When the Mafia Boss Returned with a Pregnant Mistress

Avery’s POV I truly believed I had escaped. For one delicate, foolish heartbeat, I thought I was finally free. I didn’t even make it past the outer gates of the Moretti estate before fate laughed in my face. Two men stepped out from the shadows as if they’d been waiting all along. Black suits. Stone expressions. Don Moretti’s personal security—soldiers who answered only to him. I barely registered their faces before they seized me, one iron grip on each arm, hauling me backward like a criminal instead of the woman who once ruled this house beside him. “Mrs. Moretti,” one of them said flatly, already dragging me toward the main villa, “you’re required inside. The Don wants you now. He needs your blood.” My lungs locked. “What—no—let go of me!” I thrashed violently, panic flooding my body—not for myself, but for the fragile life hidden beneath my ribs. My heart hammered so hard it felt like a warning siren. A plea. “Why would he need my blood?” Why him? Why this marriage? Why was my punishment always disguised as loyalty? I had given him everything. My body. My name. My future. I stood beside him through indictments, rival families circling like wolves, whispers that could’ve torn his empire apart. I shielded him when bullets flew—literal and political. I was his wife in every way that mattered. Was that still not enough? What kind of twisted joke was it that I ended up bound to a man who saw me as a resource? A tool? Something to be used and discarded when convenient? And yet—he wanted more. He always wanted more. I couldn’t decide what terrified me more: the possibility that he might discover my pregnancy… or the possibility that he already knew and simply didn’t care. Cold metal slammed into my spine. The next thing I knew, I was strapped into a reinforced medical chair inside the famiglia’s private infirmary. Steel restraints bit into my wrists. I lifted my head just enough to see Don Zachary Moretti standing across from me, arms folded, expression distant—like I wasn’t worth the effort of emotion. “So this is it?” I let out a hollow laugh. “You drag me back to bleed me like contraband?” He didn’t even flinch. “Stop being dramatic,” he said coldly. “You’re contributing. Make yourself useful.” Something inside my chest cracked clean in half. “Useful?” I scoffed. “Is that what I was? A walking blood bank with a marriage contract?” “You’re emotional,” he replied instantly. “You always were. You confuse hysteria with loyalty.” “That’s rich,” I shot back. “Coming from the man draining his wife while his mistress rests like a queen.” He crossed the distance in two strides. His hand snapped around my jaw, fingers pressing hard enough to bruise. “Watch your mouth,” he warned. “Or what?” I whispered, fury burning through fear. “You’ll humiliate me again? Strip whatever dignity I have left?” His lips curved into a cruel, amused smile. “You’re breathing,” he said softly. “Be grateful.” “You already have her,” I snapped. “You got the heir you wanted. So why am I still chained to this chair?” The irony nearly crushed me. She lay in another room—guarded, pampered, surrounded by doctors and silk sheets—while I bled for her survival. For her child. While my own baby stayed hidden, clinging to me in silence. I said nothing. I couldn’t. He would weaponize it. He would turn my child into leverage, the same way he turned love into ownership. So I swallowed the truth and stared at the ceiling, letting the sterile lights blur as I refused to cry. “This is what loving you cost me,” I said quietly. “Defending your name in every council meeting. Standing between you and every enemy. Acting like a partner instead of property. I should’ve left the moment I realized you never loved me—you claimed me.” “Then why didn’t you?” he snapped. “Because you needed me. You always did.” “And you,” I whispered, “were too much of a coward to ever let me go.” His smirk deepened. “Why would I?” he said calmly. “You never stay gone.” That was when the needle pierced my skin. It was thick—too thick—more like a blade than a medical instrument. The pain hit instantly, sharp and searing as it slid into my vein. I didn’t scream. I wouldn’t give him that pleasure. But sweat soaked my neck, and my fingers trembled violently against the restraints. As