Packing my things was the only escape I had left. With every passing second, the air in the house felt heavier. Every corner held memories that should’ve been safe. But none of it mattered now.
I grabbed my suitcase from the bed and dragged it down the stairs, the weight of it grounding me in the reality of what was about to happen. I couldn’t leave fast enough. But just as I reached the front door, I heard her.
"Stop right there!"
Bianca.
Her voice cracked sharply through the air like a whip. She stood at the top of the stairs, all fake innocence wrapped in a trembling body. But her eyes—those wild, glassy eyes—gave her away.
"Running away?" she taunted, lips curling into a mockery of a smile. "What’s wrong, Valeria? Can't stand seeing the life you lost? The man you lost?"
I stared at her blankly, my heartbeat steady.
Nothing. No reaction.
Bianca descended the stairs in slow, predatory strides. "You know," she hissed, "Joachim didn’t even call your name last night. He called mine. Over and over and over..." She giggled, sickly sweet. "Begged me to give him a son."
I blinked once. That was it. Bianca faltered, confusion flickering across her face. She needed me to scream, cry, crumble. Instead, she got a statue.
That’s when she made her move.
She let out a sharp gasp, staggering forward. In one fluid, theatrical motion, she yanked a small knife from under her dress and stabbed herself against the blood patch she had sewn inside.
Blood bloomed instantly across her stomach, dark and dramatic. Her scream tore through the house.
"AHHHH! She stabbed me! SHE STABBED ME!" Bianca howled, collapsing onto the floor in a heap of fake agony.
I didn’t move. I just stood there, watching, dead-eyed. Footsteps thundered down the hall. Joachim shoved past his men, wild panic flashing in his eyes when he saw her.
"What the FUCK is happening?!" he bellowed.
"She—" Bianca sobbed, pointing a trembling finger at me, "SHE DID THIS! If you love me... punish her... or I swear I’ll never come back to you... I’ll take the baby and leave forever!"
Joachim’s face twisted with rage. He didn't even question it.
"Grab her!" he roared.
Hands clamped down on my arms, yanking me backward so hard the suitcase crashed to the floor.
"LET ME GO!" I shouted, struggling against them, my voice tearing from my throat. "I didn’t touch her! I didn’t TOUCH HER!"
But they didn’t listen. They never fucking listened.
"Take Bianca to the hospital!" Joachim barked. His men swarmed around her, lifting her delicately as if she were made of glass, while I was dragged like a criminal.
Bianca peeked over Joachim’s shoulder, her tear-soaked face twisted into a victorious smirk. I smiled coldly, finally giving her something—just not what she wanted.
"You'll choke on your own lies, Bianca," I said, voice calm and slicing through the chaos like a knife. "And when you do... remember you begged for it."
Her smile cracked.
Good.
I barely had time to breathe before it happened. CRACK. The slap came from nowhere — Joachim’s palm connecting with the side of my face so hard the world spun.
My head snapped sideways. A metallic taste flooded my mouth. Blood. I coughed once — sharp, involuntary — and spat red onto the marble floor. Silence ripped through the room.
Even Bianca flinched.
Joachim loomed over me, breathing hard, fists clenched like he wanted to hit me again.
"You're nothing," he growled, voice low and venomous.
"Nothing but a stain I should have wiped clean years ago."
I wiped the blood from my mouth with the back of my cuffed hands.
Smiled through the taste of iron and humiliation.
"This stain," I rasped, "is going to ruin you."
The cuffs bit into my wrists. I didn’t resist anymore. This wasn’t defeat. This was war. And it was just getting started.
***
The Mancini council, cold and unforgiving, sat before me. And then, my twins—Clyde and Tyler—stepped forward, swearing under oath that they’d seen me "trying to kill Bianca.” Their voices were firm, rehearsed. They lied with practiced ease, each word dripping with malice.
"You've crossed the line, Valeria," Joachim growled. "You're being dangerous. This is your punishment." His voice was colder than I’d ever heard it.
Before I could even process it, his men seized me—again. Dragged me down the halls like a carcass. Toward the underground vault. A place for traitors. A place no one returned from.
The door clanged shut behind me like the gates of a tomb. And then—darkness. Endless. Unforgiving.
Time melted. Hours? Days? It didn’t matter.
All I knew was the dark… and then—the sounds.
It began as a girl sobbing. Faint. Distant.
Then whispers layered over the cries.
Voices I couldn’t place. Some familiar. Some not.
All wrong.
Then came the chanting... low, guttural, like something demonic crawling up from hell.
It filled the air, slithered into my ears, under my skin.
I clutched my head, screaming for it to stop, but the vault only echoed the madness back at me, louder and louder until I couldn’t tell if it was real or if I was unraveling.
That’s when I heard footsteps. Slow. Deliberate.
The lock turned. The door creaked open.
Clyde and Tyler.
Smiling like devils at the gates of hell.
"Look who’s stuck in the cage," Tyler sneered, his eyes shining with cruelty.
"You really thought you could run?" Clyde tilted his head, mocking, as if he were studying a rabid animal.
The lights flickered.
They didn’t speak for a second.
Then Tyler hit a button on the remote in his hand. The speakers shrieked with new sound: a little girl screaming “Mommy, please! Stop!”
Then laughter—my laughter—twisted and looped and played backward until it sounded inhuman.
The crying layered again. A thousand voices.
I backed into the corner, shaking.
"W-why are you doing this?" I gasped. “I’m... I'm your mother. Not Serafina. She stole you from me.”
They both paused.
And then Clyde burst out laughing.
Cruel. Cold. Unhinged.
"Our mother?" he spat, stepping forward.
"If you were our mother, I’d rather cut my own throat," Tyler added with a snarl. "What a fucking joke."
"Nice try, rat," Clyde sneered. "You really are losing it down here, huh?"
I blinked back tears. "I carried you—I named you. They changed your names when they took you, but I remember your real ones—"
"Shut the fuck up!" Clyde snapped, his voice cracking through the air like a whip. "You're not real. You're just the ghost we made up to test our tolerance for filth."
Tyler stepped closer, leaned down.
His breath was ice against my cheek. "If you ever say that shit again," he whispered, "I’ll make sure the next sound you hear is your own brain cracking."
They laughed again as they left.
The door didn’t lock. It was never locked.
They wanted this. They wanted me to run. A fresh, cruel game.
Gritting my teeth against the pain and terror, I launched myself forward. Rats clung to my legs, biting deep, but I didn’t care. I shoved the door open, half-falling into the hallway.
Blood dripped from my legs and arms.
My lungs burned.
My whole body shook.
But I didn’t stop. I staggered into the open courtyard—free for half a heartbeat. The gate was there. So close. I could almost taste freedom… then I saw them.
Clyde and Tyler.
Standing in front of the gate like statues, grinning as if they had all the time in the world.
"You really thought you could escape, didn’t you?" Clyde called out, voice dripping with mock pity.
Tyler hefted something from behind his back—a heavy-looking rifle, but not an ordinary one.
Not a real bullet gun.
No, they didn’t want me dead.
Not yet.
"You run, little mouse," Tyler sneered, aiming it casually.
"We’ll always catch you."
I stumbled, heart pounding so loud I couldn’t even hear my own breathing. But my body moved on instinct. One step. Another.
Closer.
Closer to the gate.
I almost made it.
Then—
THWIP.
