1 Everyone knew I was Damien Vargo’s weakness. His one sacred, untouchable thing. Years ago, when I was kidnapped, Damien walked into the lion’s den and laid down his arms, risking a bullet to the head. He liquidated his entire fortune, a king's ransom, just to get me back. To shield me from the brutality of his world, he danced on a razor's edge between the law and the underworld. And when I became pregnant, he treated me like fragile glass, a queen confined to her throne. He waited on me hand and foot, barely letting my feet touch the floor. Whispers of a pampered little canary he kept on the side swirled through the city, but I never believed them. I couldn't. But his canary wouldn't stay in her cage. She brought the scandal to my doorstep, and to beg for my forgiveness, Damien took a cleaver to his own hand and chopped off his little finger. The very next day, the canary was back, shoving a new piece of paper in my face. Her pregnancy test, with Damien's name on it. "Damien is just desperate for a child with me," she cooed. "He simply can't get enough." My body, already frail, couldn't take the shock. The words, the proof, the betrayal—it all hit me with the force of a physical blow, and I miscarried. … "Damien is just so desperate to have my baby," Crystal purred, her voice dripping with venomous sweetness. The fresh love bites on her neck were a violent purple against her skin, a stark contrast to the clinical black and white of the ultrasound photo in her hand. "We went at it all night. The results just came in. Guess what they say?" Seeing her, seeing the marks of my husband's passion on her throat, felt like Damien himself had driven a knife clean through my back. This was her second visit. The first was yesterday. She’d sauntered in, all swagger and cheap perfume, and tossed a video of her and Damien, tangled in silk sheets, onto my coffee table. It was followed by a black Centurion card. She sank into my favorite chaise lounge, adjusting her oversized sunglasses just enough to peer at me through the gap, her gaze sweeping over me with undisguised contempt. "No wonder Damien's tired of you. God, you're so washed-up. There's ten million dollars on this card. Take it and disappear." She paused, letting the insult hang in the air before delivering the final blow. "Normally, I wouldn't bother. He's clearly over you. But Damien wants to give me a wedding, a real one. And for that to happen, you two have to get divorced." A bitter laugh escaped my lips. A wedding? We have to get divorced? "Does Damien know you're here?" I asked, my voice deceptively calm. She tossed her bleached-blonde hair, her confidence absolute. She pulled out her phone and dialed. "Damien, baby," she chirped. "Could you come over? There's a woman here who needs… dealing with." And just like an obedient dog, he came. A few minutes later, Damien strode in. The moment he saw me, his face went rigid, the color draining from it. Crystal, oblivious, preened like a peacock, high on the power of summoning the most feared man in Port Sterling. She snatched a cup of hot tea from the table and, with a triumphant smirk, flung its contents at me, soaking me from head to toe. I just smiled, a cold, dangerous smile. "Who gave you the courage to provoke me?" In the next second, Damien was a blur of motion. Crystal turned to him, her face lit with expectation, thinking he was coming to her defense. Instead, his hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of her hair. He slammed her to the floor, his boot connecting with her ribs in a series of sickening thuds. Crystal crumpled, gasping, her face a mask of shocked disbelief. One of Damien's men dragged her away, whimpering. Before yesterday, I'd heard the rumors. The whole city was whispering that Damien Vargo had a gorgeous new canary, one he took everywhere. A girl so delicate she fainted at the sight of blood, so he kept her shielded from the ugliness of his work. They said he spoiled her rotten, let her get away with murder. I never believed it. I remembered the kidnapping, the terror, and Damien throwing down his guns for me. I remembered the time I went missing on the outskirts of the city, and he’d torn through the wilderness for seven days and seven nights, returning with his leg mangled by some wild animal, just to hold me and whisper, "Lena, don't be scared. I'm here." All those years of dancing on the knife's edge, all the pain and scars he endured—he did it all so I would never have to be afraid. Those memories were etched into my soul. So when Crystal showed up that first time, I showed him the video. My voice was a choked whisper. "Are the rumors true?" He looked utterly lost, scrambling for words. "I'm sorry. I'll get rid of her. I'll have her taken care of right now, I swear. Just forgive me… Lena… please…" The