the blood drained, memories went with it. Our first appearance as Don and Donna. The night I stepped into gunfire meant for him. Every lonely hour spent convincing myself that waiting was love. He watched the entire time—silent, detached—as if I were nothing more than a container being emptied. “Don Moretti,” a doctor said cautiously, “her vitals are destabilizing. If we continue—” “Proceed,” Zachary cut in. “She’s resilient.” My vision dimmed. I bit my cheek until I tasted blood just to stay conscious. Eight hundred milliliters. That was how much they took. I thought it was finished. Then someone cleared their throat behind the privacy curtain. Zachary straightened immediately. “Double it,” he said. “She requires more.” My breath stuttered. “So this is for her,” I whispered weakly. “You’re bleeding your own wife to save the woman who shattered us?” “She needs it,” he replied flatly. I laughed—broken, hollow. “And me?” I murmured. “You’d drain me dry without hesitation.” His face didn’t change. From behind the curtain, her voice drifted out—fragile, perfectly timed. “Zachary…” He moved at once. I was fading, restrained, slipping into darkness—and he was already gone. The doctor hesitated. “Sir… continuing may endanger the pregnancy—” “Do it,” Zachary barked. “Or find employment elsewhere.” I tried to scream. The darkness swallowed me first. --- When I woke, the world felt wrong—distant, muffled. I lay on a narrow cot beneath a thin blanket. A doctor sat beside me, eyes rimmed with guilt. “You’re stable,” he said quietly. “Physically.” “That doesn’t sound like good news,” I whispered. “So what aren’t you saying?” He swallowed hard. “There was… a complication.” My hand flew to my stomach. “No,” I breathed. “Please—no—” “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “When the extraction increased… the pregnancy could not be sustained.” The scream tore out of me. I thrashed violently, knocking equipment aside, sobbing so hard I couldn’t breathe. I forced myself upright, dizziness crashing over me as I staggered toward the door. “ZACHARY!” I screamed. “YOU KILLED MY BABY!” He wasn’t there. Of course he wasn’t. I collapsed to the floor, grief hollowing me out—until something colder took its place. Focused. Sharp. No more pleading. No more hope. I looked up at the doctor. “Prepare my discharge,” I said hoarsely. “And copy every medical record. Every detail.” Because I was done surviving. Now, I was planning my revenge.

Avery’s POV I was still confined to a hospital bed owned by the famiglia, my body sluggish and unreliable, like it hadn’t yet realized how much had been taken from it. My arms ached constantly, deep and hollow pain from the blood loss, and sitting upright for more than a few minutes sent the room tilting. But none of that compared to the weight crushing my chest—a grief so heavy no sedative could dull it. I was grieving my child. While I lay there beneath stark white sheets, surrounded by the quiet beeping of machines that measured survival but not loss, the world seemed eager to remind me just how insignificant my suffering was. News of Don Zachary Moretti and Nina reached me without warning or mercy. A former social acquaintance forwarded a video first—a glittering charity gala attended by political allies and rival families alike. Zachary stood at the center of it all in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, relaxed, amused, one arm draped possessively around Nina’s waist. She leaned into him with practiced ease, radiant, victorious. Another clip followed soon after. A private dinner gathering. Low lighting. Crystal glasses. Zachary lifting a fork to Nina’s lips, bending close to murmur something only she could hear. She laughed freely, tipping her head back, utterly shameless. He looked… light. Unburdened. Like a man who hadn’t lost a single thing. When the doctors finally cleared me for discharge, I left alone. No driver sent by the estate. No bodyguard. No assistant hovering with instructions. Not even a courtesy call. I walked out carrying a thin hospital bag, the realization settling in with brutal clarity—I had been erased completely. The thought of returning to the Moretti estate twisted my stomach. Every corridor, every room, was soaked in memory. But my passports, legal documents, and personal files