The next morning, the basement door creaked open, letting in a thin sliver of light that stung my eyes. Sofia was trembling against my chest, her lips cracked, her skin ghostly pale. I was barely awake myself, running only on the primal urge to keep her breathing, to keep her safe.
Two guards stood at the doorway, expressionless as statues. One of them spoke flatly, his voice stripped of anything human.
“The boss says next time, you won’t walk out of here on your own legs.”
I didn’t respond. I simply clutched Sofia tighter, whispering soft encouragements as we climbed the stairs—one agonizing step after another. Every part of my body felt heavy and hollow. My throat burned with thirst, my head throbbed, and my pride had already turned to dust. But Sofia was still alive. That was enough.
When we reached our room, I wrapped her in every blanket I could find, pulling her close as I wept silently. My tears soaked her hair.
“I’m sorry,” I kept whispering. “I’m so sorry, my love. Mama’s so sorry…”
Her small eyes looked up at me—dull, weary, but fierce in their quiet courage. I kissed her forehead and murmured against her skin, “We’ll make it through this. I promise. Just hold on for a few more days, okay?”
She gave the faintest nod. And that broke me all over again.
By late afternoon, I made the hardest choice I’d ever faced. I arranged for Sofia to stay with Dr. Mel Reyes, an old friend from my university days—one of the last people I still trusted. Mel lived outside city limits, in a quiet, secure house with her own children. She had warmth, safety, and peace—all the things Sofia deserved.
At first, Sofia refused to leave me. She clung to me, tears streaming down her cheeks. I promised her it was only for a short time, that I would come for her soon. When she finally nodded and hugged me goodbye, it felt like she took my soul with her.
That evening, Marco summoned me. Taylor arrived with a package: a gown of blood-red velvet, open-backed with diamond straps that glittered like mockery. Inside the box was a note written in Marco’s sharp, cold handwriting:
“Auction. Mafia-only. Don’t embarrass me.”
No apology. No explanation for locking his daughter and me in a basement. Just another order. So I went.
The event was held on the top floor of one of his hotels—forty stories high, wrapped in gold and guarded by thirty armed men in black. Every person inside reeked of power and corruption, their wealth dripping with sin. I entered the ballroom carrying his name like a collar around my neck.
Then I saw her.
Natalia. Draped in designer silk, her curls falling perfectly over her shoulders, her lips painted the softest red. She wore confidence like perfume and around her neck—my necklace. The same one Marco had once bought for me, swearing it would be Sofia’s heirloom one day. She wore it as if she owned my place in his life.
I froze just beyond the doorway. Marco stood beside her, sharp in a black suit, hands in his pockets. When he noticed me, that familiar, cruel smirk curved his lips.
“She’s here too?” I said, keeping my voice even. “Then tell me—why am I here?”
He shrugged, tone lazy and dismissive. “Didn’t plan to bring her. But she insisted. Begged me, actually. What was I supposed to do? Say no?”
He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping low enough for only me to hear. “Don’t be dramatic, Isabella. This isn’t the time for your games.”
My hands curled into fists so tight my nails dug into my palms. Games? I was standing in a den of murderers and traffickers while my husband flaunted his mistress beside him like a prize—and I was the one playing games?
Natalia gave a gentle, knowing laugh, linking her arm through his as though she’d always belonged there. Whispered voices rippled across the room.
“Isn’t that Marco’s wife?”
“Yeah, but that’s the mistress beside him. They say he treats her like a queen. Poor wife doesn’t even share his bed anymore.”
A man turned toward me awkwardly. “Sorry, I thought she was Mrs. Cortez. She’s wearing the diamonds, after all.”
I didn’t flinch. I just walked to my seat, back straight, face blank, absorbing every word, every whisper.
The auction began soon after. I bid occasionally—on antiques, rare art, nothing extravagant. But each time I raised my paddle, Natalia lifted hers a second later, raising my bid by a single dollar. Over and over.
The audience began to laugh softly. “Never seen a mistress taunt a wife in public before.”
I didn’t even blink.
When the next item appeared, I lifted my paddle again. “Open bid,” I said clearly. The room went still. Natalia’s confident smirk faltered.
She turned to Marco, voice small and trembling. “Marco… I really want that one.”
He sighed, irritation flickering across his face. “Isabella,” he warned through gritted teeth, “just let her have it.”
I turned my head slightly, meeting his gaze. “She can’t open-bid,” I replied evenly. “Only I can. Because I’m your wife. Our assets are shared.” Then I looked directly at Natalia. “No matter how much he gives you, sweetheart, you’ll never be me.”
Her cheeks flushed with rage. She shot up from her chair, covering her face with her hands. “I get it,” she sobbed theatrically. “You’re the wife. I’m nothing but a secret. I shouldn’t have come. I just wanted to feel… loved.” Then she turned and ran from the room, all trembling fragility and crocodile tears.
Marco’s face darkened. He grabbed my wrist so hard I felt a sharp crack of pain.
“You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” he hissed. “I told you this thing with her would fade, but you had to provoke her.”
I pulled free, forcing my voice to stay level. “Her tantrum isn’t my concern.”
His jaw tightened. Storms brewed behind his eyes. Then, without another word, he turned and followed her out, leaving me alone in a room thick with whispers and thinly veiled laughter.
---
The shrill buzz of my phone tore me from uneasy sleep hours later. My vision blurred as I grabbed it, the screen glowing with a breaking news alert in bold letters:
BREAKING: ‘299 PRIVATE PHOTOS OF Cortez CEO’S MOTHER-IN-LAW TO BE AUCTIONED TONIGHT!’
My body froze. My chest constricted, my fingers went numb. For a moment, I forgot how to breathe. Only one word echoed in my mind—Mom.
Hands trembling, I dialed Marco’s number. It rang twice before his voice answered—cool, bored, unbothered.
“Already up?” he drawled. “Didn’t expect you to see it so soon.”
I could barely speak. “Did you do this?” My voice cracked. “Those photos—they’re of my mother.”
He laughed softly, the sound like venom sliding from his tongue.
“You enjoyed the last auction, didn’t you?” he taunted. “Thought I’d give you something with sentimental value this time.”
I felt the floor tilt beneath me. “Those photos were taken decades ago,” I choked out. “She was working at a club before she got pregnant with me. She quit, started over, worked herself to death just to raise me!”
He cut in, voice sharp and emotionless. “And now she’s gone. She won’t care. Besides, people pay good money for vintage.”
Then another voice entered the line—soft, syrupy, poisonous.
Natalia.