world spun. The shock and grief sent me straight to the hospital. My health was already precarious, and the pregnancy made it worse. The doctor had warned me that any severe emotional distress could lead to a miscarriage. Damien’s iron grip on the city meant no one dared to breathe a word that might upset me. And now, he himself had put me here. Lying in that hospital bed, waiting for the doctors, I thought one thing over and over: This Damien is filthy. I don't want him anymore. But when I was wheeled out of the treatment room, he was there. Kneeling on the cold linoleum floor. In one swift, brutal motion, he raised a butcher’s knife. Right there, in front of me, he brought it down, severing the little finger from his right hand. A blood offering. A penance. "Lena, it was my fault," he choked out, his face pale with pain and regret. "I betrayed you. Forgive me, please? Just this once. I'm begging you, Lena." Ten years. We had loved each other for ten years. How could my heart not ache for him? I gave him another chance. And now, today, I stared at the fresh bruises on Crystal's neck and the pregnancy report she’d slapped across my face. When Damien left yesterday, he’d said he was going to "deal with" Crystal. Apparently, "dealing with her" meant falling right back into her bed. Reality was a slap in the face, shattering every last ounce of my compassion, every shred of my love. The heartbreak was a physical agony, a shard of glass twisting in my gut. The pain in my heart mirrored a sharp, cramping pain in my belly. I was going to die from this, I was sure of it. Then, a sudden, horrifying warmth spread between my legs, a torrent of crimson. I knew. I’d lost the baby. I had my doctor, Leah, cover it up. I’d found her on the streets years ago; her loyalty was to me, and me alone. Then, I booked a one-way ticket for a cruise liner heading to the southern isles. I pressed a hand to my empty womb, a hollow ache echoing through me. Ten years, Damien and I had waited ten years for this child. I had pictured our life together, the three of us, a thousand times. I had swallowed my pride and forgiven you. All I asked was that you didn't do it again. Was that too much? On the drive back from the clinic, I got a text from Damien. : Threw a party for you tonight. To celebrate. I'll come pick you up soon. The route took me past the main hall of our estate. The windows blazed with light, and as I drew closer, I could hear a familiar, sickly-sweet voice drifting out. "I'm so jealous of Lena," Crystal was saying. "Damien throws her a party just for being pregnant. When will it be my turn for a party like this?" I peered through a crack in the door. I saw Damien's expression darken. He grabbed Crystal's chin, his voice a low growl. "As long as you never, ever let Lena find out about us, I'll give you anything you want. Anything but my name." Crystal pouted. "I want that pigeon's blood ruby necklace Lena wears. Can I have it? Please?" "As long as you're not stupid enough to show your face to her again," Damien replied without hesitation, "anything she has, you'll have too." So, the fury he’d shown me was just an act. A performance for my benefit. I thought he would have learned his lesson. I thought he would cherish the chance I gave him. But he never thought he was wrong. He only thought he hadn't been careful enough to hide it. My phone buzzed. A call from an unknown number. It was Crystal. She wanted to make sure I had a front-row seat to their little play. "Alright, I have to go get Lena now," Damien's voice said through the phone. I heard a rustle, then Crystal's voice, husky and close. She had clearly pulled him into an anteroom. "Stay with me a little longer. Please? Once Lena gets here, you'll have to be with her all night." "No. I have to go. She just got pregnant, and she's fragile. It's too easy for her to miscarry." "You only care about her baby," Crystal whined. "Did you forget? I'm carrying your child, too. Don't I deserve some of your affection?" "Of course I care about you," Damien soothed. "You're my little treasure, aren't you?" I stepped into the doorway of the main hall, making my presence known. "What are we celebrating?" "The boss was worried you might be feeling down during the pregnancy," one of the men said. "So he prepared a celebration for you." How laughable. They were all in on it, all helping him lie to my face. My eyes drifted to the partition separating the main hall from the anteroom. I couldn't see them, but their shadows danced on the polished floor, intertwined in a way that left nothing to the imagination. Damien must have heard my voice. His shadow pulled back. "That's enough," he hissed. "If Lena finds out, it's over. I can't afford that." "I know, I know," Crystal murmured. "But it's been so long… If Lena knew we've been