were still there. Everything I needed to disappear. I had no choice. And then—because cruelty apparently wasn’t finished with me—I saw them. They stood just outside the maternity wing. Nina looked luminous, already basking in attention like a woman stepping into her rightful place. Zachary hovered close, one hand resting at her lower back, guiding her with proprietary ease, as though she were already the Donna of the family. A nurse passed by, smiling warmly. “Don Moretti, your wife looks radiant today.” My throat tightened, but I didn’t correct her. I didn’t have the strength. I turned away, intent on slipping out unseen. “Avery.” Zachary’s voice cut through the corridor. I stopped mid-step. My shoulders stiffened, but I didn’t turn right away. Of course he noticed me. Of course he couldn’t allow me to vanish quietly. I finally faced him across the polished floor. “I wasn’t trailing you,” I said evenly. “I was discharged today. I didn’t know you’d be here.” Before he could respond, Nina looped her arm through his, clinging to him as though she’d always belonged there. “Love,” she said gently, false concern dripping from every syllable, “maybe she should ride with us. I feel a little guilty, you know. She gave blood for me. The least we could do is make sure she gets home.” The audacity nearly made me laugh. Zachary brushed his thumb along Nina’s cheek. “You’re too kind,” he murmured, then looked at me. “Fine.” So I got into the car. Not because I wanted to—but because I needed my documents before I disappeared for good. I slid into the backseat and fixed my gaze forward. That was when I saw it. A pair of women’s underwear lay crumpled beside me, unmistakably stained white. The sight knocked the air from my lungs. Nina twisted around in her seat, lips curling into a smug smile. “Oh my God,” she giggled, “I can’t believe I forgot those. Remember, babe? After what we did back here last week?” Zachary chuckled, eyes still on the road. “You almost ruined the leather.” She hummed. “You didn’t seem bothered when I was on your lap outside the estate. Or when I kept you busy during that long drive.” “Traffic’s easier with you,” he replied casually. “And that time you had to pull over because I wouldn’t stop?” she added brightly. “You were shaking.” My stomach twisted violently. I turned toward the window, jaw clenched so tight it hurt. My hands curled into fists in my lap, nails biting into my skin. While they carried on as if I didn’t exist, I quietly opened my phone and pulled up an email from my cousin, Sebastian. My heart stuttered when I saw the flight confirmation. Beneath it, he’d added a note: I booked another option. It departs tonight at 9 PM. Please—make this one. A faint smile touched my lips. I typed back quickly: Thank you. I’m sorry I missed the last flight. His reply came almost instantly: What really happened that day? You don’t have to protect me. My fingers hovered. Sebastian had always been my shield. If he knew the truth, he’d launch a legal war—and I didn’t want more blood on my conscience. So I answered: I’ll explain later. I just need to leave first. Leaving was all that mattered now. Up front, Zachary laughed softly, apologizing to Nina over something trivial, playing the attentive partner. Yet I felt his gaze flick toward me, waiting for a reaction. I gave him nothing. Irritation flashed in his eyes. He hated being ignored. “You’ve been glued to your phone since we got in,” he snapped. “Who are you talking to?” “Just catching up on the news,” I replied calmly, eyes on my boarding pass. He didn’t believe me. Without warning, he reached back and yanked the phone from my hands. Anger surged—hot, clean, undeniable. “What’s the passcode?” he demanded. I smiled faintly. “The day we met. The day I made the worst mistake of my life. You were charming for about five minutes. After that? Pure arrogance.” He scowled and tried. Once. Twice. Three times. Locked. Nina leaned over, her voice syrupy with mock pity. “Let it go, babe. It’s not like she has anyone left to talk to. Or any pride. Who would even bother responding to her now?” She winked at me. I stared back, silent. And in that moment, something settled into place with absolute clarity. They thought I was broken. They had no idea I was already planning my escape—and what would come after.

