Angelena stepped out of the hotel bathroom. She had thrown on her torn evening gown, ignoring the cold draft against her skin. She didn't look back as she walked out of the suite, her palm still bleeding around the platinum cufflink.
Two months later.
The air inside the Beasley family mansion on the Upper East Side was suffocatingly tense.
Angelena stood in the center of the grand living room. Her fingers were clamped tightly around a crumpled medical report. Positive.
Her grandmother, Gerda Alvarado, sat in the high-backed leather armchair at the head of the room. Her face was a mask of pure fury. Gerda grabbed a stack of tabloids from the coffee table and hurled them directly at Angelena's face.
The heavy papers smacked against Angelena's cheek and scattered across the hardwood floor. The front pages all featured the same blurry, humiliating photos from the hotel room two months ago.
"You have brought absolute shame to this family!" Gerda roared, her voice echoing off the high ceilings.
Angelena closed her eyes, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Grandmother, I was drugged. Dara set me up."
Sitting on a velvet sofa nearby, Dara elegantly took a sip of her tea. She immediately placed the cup down and pressed a hand to her chest, looking deeply wounded. "How can you say that? I went to that hotel to save you! And you hit me!"
Gerda slammed her cane against the floor. "Enough! In the name of God, you are a sinner, Angelena. You are unclean. I am officially stripping you of your inheritance and your access to the family trust fund."
Angelena's eyes snapped open. She stared at the woman who had raised her. Her chest tightened so painfully she could barely breathe. "You're convicting me without even looking for the truth?"
Gerda didn't answer. She gestured to her private lawyer standing in the corner. The lawyer stepped forward, handing Angelena a thick document and a pen.
"Sign the severance agreement," Gerda ordered coldly. "And get out of New York. Never come back."
Angelena looked around the room. Every face staring back at her was cold, calculating, and entirely indifferent to her pain.
A harsh, bitter laugh escaped her lips. She snatched the pen from the lawyer's hand. Without a second of hesitation, she slashed her signature across the bottom line. She threw the pen on the floor, turned on her heel, and walked out the heavy oak doors without looking back.
Seven months later.
A brutal blizzard raged outside a dilapidated, off-the-grid cabin deep in the mountains of Colorado. The wind howled, shaking the wooden walls so violently it felt like the roof would tear off.
Inside, Angelena collapsed onto the hard wooden floor. A pool of water soaked through her sweatpants. Her water had broken. A blinding, tearing pain ripped through her abdomen, forcing a raw scream from her lungs.
Mags O'Malley, a black-market midwife, hastily lit a kerosene lamp. Her hands shook as she prepared a basin of hot water. "Push, girl! You have to push!"
Angelena grabbed the edge of the bedsheet, twisting the fabric until her knuckles turned stark white. She pushed with every ounce of strength she had left. The pain was absolute agony.
Finally, the sharp cry of a baby pierced through the sound of the howling wind.
Mags quickly cut the umbilical cord. She wiped the blood away and saw it was a boy. A strange, calculating look flashed across the midwife's eyes. She wrapped the infant in a blanket and set him aside.
Another wave of contractions hit. Angelena's vision went completely black. She was losing too much blood. Driven entirely by the primal instinct of a mother, she pushed again. And again. And again.
She delivered a second boy. Then a girl. Then another girl.
Four weak, overlapping cries filled the small cabin. Angelena forced her heavy eyelids open. She wanted to see her babies. But the blood loss was too severe. The room spun wildly, and her vision faded to a dark blur.
Seeing Angelena slip into semi-consciousness, Mags moved with frantic speed. She grabbed the two baby boys. She stuffed them into a heavy, insulated carrying basket, threw a thick cloak over her shoulders, and hurried to the back door of the cabin.
She pushed the door open against the raging wind. A mysterious figure dressed entirely in black-The Contact-stood in the snow.
The Contact handed Mags a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills.
Mags's eyes gleamed with greed. She snatched the money and shoved the basket containing the two boys into The Contact's arms. Without a word, the figure turned and vanished into the whiteout conditions.
Angelena jolted awake. The freezing draft from the door hit her skin. She struggled to prop herself up on her elbows. Panic seized her chest. "Mags? Where are my babies?"
Mags quickly brushed the snow off her cloak and walked back to the bed. She picked up the two baby girls and placed them gently against Angelena's chest. She forced a sympathetic smile. "You did it, honey. You had twin girls."
Angelena's trembling hands wrapped around the two tiny, fragile bodies. Hot tears streamed down her face, mixing with the sweat on her cheeks. She had no idea she had just given birth to four children.
Mags quickly gathered the bloody towels, hiding her nervous twitch. "I need to go as soon as the storm breaks. You need to rest."
Angelena pulled her daughters closer, feeling their rapid, tiny heartbeats against her skin. She rested her chin on their heads. She silently swore to the heavens that she would survive this. She would give them the world.
A few days later.
Angelena stood in the knee-deep snow outside the cabin. Her body was still incredibly weak. She had her two daughters strapped to her chest in a makeshift carrier. She watched Mags walk away down the mountain path, the midwife's pockets heavy with cash.
Angelena's expression was hard as stone. She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out an ancient, leather-bound medical journal. It was her late mother's most prized possession, a relic she had secretly hidden away in the floorboards of her room long before the family completely turned their backs on her. She ran her thumb over the worn cover, a bitter smile touching her lips. If Gerda had known about this book, she would have burned it. Now, it was the only thing she had left in this world. Her only leverage.
She stared into the blinding white snow. One day, she would return to New York. She would return with power, and she would take back everything they stole from her.
Five years later.
John F. Kennedy International Airport, New York. The arrival terminal was a chaotic sea of noise and people.
A pair of long legs in six-inch Christian Louboutin heels stepped out of the first-class corridor. Angelena, dressed in a sharp, tailored white suit, pulled off her designer sunglasses. Her aura was commanding, instantly drawing the eyes of everyone around her.
She held a small hand in each of hers. Brigida and Domenica, her five-year-old daughters, looked like exquisite porcelain dolls. They wore matching neutral-toned overalls, their big eyes scanning the bustling city with intense curiosity.
