Downstairs finally fell silent.
I leaned against the wall as I descended, my legs so weak they could barely hold me.
“Omar?” Ira’s voice rang out from behind.
I flinched violently and nearly lost my balance.
She reached out to steady me, her hands resting lightly on my shoulders. “Why are you shaking like this?”
I forced a smile, biting my lip. “Maybe it’s the wind… it’s a bit cold.”
But when her fingers touched me, my body stiffened as if struck by ice.
Back inside the villa, I curled under the covers, trembling. Images of my father lying in a pool of blood and my brother’s lifeless body in a hospital bed played endlessly in my mind.
And worse—her voice echoed again: “Make Omar infertile.”
She didn’t just want to destroy my family—she wanted to erase our bloodline.
A horrifying thought surged into my mind. The "vitamins" she had made me take for years… could they have been—
I bolted upright, heart pounding, and grabbed my car keys. I didn’t even stop to put on shoes. I had to get to a hospital. I had to know the truth now.
But the moment I threw the door open—
Blinding headlights.
I froze.
A car was racing toward me.
BANG.
A searing pain tore through me before everything went dark.
In that final moment, I thought I saw her—Ira—standing at the second-floor window, staring down, expressionless.
---
I woke up in a hospital room. The sterile air, the sharp scent of antiseptic.
Ira was by my side, holding my hand, her eyes red with worry.
“Omar,” she said softly, “you were hit by a car… The vas deferens was severely damaged. The doctors… they had no choice. You’ve been sterilized.”
I stared at her, numb. Her face blurred as nausea surged up inside me.
The monitor beside me shrieked as my heart rate spiked. Darkness swallowed me once again.
---
In that darkness, I dreamed.
I was back at the university dance. The spotlight lit up Ira’s face as she walked toward me, radiant, eyes full of stars.
Back then, she was pure. Earnest. She’d wait all night outside my dorm just to hand me breakfast. She’d worked three months in secret just to buy me a pair of limited-edition sneakers.
When my father found out we were dating, he was furious.
“She’s a wild girl from the slums! You’ll ruin your life marrying her!”
I knelt on the cold floor of his study. “Dad, she’s different. She earns scholarships every year. She’s better than any pampered heiress.”
He finally relented, tears brimming in his eyes.
On the day we got our marriage certificate, her hands trembled as she held it. “Omar, I’ll make you the happiest man in the world.”
But marriage changed her.
She became unpredictable—sometimes tender, sometimes cold and cruel. I walked on a tightrope every day, never knowing which version of her I’d face.
When I got the chance to teach abroad, I took it. It felt less like an opportunity and more like an escape.
---
Now I was trapped again—this time in a deeper darkness.
Her voice floated in and out.
“Why hasn’t he woken up yet?” she asked, anxious. Desperate. Almost like the girl she used to be.
A tear slipped from the corner of my eye.
Someone wiped it away.
Then another voice: “Miss Ira, why are you doing this? After all… he’s your husband!”
Her voice turned cold.
“This is what the Moyer family owes me.”
“When Jacob Moyer demolished our village, my parents resisted. They were beaten to death in front of me. I was twelve. Hiding in a closet. Listening to their screams.
No one paid. No one cared. I spent the rest of my childhood being passed between homes like garbage.”
“But, sir—he’s innocent—”
“I said this is the best outcome!” she snapped. “The Moyer bloodline is dirty. I will not let it survive. I will wipe it off the face of Toronto.”
My chest ached. My fingers curled tightly beneath the blanket.
I couldn’t lie still anymore.
Slowly, painfully, I forced my eyes open.
Ira leaned over me immediately, her face full of false concern.
“Omar,” she whispered, “you’re awake… do you feel any better?”