Avery’s POV When the car rolled through the iron gates of the estate, Don Zachary didn’t spare me a glance. His attention was fixed entirely on the woman clinging to his arm. He guided his nauseated mistress up the marble steps toward the master suite, his palm firm at her lower back, steering her as if she were something fragile—and precious. He barked instructions to the chef to prepare her favorite dishes, then lingered at the doorway longer than necessary, watching her settle into the bed that had once been mine, waiting for her smile like a man desperate for approval. Only when he turned to head downstairs did he finally notice me. I was trudging toward the guest wing, suitcase dragging behind me, the sound echoing down the corridor like a quiet declaration of defeat. Everything I had left in the world rattled inside that bag. He stopped mid-step. Without turning fully around, he muttered to the chef, “Prepare two more plates. The ones Avery prefers. Set three places.” That made me pause. For half a second, I wondered if I’d imagined it. If there was regret buried somewhere beneath his arrogance. A hollow attempt at decency—setting a place for me at the table while his mistress occupied the Don’s bed. The thought was almost laughable. He couldn’t remember the date we first met. Couldn’t be bothered to unlock his phone for me. Yet now he expected rosemary lamb and a place setting to mean something? I bit down hard on my teeth and kept walking. The guest room door closed behind me with a soft click that landed heavier than any insult. The silence pressed in instantly, thick and accusing, as though the walls themselves understood I no longer belonged here. I dropped my bag at the foot of the bed and knelt to unzip it. The moment the zipper parted, my stomach sank. Every piece of clothing inside had been destroyed. Not torn in anger—cut cleanly, deliberately, shredded into neat strips. Whoever did it hadn’t acted on impulse. This was careful. Calculated. A message. My chest hollowed out. Then I noticed what remained. Tucked deep into the lining—my passport. Plane tickets. Legal documents. Every paper I couldn’t afford to lose. Untouched. Protected. I sank back onto my heels, disbelief and fury crashing together. I didn’t need to guess who’d done this. Nina. Only she would be petty enough to destroy what hurt while preserving what mattered. Only she would want me humiliated—but still able to leave, so she could claim victory without consequence. There would be a reckoning later. For now, I needed out. I crouched by the bed, shoving the remaining salvageable items into my bag, when the door creaked open behind me. Nina stepped inside. She held a small black bottle between two fingers, swinging it casually as her eyes swept the room like she was inspecting property. Her nose wrinkled, disdain written clearly across her face—until her gaze landed on me. If looks could kill, I would’ve been dust. “Well,” she drawled, tilting her head with that sickly sweetness that always made my skin crawl, “you really are impressive, Avery. After everything I’ve done to embarrass you in front of capos, investors, socialites—anyone who matters—you still cling to this place like it’s the only thing keeping you alive.” Her smile sharpened. “Oh. That’s right. Your grandmother passed last month, didn’t she?” She feigned thoughtfulness. “Now that your last piece of family is gone, I suppose it makes sense. You’re desperate. Hanging onto Zachary like he’s your final lifeline.” Then she laughed—light, cruel, perfectly timed. “Remember how you begged him to fly you out to see her one last time?” she asked softly. “Do you want to know why he didn’t?” She lifted her phone, waving it like a blade. “Because he promised to take me to the coast that day. Sunset. Champagne. That photo everyone saw? That’s when it was taken.” The words didn’t hit all at once. They fractured slowly—spreading through me like cracks in glass. She’d known. She’d known exactly what she was doing when she flaunted that picture. When she reminded me of the helicopter. Of the one day I’d knelt on cold marble, begging him to let me leave for just a few hours. And he chose her. The pressure built in my chest, jaw locking, fists curling at my sides until my nails bit skin. Something inside me snapped. “You think this is amusing?” I hissed, my voice low and sharp. “You think tearing apart what little I have left makes you powerful? Makes you worthy to stand beside him?” Nina arched a brow, lips curving into something predatory. “I don’t need to be his equal,” she said calmly. “I already have everything.” I stepped closer, teeth bared. “You have nothing,” I spat. “You’re a parasite. A leech feeding on scraps from his life—and mine.” The room went very still.

