the cliff. The second car waited behind the brush. Same model. Same plates. Same dust on the windshield.

I stepped out. The air smelled of pine and gasoline.

You know the script, the driver said.

I nodded. Make it believable.

It already is.

He guided me to the second car, where silence felt clean for the first time in months. He spoke without ceremony.

This is where you leave the version of you that begged.

And the one that loved, I added.

He shut the door. The first sedan rolled back onto the main road, accelerating hard.

I watched from the tree line. One minute passed. Then two. Then the world split open.

A blast ripped through the mountain curve. Fire climbed into the sky. Heat rolled across the earth like a hot tide. Metal screamed. Tires flew. The shepherd down the lower ridge shouted for help into an old radio.

My watch. My bag. My clutches. My identification. All discovered in the wreckage.

Name visible.

Floryn Worthington.

The scream of sirens began in the valley.

Not for rescue.

For remains.

I leaned back against a tree, knees aching, lungs steady. For the first time since Stefano, since the salt, since the forced abortion and the second life he built with Vexanna, I did not feel hunted. I felt gone.

Not lost.

Erased.

STEFANOS POV

My phone rang just as I was stirring honey into Vexannas tea.

I didnt bother checking the caller.

What.

The voice on the other end shook like hed swallowed glass.

Sir its Ms Floryn. She a breath, there was a crash. Eastern mountain road. The car exploded on impact. The bodys been retrieved. Identification matches her. Watch matches too.

My pulse stopped. What the hell are you talking about?

Silence. Then the voice cracked.

Its already on national feeds. Witnesses recorded the fire. Theyve confirmed its Mrs Worthington.

I stared at the wall. Blank. Thoughtless. Then heat ripped up my spine.

Dont feed me that bullshit! I snarled. Shes fucking fine.

Sir its everywhere, he whispered. News crews are already at the site.

Before I could answer, Vexannas voice cut through the roomsoft, trembling, practiced.

Stef, my chest its tight again. Can you come here, please?

I hung up. No goodbyes. No orders.

I went to her. Like I always did.

Kneeling beside her, adjusting her blanket, smoothing her hair like she wasnt the reason Floryns eyes stopped shining months ago.

Youre okay, I said softly. You just need to rest.

She clutched my wrist, shaking delicately. Dont leave me when I feel like this. It scares me.

Im right here, I murmured, kissing her knuckles.

I pretended the room was quiet again. Normal. Safe. But then the door slammed open. My mother stumbled in, pale and shaking, phone clutched like a death notice.

Shes gone! she gasped. Floryn. The car, she burned to death on the ridge. Theyre broadcasting it livelook!

She shoved the phone against my chest.

On-screen:

mountain curve, flames devouring metal, medics pulling what was left of a womancharred, unrecognizable but branded by what she carried.

Then the anchors voice:

Confirming: Floryn Worthington, legal wife of Stefano Worthington, perished in a fatal explosion today. Sources say the remains and personal items match

I didnt hear the rest. The phone slid from my fingers and hit the floor.

I walked out of the study and didnt slow down.

Prepare the convoy, I said, voice flat. Full response unit. Medics. Extraction. Everything.

A hesitation over the comm. Sir Vexanna

She can breathe without me, I cut in. Move, now!"

No one argued again.

---

The crash site was still a furnace disguising itself as a grave. Smoke curled through the trees, heavy and slow, like it wanted to witness the ruin it helped build.

The fire crews stepped aside when they saw me.

Reporters were held back by my men; drones forced down; helicopters rerouted. No one got close.

I crossed the blackened rail, boots crunching over glass and ash. The lead medic approached, careful not to meet my eyes.

We recovered what we could, he said quietly.

He held out a sealed tray.

I took it.

Her watch. Still clasped. Still engraved. Still hers and a wallet half burned, but the letters of her name survived more than she ever did.

For a long moment, there was no sound except the hiss of dying flame.

Then my knees hit the dirt when the zipper of the body bag rasped shut behind me.

No. No. No!

Someone touched my shoulder.

Sir, my guard said softly. Weve secured the scene. Its time.

No.

The press is building at the south barricade

I said no.

I stood, took the watch barehanded. It burned through my skin. I didnt loosen my grip.

Scrub my schedule, I ordered. Tell Vexanna not to call. Not today. Not tonight. Not until I say.

And if she asks why?

I looked at the wreckage, the fire, the unmade life.

Tell her I finally learned what loyalty costs. And Im not interested in her discount version.

---

When I returned to the estate, the silence felt rehearsed. The staff bowed their heads and the guards looked anywhere but my face.

Vexanna appeared at the top of the stairs, silk robe tied soft, voice gentled like she thought she still mattered.

