–Sophia–
My stomach nearly dropped when the monitor showed I was losing my husband.
I gripped the railing, knuckles whitening, as I looked down—watching them revive him while the operation continued. Voices overlapped in sharp, controlled commands. Doctors moved quickly—almost scrambling—but no, not panicking. Never panicking.
Everything they did was precise. asured. Almost effortless.
As if they were pulling him back from the edge of death with invisible threads.
"Sophia."
But the world had narrowed into a single, suffocating point. I couldn’t hear—couldn’t think—couldn’t even feel the air in my lungs.
"Sophia."
I was pulled out of my silent heart attack when I looked up at Dmitri.
"Gather yourself. Breathe," he said firmly. "Sit down."
He guided to the chair, his grip steady.
"Rember—he’s fighting. And you have a baby within you."
My hand instinctively moved to my stomach.
I was still in my first trister. The doctors had told —again and again—to rest, to stay calm.
But how could I, when my world was bleeding out beneath ?
"Look."
I forced myself to look back at the monitor.
He’s back.
The lines steadied—fragile, but alive.
They continued the operation.
And it went on for hours.
Endless, dragging hours that carved through my nerves like a blade.
"Sophia."
I looked up—and there she was.
Ines.
She reached , and I broke.
I threw myself into her arms, all composure unraveling as I cried against her chest. My sobs ca out raw, unrestrained, as if my body had been waiting for permission to collapse.
Her hand moved gently along my back, slow and soothing, like silk brushing against shattered glass.
"Hush now, my darling," she murmured, her voice soft yet commanding, like a queen calming a storm. "You are safe. I am here."
She was the last person I expected... and yet the one I needed most.
She wasn’t just my best friend’s mother.
She was... mine too.
A mother in every way that mattered.
"I am here," she whispered again, her voice low and certain. "You must trust them, Sophia. They will not fail him."
I nodded against her, though my entire body trembled.
I was still breaking.
I had insisted on this. On watching. On witnessing every second as they fought for my husband’s life—while that clone lay there beside him, breathing like a ghost of sothing real.
"Do not let fear consu you," she said softly. "He will be well."
I nodded again, though my hands still shook.
I drank water, the coolness barely grounding , before a sudden discomfort pulled at .
"I—I need to..."
"Of course," Ines said at once, already guiding . "Co, my dear."
She escorted to the restroom, waiting just outside the cubicle like a silent sentinel.
When I finished and stepped out, the automatic flush echoed faintly behind . I washed my hands, then splashed water on my face, the chill biting into my skin.
Ines handed soft tissues—folded neatly, as everything about her was.
"You know, my dear," she began, her tone conversational, almost reflective, "I once suffered fractures after a fall from the second floor."
I glanced at her through the mirror.
"I cultivated my own DNA," she continued, as if discussing sothing mundane. "We used it to replace what had been broken. There was internal bleeding... quite severe. We transferred it to a cloned body, so they could still study the damage inflicted upon before it was laid to rest."
I stared at her reflection, stunned.
"But... you don’t have any scars."
She smiled—calm, unbothered, immaculate.
"Scars are... optional, my dear," she said lightly. "We remove what no longer serves us."
Her gaze t mine in the mirror—steady, unwavering.
"I have every confidence they will succeed."
Her certainty wrapped around like armor.
"Now," she added gently, "shall we return? Or would you prefer to rest?"
I shook my head.
Stubborn.
Always stubborn.
She said nothing of it—only guided back, ensuring I was seated comfortably. She remained beside , her presence unwavering.
Dmitri stood nearby, speaking quietly into his phone before approaching us. He knelt before Ines, presenting sothing on his device.
"Are we going to release this?" he asked.
I leaned slightly closer.
"What is that?"
Ines glanced at , a faint, proud smile touching her lips.
"Damon has just rescued several children from an abduction attempt," she said, her voice laced with quiet triumph. "We have finally located the core of their operations."
Her eyes sharpened, cold beneath the elegance.
"A circle of wealthy, depraved n. A syndicate. And—unsurprisingly—Dela Vega, along with several governnt officials, are involved."
My breath hitched.
"The President has already begun hunting them down," she added, her smile turning almost regal.
"That ans... Tyrona?"
"Yes," Ines replied smoothly. "Under house arrest. She was unaware of her father’s... inclinations."
"Oh..." I murmured. "That’s... so sad for her."
And for her son.
Sweet little Andro.
"Do not concern yourself," Ines said. "The President has taken the credit—as he must. In doing so, he secures the authority to dismantle the rest of these networks."
She tilted her head slightly, pleased.
"And Livana has already begun her counteroffensive."
Her voice—featherlight, yet absolute—soothed sothing deep within .
"Yes, Commander," she said, turning to Dmitri with a graceful smile. "Let us proceed."
She looked back at , almost amused.
"We are tracking a certain... vigilante. A wealthy hacker, it seems. A man with a taste for eliminating criminals—particularly those involved in human trafficking."
I listened quietly.
Livana and I had been part of that.
Sothing Ines had built—sothing powerful enough to draw the attention of the FBI, NBI, CIA, MIA... and countless others.
They tried to replicate it.