Avery's POV She lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug, satisfaction curling her mouth into something ugly and pleased. “Still more than you’ll ever touch,” she said lightly. That was the moment everything shattered. I slapped the phone out of her hand. It flew across the room and struck the marble floor with a sharp crack, skidding until the screen spider-webbed uselessly. I didn’t think. I didn’t plan. My body surged forward on pure fury. My fingers wrapped around her throat, tightening before my mind could register what I was doing. Rage thundered through me so violently it stole my breath, drowned out reason, drowned out fear. The small black bottle slipped from Nina’s grasp and hit the floor with a hollow clink. The cap rolled once. Then— The smell detonated. Gasoline. Sharp and vicious, tearing through the air like a blade. It burned my nostrils, clawed down my throat, spread across the room in an instant like something alive and hungry. We crashed into each other—hands shoving, nails tearing, bodies slamming into furniture. She kicked wildly, heel striking metal. Maybe a lighter. Maybe stone against steel. Whatever it was, it was enough. The fire didn’t pause. Flames erupted violently, racing up the curtains, leaping along the walls as if they’d been waiting for an excuse. Heat slammed into my skin. Smoke poured in thick and black, devouring the room. My body failed me. Still weak. Still drained. My lungs seized. I dropped hard to the floor, coughing so violently it felt like my ribs would split open. The world spun—fire, shadow, choking darkness folding in on itself. The last thing I saw before everything blurred was the ceiling igniting, flames crawling across it like something sentient. “Avery!” A voice tore through the smoke. “Don, it’s not safe!” someone shouted. “The soldiers are coming—you can’t go in there!” “Get out of my way!” Zachary roared. “She’s still inside!” I tried to open my eyes. Was it real? Or just my mind breaking under smoke and terror? Had he really said my name? Had he actually come for me? “Z-Zachary…” Nina sobbed weakly. “I’m here too. Please. Save me. Save our child.” For one treacherous heartbeat, hope flared. Stupid. Fragile. Deadly. I wanted to believe—just for a second—that he’d run into fire for me. That I still mattered enough to be chosen. Then the truth crashed down hard. He didn’t come because of me. He came because eyes were watching. Because word would spread through the famiglia. Because the press would feast on it. Because a Don couldn’t afford to look like a coward who abandoned women to flames. And the moment Nina called out? There was no hesitation. He lifted her like she weighed nothing, shielding her from smoke and heat, carrying her out as if she were priceless— While I lay choking on the floor, darkness closing in. Time fractured. Minutes—or longer—passed in a haze. After ensuring she was safe, he tore through the estate, barking orders, shouting my name, searching every wing. But I was already gone. I don’t know how I escaped. Fire roared in my ears, smoke shredding my throat, dizziness crashing over me in brutal waves. But something raw took control—instinct stripped bare. I crawled. Dragged myself forward inch by inch. My fingers brushed against my bag. I grabbed it with shaking hands and clutched it to my chest like it was the last thing anchoring me to life. A window nearby had cracked from the heat. I hurled myself through it. Glass ripped into my skin as I hit the lawn outside, rolling hard, gasping. My legs collapsed. My chest burned like it was on fire. But I was alive. I didn’t look back. Some service corridor must’ve been untouched—or the fire simply hadn’t reached it yet. I barely remember. Just stumbling through darkness free of smoke, barely upright, until I found the rear exit. Cold night air slammed into my face as I fell outside, coughing until my body shook violently. No one saw me. No one followed. And I didn’t stop. Not when my knees buckled. Not when I had to cling to street signs, brace against parked cars, drag myself forward step by step. I kept going because I knew—deep in my bones—that if I stopped, if they found me again, I wouldn’t survive a second time. I vanished into the city. Hours later, I boarded a flight bound for the Northern Territories. Just before takeoff, my phone vibrated. A message from Don Zachary. [Stop playing games, Avery. I don’t have time for this.] I stared at the screen, feeling absolutely nothing. Then I powered the phone off, leaned back as the plane began to move— and finally let the distance carry me away.