together for three years, she'd be furious, wouldn't she?" "If you keep being a bad girl, I'll have to punish you." Then, through the phone, Damien's voice dissolved into muffled sounds. My nails dug into my palms, the pain a dull echo of the agony in my chest. This, Damien, is how you trample on me. Again and again. A full thirty minutes passed before he emerged, pretending he’d been caught up with business. His face was still flushed with the afterglow of his tryst with Crystal. The gentle smile he offered me was so vile it made me want to retch. He placed a hand on my stomach, his touch a brand of fire. His palm, still warm from another woman’s body, moved in a gentle caress. "Is our little one behaving? Do you have any idea how long I've wanted this baby, Lena?" He had wept with joy when I first told him I was pregnant. But it never stopped him from touching me with filthy hands, from playing the part of the devoted husband. The love and happiness I thought were my life were nothing but a web of secrets and lies. Once you peeled back the glittering surface, the truth was just despair. After the "celebration," Damien made an excuse about urgent business and left early. I knew where he was going. Back to the anteroom, back to the woman he had hidden there. Bang! Bang! Two gunshots echoed from the hillside. I looked up, my senses numb, and saw them—men from a rival territory, walking straight towards me. I watched, frozen, as one of them raised a pistol, the barrel aimed squarely at my face. Just as I braced for the end, a familiar shape slammed into me, shielding me. It was Damien. More shots rang out, several bullets tearing into his back as he tackled me. He wrapped his arms around me and threw us down a steep embankment, his body a shield over mine the entire way down. He’d taken a bullet to the left side of his chest, and his body was a mess of bloody scrapes from the rocks and gravel. But all he did was hold me tight and whisper, "Don't be scared." The intruders were quickly subdued. They were just scouts who had stumbled upon me by chance. Years ago, Damien had killed the wife of a rival boss—she'd been pregnant. Ever since, the man had been hunting for revenge. In the hospital, I stared at Damien's unconscious form, my mind a blank. You would literally die for me. So why? Why would you do this to me? His injuries were severe, but on the third day, he insisted on getting out of bed. He said he had a business negotiation with a rival crew leader. Hearing those words, the flicker of pity I’d felt turned to ash in my mouth. He saw me staring and a flicker of guilt crossed his face. "It's... it's really important. I have to go." "Fine," I said, my voice flat. For days, I’d been seeing wedding decorations being smuggled into the compound. Last night, Crystal had sent me a digital wedding invitation. I knew exactly where Damien was going. Maybe Crystal was right. Maybe he just didn't love me anymore. And when I looked at his face now, all I could see was him tangled up with her, and a wave of nausea washed over me. Soon after, I was on the deck of the cruise ship, pulling away from the shores of Port Sterling. Ping. A text from Damien. At the meeting now, Lena. Attached was a picture of him sitting at a table in a warehouse, looking serious. A pathetic attempt to prove his lie. I knew it was fake because I was watching the real event. Live. On a video call from Crystal. The wedding was being held in a secret, underground chamber, hidden away from my eyes. Damien was in a black tuxedo, the groom. The blood from the bullet wound in his chest had already soaked through the pristine white shirt and was staining the dark fabric of his jacket. But even that couldn't stop him from marrying her. On the screen, Damien stood at the altar. After the officiant spoke, Damien took Crystal’s hand, kissed it, and looked into her eyes with a tenderness that used to be reserved for me. "I do," he said. And in that moment, I laughed at my own pathetic foolishness. This morning, when he’d told me about his "negotiation," a tiny, stupid part of me had held onto a sliver of hope. Maybe it's real. Maybe it's something life-or-death. But with Damien, the more you trust him, the bigger the fool he makes you. He sent another text after stepping down from the altar: Deal went smoothly. What do you want for dinner tonight? I replied: Are you really in a negotiation? On the live feed, I saw his face drain of all color. My phone immediately began to ring, over and over. He didn't wait for an answer. A new text came in, frantic: Yes. I am. I'll explain when I get back. I promise. I ended the video call with Crystal. I was already on a ship, sailing toward the open sea, leaving the shores of our country, and him, far behind.
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