The sky outside was ink-black, smeared with faint stars. I didn’t know where we were going, and honestly, I didn’t care anymore. I was too tired to argue, too scared to stop running. So, I just stared out the window while Sergio drove like the devil himself was chasing us—which, considering my life lately, might not be far from the truth.
We didn’t speak during the ride. I just held my coat tight around me, hand over my belly, trying to make sense of everything. My thoughts swirled like a hurricane—Kyora’s death, Frias pointing at me, André’s silence, and the one truth screaming loudest in my head: I was pregnant.
After a few hours, we finally arrived at a remote cabin tucked deep in the woods. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was safe—or at least it felt that way. Sergio called it a "safehouse," one of his old fallback spots from back when he worked dirty contracts. No cameras. No visitors. Just silence, trees, and an overwhelming sense of being forgotten.
A few weeks passed like fog—slow, quiet, and strange. Sergio cooked, fixed up the place, made sure I had everything. But what got to me most wasn’t the solitude… it was how gentle he became. The way he always checked if I had eaten, how he fixed the heater before the frost came in. He didn’t act like a bodyguard anymore. He acted like something else—something warmer, heavier.
And I felt it. That strange feeling. A pull I couldn’t name. Although I tried to ignore it.
But until the day came. One morning, I finally decided when I couldn’t keep it a secret anymore. I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at my reflection—pale skin, wild hair, rounded stomach. I didn’t recognize the girl anymore, but one thing I knew: André had to know.
“I’m going back,” I told Sergio as I shoved my things into a duffel bag. “He has a right to know.”
He blocked the doorway, arms folded, voice calm but firm. “No, you’re not.”
That’s when it happened. The explosion.
WHAT?!:
“I’m not your prisoner, Sergio! You're just Dad's late bodyguard!" I shouted. “Why the hell do you care what I do anyway? Why are you even protecting me like this?”
He flinched like I slapped him. For the first time in weeks, his mask cracked. “Because I’m your father.”
I blinked. Laughed. It sounded wrong and empty. “What?”
“I’m your biological father, Jella.”
I stared at him like he’d grown two heads. “What kind of sick—”
“I didn’t want it to be like this,” he said, his voice raw. “Years ago, your mother… she and I… it was a mistake. A real one. But I loved her. And when she got pregnant, I wanted to raise you. The Colonel—her husband found out. He fired me on the spot. Said if I didn’t back off, he’d have your mother killed."
DANG! Is this for real?
My legs felt like jelly. I sank into the couch, trying to breathe.
“He made a deal,” Sergio continued. “Said he’d raise you as his own—pretend you were adopted from some distant cousin. As long as I stayed out of your life. I agreed. I had no choice. But what you didn't know... Colonel had a mistress that's why you had Kyora." he added.
Silence.
For a long time, I didn’t speak. My mind refused to accept it, but my heart… it had already known. That strange pull I’d felt? That softness in his eyes? It all made sense now.
“I-I hated you,” I whispered. “When you first dragged me out of that hospital. I thought you were just another one of André’s spies.”
“I deserve that,” he said, softly. “But I won’t ever stop protecting you again.”
Months passed. The pain didn't go away, but it dulled. I grew used to the isolation, started cooking again, reading books by the fireplace. My stomach grew rounder. I gave birth on a rainy afternoon, screaming into a towel while Sergio— my father boiled water and muttered prayers. When I finally heard the baby’s cry, I sobbed like my soul had cracked open.
I named him Hoppe Francis Vance.
He had my eyes. And André’s mouth.
But the peace didn’t last. Sergio couldn’t let go of the night Kyora died. He started digging, calling old contacts, hunting for pieces of a puzzle I didn’t even know existed.
Weeks later, he found something. A sealed file buried in the Colonel’s records—footage, reports, erased logs. The truth was uglier than either of us imagined.
The Colonel killed Kyora. He staged the entire night, tampered with security, and left just enough blood on my hands for everyone to believe it.
But why did he do that to his own daughter?
I’d been framed.
And I had nowhere else to go.
I didn’t think André would even pick up. But when he did, my voice cracked.
“I need your help.”
He didn’t answer at first. Just breathed, heavy and quiet. Then he whispered, “Jella? Where are you?”
We met in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. I held Hoppe tight, my fingers trembling.
André looked like he hadn’t slept in days. His eyes fell on Hoppe and something in him… twisted. Hardened.
“That’s your son?” he asked, voice flat.
I nodded. “Yes.”
He didn’t say anything. Just turned and walked out.
Later that night, Sergio said André had gotten drunk. Angry. Jealous. Thought I’d moved on. Had a child with another man before our relationship began.
He was spiraling.
Until one night, he showed up at the cabin, reeking of whiskey, his voice ragged.
“You cheated on me,” he growled. “You let me believe you were dead. And then you show up with a kid?”
“I didn’t cheat,” I snapped. “That’s your son.”
He froze.
“What?”
“Hoppe is yours, André.”
It was like watching someone come back to life. He dropped to his knees, touched Hoppe’s tiny hand like it was made of gold. Tears streamed down his cheeks.
For a while, things were better. Not perfect, but better. André stayed. Protected us. Played with Hoppe like a proud father. I even let myself believe we could be something again.
I felt valuable. For once and for all, I felt loved for Hoppe and I.
But danger wasn’t far behind.
The Colonel had caught wind of me through the media. He started pushing stories, twisting facts, planting lies. Suddenly, I was the wanted woman—the accused murderer, the scandalous lover, the runaway.
We hid. Moved often. Changed names. But one day, while I was rocking Hoppe to sleep, André walked in, his expression unreadable.
“I need to tell you something,” he said.
My heart dropped. “What is it?”
He exhaled sharply. “Jella, I couldn’t do this anymore. The truth is…”
He looked me straight in the eyes, voice low and brutal.
“Your father, Colonel—we partnered in an illegal group. And I knew... everything. He killed Kyora ‘cause your sister didn't agree to marry the mafia prince. Worst case, the prince still didn't know about it. And all of us will be put to danger if he found out the truth." he said.
WHAT?
“W-What? This is a huge mess." I said, biting my lower lip in restraint.
Meanwhile, André nodded.
I swallowed hard. “There's no other way. I needed to pretend as Kyora. I'll marry him to unveil their darkest secrets. Colonel should be punished."
André stood up from his seat, looking pale. “NO! You're not going to do that. Don't you know how dangerous they are? It's a trap! That's why your father partnered with them."
My eyes widen as I realized some thing. In the first place, André had a son with Kyora. For sure, our father knows that so his demonic son—Frias will be our ace in this mission.
What if I let Frias know the truth? That his beloved mother was supposed to marry a mafia prince?