Stef, lovewhy didnt you answer? I was panicking, you know I cant breathe right when I get anxious

I passed her without pause.

No word.

No glance.

Her perfume clung to the air like a plea.

Stefano? she said again, smaller. Talk to me.

I reached the door at the end of the corridor. Her room. Not Vexannas. The one that held soft florals instead of staged sweetness.

I opened it.

Quiet. Still. Nothing left of her but memoryand that was louder than any scream Vexanna could fake.

I stepped inside and shut the door.

The air still held her.

Jasmine. Soft. Quiet. The kind that lingered long after a door closed.

Her throw blanket was still draped over the armchair the way she left itfolded clean, but not stiff. Warm, like she could walk back into the room any second. Her vanity spotless. Brushes lined like soldiers. Perfume bottles aligned by height. No lipstick caps left open. No chaos.

Just her.

I sat on the edge of the bed. My hand found her pillow without thinking and I pulled it to my chest like a lifeline. I pressed my face against it.

Her hair. Her warmth. Her softness.

Memories hit, vicious and uninvited.

Her laugh when she burned pancakes. The way shed kiss me half-asleep. That low voice she used when she wanted to tell me she loved me without actually saying the words.

And then the one I tried hardest to forget:

Feel that? Hes kicking. He knows his father.

My hand on her belly. Her eyes were glowing and I destroyed it. I let her fall down the stairs. I let her bleed. I let her shatter. Because Vexanna cried louder and hated her.

---

The funeral felt like walking underwater.

Reporters flashed cameras like lightning. My security cleared a path. People whispered as I passed like grief was a scandal.

My tie was crooked. My suit wrinkled. I hadnt slept, shaved, eaten. The world moved, but I stayed still.

The chapel was overflowingpoliticians, business partners, old allies, snakes dressed as mourners.

And then she arrived.

Vexanna.

White lace. Soft curls. A veil like some holy widow.

She reached for me with trembling fingers.

Stef I cant believe shes gone.

I didnt even slow. I brushed past her like she was furniture.

I sat in the front pew alone.

The steel casket stood inches away... heavy, cold, closed. Her name was engraved in gold.

The priest tried to make his voice soft. Gentle. Comforting.

She rests in peace now.

Lies. She didnt rest.

My hands pressed flat on my thighs, nails digging skin, forcing myself not to tremble. The whispers slithered through the pews, shameless, sharp.

Hes grieving like a widower.

Floryn was his wife, not just some society ornament.

He loved her. Anyone with eyes knows that.

Vexanna looks like she belongs on a red carpet, not at a funeral.

One voice behind me cut deeper than all the rest.

Funny, isnt it? He let the mistress stand while the wife burned.

My jaw locked so hard I thought bone might crack. I deserved every word. Every poisoned glance. Every quiet accusation nobody needed to speak louder.

When they said my name, I rose. It didnt feel like standing. It felt like dragging a corpse to its feet. The aisle stretched in front of me like punishment. The coffin gleamed at the end, steel and sealed, because there wasnt enough left to display.

I reached the podium.

I looked at her.

She was Floryn was light.

My voice came out harder than I meant it to, like it didnt want to break.

She could quiet a storm without lifting a hand. She could love without condition. She didnt bend. She didnt beg. Not even when I deserved begging from her.

I swallowed. The words stuck like glass.

She died believing she wasnt enough. Believing she was second to a woman who will never be her equal. She died thinking I didnt choose her.

The chapel tightened around me, every breath turned heavy.

And I will live with that.

Weeks slid by like I wasnt living inside them. Id wake up, sit, breathe, exist. That was it. No appetite. No sleep. No rhythm. Just a body moving around a house too big and too quiet, pretending it wasnt rotting from the inside.

Everyone learned to stop asking how I was. If they pushed, I grunted. If they talked, I nodded. Otherwise, I stayed silent, drifting from hallway to hallway like Id died the same day she did.

At night, I always ended up in the study. The room nobody touched. The room she used most. Vexanna refused to enter it, which made it perfect. She couldnt stand the dust, the chilled floor, the memories. She couldnt stand anything that reminded her she was never the wife. Never the center.

I cleared that room myself. Took everything down. Wiped every surface. I spread a silk cloth across the table and started setting her world back piece by piece.

Photos first.

Floryn wearing my jacket, smirking like she owned the whole damn city.

Floryn on the beach, barefoot, gold in her hair, ocean behind her like a crown.

Floryn holding her stomach, one month pregnant, eyes bright, hopeful, stupidly happy to build a future with me.

I placed her hairbrush beside them. A strand of her hair still caught in the bristles. Soft. Familiar.

Then I opened the folder.