Zachary’s POV [Tomorrow, ten in the morning. Nina has her prenatal appointment. You’ll accompany her. Schedule your annual health screening while you’re there.] The message went unanswered. Not that I expected anything different. What I didn’t know—what no one bothered to tell me—was that Avery had already removed her SIM card, shut down the phone completely, and vanished. No forwarding address. No warning. No trail. Just like that, she slipped out of my world. The realization hit later, quietly, like the final echo of a door slamming shut behind someone who had no intention of ever returning. A sound you couldn’t undo. A sound that lingered. --- The following morning, the private medical center was calm, discreet—the kind of place reserved for men whose names never appeared in police reports and women who never waited in lines. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and fresh lilies. Nina clung to my arm as if letting go might send her drifting. “Zachary,” she murmured anxiously, fingers tightening. “Is the baby really alright?” I kept my voice level, Don-steady. “The doctor confirmed it. No lasting effects from the estate incident.” Her shoulders loosened. “Thank God. You’ve barely spoken since we arrived. I thought something was wrong.” Something was. Avery’s face wouldn’t leave my mind—the way she’d looked at me through smoke and chaos. No panic. No pleading. Just resignation. As if she already knew I wouldn’t choose her. And the worst part? She was right. I hadn’t carried her out. I’d carried Nina. --- After lunch, I escorted Nina back to the Sterling estate, handed her over to security, then headed straight for the council hall. Halfway down the corridor, my assistant caught up with me. “Don Moretti,” he said quietly, “Sebia has returned from Europe. He’s requesting a full executive briefing with the consiglieri.” I acknowledged him without slowing, but beneath the composed exterior, something twisted hard in my chest. Avery was still missing. She hadn’t appeared at the clinic. She hadn’t returned to the estate. None of the staff had seen her leave. No guards had logged her exit. She’d disappeared without a trace. When? How? Where the hell had she gone? I lengthened my stride, irritation sharpening into something more uncomfortable. “Arrange for a selection of the newest designer handbags,” I said over my shoulder. “And that custom jewelry set from Milan.” “For Nina?” my assistant asked automatically. I stopped. My jaw tightened. “Send it to the Sterling estate.” If Avery was anywhere, that was where she’d go. And if she wasn’t— I cut the thought off. The unease clawed deeper than I liked. What if she was hurt? Still recovering somewhere alone? What if she had truly left—for good? --- A week passed. Just after midnight, I returned to the estate, exhaustion settling into my bones after an endless strategy session. The house was silent. Moonlight spilled through the tall windows, painting the marble floors in silver. A figure curled on the sofa caught my eye—wrapped in silk, motionless, almost familiar. I exhaled, a low chuckle slipping out. “Avery,” I said without thinking. “I told you—no matter how late it gets, I always come back. You don’t need to—” I stopped. It wasn’t her. Nina sat up slowly, fear flickering across her face. “Zachary… she hasn’t come back. Not once. I’ve messaged her so many times—apologies, explanations—nothing. Maybe I should leave. I don’t know what else to do.” Her voice wavered. I lowered myself beside her and pressed a hand to her forehead. It wasn’t tenderness. It wasn’t love. It was habit. Reassurance by default. “Don’t overthink it,” I said calmly. “Stress isn’t good for the baby. This estate is yours now. Yours and the child’s. Whether Avery accepts that or not.” --- Later, I stood alone on the terrace, robe loosely tied, city lights stretching endlessly below. I lit a cigarette. I hadn’t touched one in years, but tonight restraint felt pointless. The craving wasn’t for nicotine—it was for release from the pressure coiling in my chest. I pulled out my phone. My thumb hovered over the last name at the bottom of my contacts. Avery. I stared at it longer than necessary. Thought of calling. Thought of demanding answers. Thought of saying things I hadn’t allowed myself to feel. In the end, I didn’t dial. I typed instead. [Avery. Tomorrow is Sebia’s eightieth birthday. Don’t cause trouble. Keep your distance from Nina and the child.] The message sent. I stared at the screen, chest tightening. For a moment, I wasn’t sure if it was the cold night air— Or something else entirely. No. Not panic. Something heavier. Something I didn’t have a name for yet.

