Dominic, my husband, told me he had Family business out of town. Some urgent sit-down with the allied bosses in Naples. He kissed my forehead, rubbed my four-month belly, and promised he'd make it up to me.
"Three days, babe. I'll be back before you miss me."
I didn't plan to go to the Dusk Republic concert. But the baby loved music. So I went. Alone and didn't tell him.
I was even smiling when the camera panned across the crowd. Big screen. Full HD. Then I saw him.
Dominic Castellano… And he wasn't alone.
His arms were wrapped around someone. A woman with sleek hair and a crimson dress that clung to her like second skin.
Valentina Marchetti. His household coordinator. The same Valentina who once laughed and said, "Relax, I'm not into married men."
The screen caught them mid-laugh, her head thrown back, his lips grazing her neck.
My lungs forgot how to breathe.
Then Valentina spotted the camera. Her smile faltered. Dominic turned. The moment he recognized the lens, he grabbed her by the wrist and ducked. Out of frame. Like a criminal. Like a guilty man who knew he'd just been caught.
My hands were shaking.
No, no, no.
It's not what it looked like. It couldn't be. Maybe it's his look alike?
I stepped out of the crowd, fumbling for my phone. Dialed him. Once. No answer. Twice. Straight to voicemail. Third time, he picked up.
"Can't talk, babe. In a meeting. Important people," he said. "I'll call you later."
Click.
Meeting? I stared at the screen. The call log. The timestamp. The lie.
Tears blurred everything. Lights, faces, the stupid neon sign blinking FOREVER LOVE behind the stage.
I left. I don't even remember walking. Just the sound of my flat shoes clicking against wet pavement, the rain soaking through my dress, down to my bones. I didn't use an umbrella. I didn't care.
The betrayal kept playing in my mind.
On loop.
Dominic's arms around her. The way he held her like he once held me.
By the time I reached the compound gate, I was trembling. Drenched. Ruined.
My hand reached for the intercom when someone grabbed me from behind.
I gasped but it was too late. A black SUV screeched beside me. A door swung open. Hands, rough and gloved, pulled me inside. I kicked, I fought, but the door slammed shut and everything went black.
When I woke up… My head was pounding. My mouth tasted like rusted metal and anesthesia. Then I reached for my stomach.
Flat. Hollow.
No baby bump. No heartbeat.
Just aching emptiness.
My wrists were strapped to the cold bed rails. My thighs were sticky with blood. Dried. Crusted. Like the violence had happened hours ago.
I blinked through the blur. The room was dim, filthy. Concrete walls. No windows. Just shadows and the stench from the far corner. The kind of room every Family compound has beneath it, the kind nobody talks about.
Then I saw it.
A garbage bin. Black. Lid half open and inside… something pale. Small.
A curled limb.
A tiny hand.
No.
No, no, no.
My throat cracked from the scream. I thrashed, yanked at the restraints, sobbing until my ribs splintered. That's when the door opened.
The doctor walked in like nothing was wrong. His gloves were still on and his gown stained.
"We had to take it out," he said calmly. "Too risky to let a girl Castellano grow."
I couldn't even form words. My chest caved inward. My soul felt like it was trying to claw its way out of my body.
Then, another door swung open.
Dominic.
"FUCK!" he breathed when he saw me. "I've been trying to reach you for hours, your phone was off. I just landed from Singapore."
He rushed to me, eyes wide with practiced concern after he put a bullet in the doctor. He then cupped my face. Kissed my bloodstained forehead like we were lovers, like this was some tragedy the world had done to us.
"It's okay," he whispered. "You're safe now. I'm here. We'll get through this."
I stared at him. Then past him. At the bin.
At the child I carried for four months. The daughter who had a name. A heartbeat. A future.
And I saw it clearly.
He wasn't my rescue.
He was my executioner.
I don't know how long I was under. Days? Weeks? But when I finally stirred, groggy from morphine and grief, I heard voices outside my room.
Two men. Dominic and his right-hand man, Tomasso.
Their backs were turned. They didn't know I was awake. They didn't know I heard everything.
"You're fucking insane, Dominic," Tomasso muttered. The muscle in his jaw clenched once, hard, before he spoke again. "You were laughing at a concert with Valentina while your wife was bleeding out in a rotting room. You even paid a doctor to kill her daughter."
I froze.
My ears rang.
Dominic's voice came cold. Unshaken. "It had to be done. Valentina's pregnant now with my son. I never wanted a daughter with her in the first place. Weak. Can't carry on my name."
My vision swam. My heart cracked.
"I needed a boy," he went on. "The Castellano bloodline deserves a firstborn strong enough to catch my grandfather's eye. The old man built this Family from nothing. Made it clear: no boys, no legacy. Said any girl born first should be put down."
"You're out of your mind," Tomasso whispered. "You didn't have to sterilize her, Dominic. You didn't have to gut her future."
"I didn't need more complications," Dominic said, like he was talking about a territory dispute, not my womb. "Valentina and I… what we had was real, long before Sofia ran. I'm building my future with her, not some orphan I pitied enough to screw."
Orphan. That's what I was to him. Just another charity case. A woman he used to clean up his mess, patch his wounds, and be the wife on paper.
Tomasso's voice turned low. Careful. "What if Sofia sees the video? You and Valentina. Live concert. Cozy as hell."
Dominic laughed. "She's madly in love with me. She won't believe it. I'll tell her it's a deepfake. She's desperate to belong. Always was." Then softer, with venom: "Besides, I don't care if she saw it. She's only my wife because Grandpa likes her. Old man never forgot she saved him when he collapsed that night at the club. He wanted her in the Family. That's the only reason I married her."
My body went cold.
So that was it.
He chose Valentina. Chose a son. Chose a legacy. And I was just the necessary placeholder, good enough to wear the ring, never enough to be loved.
He killed our daughter because she didn't fit his plans.
When the door shut, I sat up like a woman possessed.
I ripped the IV out. My hands were shaking. Blood soaked through the sheets. I didn't care.
I held my stomach and cried until I couldn't cry anymore. My baby, my daughter, was gone. Erased like she never mattered.
My hand drifted to the hollow of my throat. There was nothing there. There hadn't been for years. I didn't even know why I kept reaching for it.
I picked up my burner phone and dialed a number I hadn't touched in two years.