They failed.
Because brilliance like that... could not be copied.
Ines had gathered enough evidence to solve a century’s worth of cris.
She could release it all.
And when Livana released even a fraction before—just one fourth—the world descended into chaos.
Truth, unleashed, was never gentle.
And yet...
There was no dirt on our President.
Not a single stain.
Which ant—
For once—people had chosen correctly.
I stood when I saw the movent below shift.
The operation was ending.
Doctor White—Dmitri’s daughter—looked up and gave a small nod.
Success.
The word echoed through like sunlight breaking through a storm.
A breath I didn’t know I was holding finally escaped.
I wiped my tears.
"Co here, my dear."
Ines pulled into her arms once more.
"Now that Kai is safe," she said gently, "let us have you rest. He will remain isolated for a few days before being transferred to a private room... and I shall stay with you until then."
"Th-thank you..."
My voice cracked—but this ti, it was from overwhelming relief.
I looked at my husband one last ti...
Then at the clone beside him—
Not his face.
But his perfect DNA.
A reflection without a soul.
Ines guided to another room—one far more refined, more comforting. Not the one I had shared with my husband while caring for him through paralysis and recovery.
This one felt... warr. Softer.
Like a place ant for healing.
She stayed with . Even as sleep threatened to take , she remained—constant, unwavering.
She wasn’t bound to by blood.
And yet...
She was more of a mother than the one who gave life.
–Livana–
Releasing everything—the filth, the rot those governnt officials so carefully buried beneath their polished smiles. Exposing them one by one. A few police officers entangled, and many more behind them. Now they scatter like vermin beneath sudden light, desperate, scrambling. Our n are already in pursuit. Capture cos first.
The killings... I will leave those to Damon. His empire does not tolerate such stains.
We may operate in the shadows, yes—our empires built on things the world would condemn if spoken aloud—but never human trafficking. Never that. Drugs may brush the edges of our dealings, but they are not our foundation.
My empire trades in data—secrets, patterns, leverage. Damon does the sa, though my expertise lies deeper within that web. He, however, is forged differently. Weapons. Innovation sharpened into lethality. It runs in his bloodline—generations of brilliance who began crafting and selling such power as early as the 1980s.
We are no saints. No angels cloaked in righteousness.
We are predators who prey on worse predators.
"Wifey!" Damon burst through the door.
It was already midnight. Our son had stirred for his usual snack, the house wrapped in that quiet, fragile hour where even shadows seem to breathe slower.
I crossed my arms, fixing him with a glare sharp enough to cut.
"What the fuck took you so long?" I hissed.
He pouted—actually pouted—as if my irritation amused him. Then, without a word, he set down a box of peaches.
I arched a brow.
"There are more in the car," he said, grinning like a man who had just conquered sothing far greater than a fruit stand.
"Damon," I sighed, pressing my fingers briefly to my temple. "They’ll rot."
"Oh, baby. They won’t." His grin widened, boyish and infuriating. "Mom knows exactly what to do with them."
Before I could respond, his lips claid mine.
I closed my eyes, indulging—just for a second—in the taste of him. Familiar. Dangerous. Addictive.
"Oh, fuck," he murmured against my mouth, voice dropping into sothing darker. "I want to take you right here."
His hands caged in, his lips trailing down my neck—heat against skin, a slow burn threatening to unravel control.
I smacked him lightly, pushing him back just enough to break the spell, my gaze darting toward Sky—who was now halfway over the coffee table, determinedly opening the box.
"Foodie!"
He paid us no attention whatsoever. Not to the tension, not to the near indecency—only to the sweet, intoxicating scent of peaches.
My own mouth watered faintly as Damon chuckled.
"Alright, I’ll prepare it," he said, lifting the box.
"Dada!" Sky protested.
"Co here." Damon scooped him up with ease, then grabbed the box again as Sky imdiately followed, small footsteps trailing after him like a loyal shadow.
It was... endearing.
Dangerously so.
I exhaled, the tension in my chest loosening as my hand drifted to my abdon, fingers brushing over the curve of my bump.
Larger than before. Noticeably so.
At thirteen weeks, I had not carried this much when I was pregnant with Sky. But this ti... three.
Three lives.
The thought alone is both miraculous and terrifying.
I know how it works—one by one. Of course. But carrying them? The weight, the strain... the quiet, creeping fear that my body might not endure it all. That I might not even have the strength to stand.
"You are still awake, my dear?"
I looked up to see Grandma Olivia, draped in white silk and a black satin robe, elegance woven into every line of her posture.
"Hello, Grandma," I greeted, offering her a soft smile. "I was waiting for my husband. He returned with... a truckload of peaches."
An exaggeration, perhaps—but not by much. Knowing Damon, there were likely more than a dozen boxes waiting outside.
She sat beside , her presence calm, steady. Her hand rested gently over my stomach, warm and knowing.
"Our family is thriving," she said softly. "Even more so now that you have married Damon."
The words lingered.
And to my own quiet surprise... I smiled.
I despise Damon. I always have.
Or at least, I used to.
Because the man before now—this man—knows only how to love.
Possessive. Obsessive.
Endlessly, irrevocably mine.
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