Zachary’s POV Patriarch Sebia’s eightieth birthday was not merely a celebration—it was a ritual. An event where every expression was calculated, every smile rehearsed, every gesture weighed for consequence. This was the kind of gathering where reputations were reinforced or quietly buried, where one wrong word could echo through boardrooms and bloodlines for years. Perfection wasn’t optional. It was mandatory. I entered the grand ballroom with Nina at my side, her pregnancy now unmistakable beneath the silk gown chosen by my staff. Conversations dipped as we passed. Eyes followed. Whispers moved like currents beneath calm water. I ignored all of it, my expression locked into the neutral mask I’d worn since becoming Don. Inside, though, every instinct was on edge. Something was wrong. I didn’t release Nina’s hand until my grandfather made his entrance. Patriarch Sebia commanded the room without effort. He always had. He wasn’t just the head of the famiglia—he was its foundation. A man who had built an empire with patience, discipline, and fear, yet had always treated me with a measured warmth he rarely extended beyond blood. His gaze found mine immediately. “Where is Avery?” he asked, without preamble. The question hit harder than I expected. I swallowed, keeping my voice level. “She’s occupied,” I replied smoothly. “She wanted to prepare something meaningful for your birthday. She’ll arrive later.” The words sounded convincing. Even to my own ears. Sebia studied me in silence, his eyes sharp, searching for cracks. The weight of that scrutiny made my chest tighten—but he said nothing more. An hour passed. Then another. The ballroom filled with controlled laughter, crystal glasses clinking, respectful greetings exchanged between capos, politicians, and old-money investors. Yet Avery never appeared. I found myself glancing toward the doors more often than I cared to admit. My jaw tightened with every passing minute. Where the hell was she? Just as I considered stepping away to make a call, a young courier appeared at the entrance. He carried three carefully wrapped packages. His posture was stiff, his hands faintly trembling—not from the weight, but from the room itself. His eyes darted between me and my grandfather, clearly uncertain who held greater authority in that moment. “Delivery for Patriarch Sebia,” he announced. “From Ms. Avery.” The sound of her name stalled everything inside me. I cleared my throat. “Give them to me.” He hesitated. “I was instructed to deliver them directly to the Patriarch, sir. Her instructions were… precise.” Of course they were. I stepped aside, gesturing toward my grandfather. “Then follow them.” Sebia was in the middle of a quiet exchange with a board member when the courier approached. He bowed respectfully. “These are from Ms. Avery,” he said. “She sends her birthday wishes.” Sebia blinked, genuine confusion crossing his face. “Why didn’t she come herself?” he asked. “Where is she?” The courier shook his head. “I was only assigned delivery, sir.” A crease formed between my grandfather’s brows. Disappointment—unmistakable and heavy—settled into his expression. Still, he accepted the packages with practiced grace, placing them carefully on the table beside him. His fingers lingered on the topmost box. As if waiting for it to explain her absence. I stepped closer, heart pounding despite myself. “Would you like me to open them for you?” I asked quietly. “No,” he said at once. “I’ll do it.” The first package revealed a hand-embroidered tapestry. The craftsmanship was staggering—months of labor evident in every stitch. I knew how much time it had taken. I’d seen her hands raw and bleeding as she worked late into the night. The design honored longevity, lineage, legacy—everything my grandfather valued. Sebia lifted it slowly, eyes shining as he traced the threads with unsteady fingers. The second package followed. Wrapped in velvet. Inside lay a set of heirloom jewelry—the pieces that had once belonged to my grandmother. The same set Avery had worn on our wedding day. My throat closed. Why would she send these back? The weight of it pressed down on my chest, heavy and unmistakable. My palms dampened. Then there was the third box. It sat there, silent. Something in my gut twisted violently. I didn’t wait. My hand moved before reason could stop it, snatching the box from the courier. Sebia shot me a sharp look—but he didn’t interfere. I tore away the wrapping. And froze. The contents drained the color from my face. My breath caught, shallow and sharp, as my fingers trembled around the box. The meaning hit all at once—cold, deliberate, devastating. This wasn’t a gift. It was a message. One I couldn’t unsee. One the entire room would soon understand.