Broken Doll No More: Her Ruthless Revenge

I stood before the heavy oak door with a positive pregnancy test burning a hole in my pocket, ready to tell the Underboss, Anthony Holden, that his legacy was secured. But before I could turn the handle, I heard his twin brother laughing from inside. "She screams your name, not mine. It is a little insulting, brother," Emmanuel mocked. "Three years of celibacy for the alliance while you play with my toy," Anthony sighed. "I deserve a medal." My world shattered. For three years, I thought I was the exception to their violence, but I had been sleeping with a monster in the dark. When I kicked the door open, Bianca House—my high school tormentor—was sitting there like a queen. "Happy anniversary, Erica," she sneered. "You were just a placeholder for the territory deal." They didn't stop there. They took my dignity, and then they took my life. At a dinner intended to show unity, they watched me choke on peanuts. Anthony looked me in the eye and used my EpiPen on Bianca’s fake faint while I suffocated on the floor. They threw my grandmother’s ashes off a balcony just to watch me scream. They pushed me into traffic to ensure I’d be a compliant prop for their wedding. They killed the baby in my womb. They thought they had broken me. They thought I was just a nurse, a civilian, a loose end. But on the day of the wedding, I wasn't in the pews. I was on a bus out of state, hacking the church's livestream. As the priest began to speak, I replaced the image of the cross with the video of their confession. I watched their empire crumble from a cracked phone screen, leaving the monsters behind to find a man who would actually burn the world for me. Chapter 1 Erica POV I stood before the heavy oak door with a positive pregnancy test burning a hole in my coat pocket, ready to tell the future Don of the Holden family that his legacy was secured—only to hear his twin brother laughing about how he was the one who had actually planted it there. The hallway of the Obsidian Club was cold, reeking of expensive cologne and old money. My hands were shaking as I clutched my purse tighter. Inside lay a small white stick with two pink lines. It was supposed to be a gift. Anthony Holden was the Underboss of the city. He was dangerous. He was powerful. But for the last three years, he had been my prince. He had plucked me out of the gutter of my ordinary life. He had given me a ring. He had promised me safety. I thought I was the exception to his rule of violence. I reached for the handle. I wanted to see his face light up. I wanted to see the hard lines of his jaw soften the way they did when he looked at me. But then, I heard a voice. It was Anthony. "She is so boring, Manny. I do not know how you stomach it." I froze. My hand hovered over the burnished brass. Another voice answered. It was identical to Anthony's. Low. Raspy. Dark. It was Emmanuel. His twin. The Enforcer. "She is tight," Emmanuel said. "That is the only thing she has going for her. And she screams your name, not mine. It is a little insulting, brother." The floor seemed to tilt beneath my feet, and my stomach turned. "It is the deal," Anthony said. "Bianca wants her broken. She wants the engagement to last exactly three years. She wants the little nurse to think she made it, and then she wants the rug pulled out." Bianca House. The name was a blade in my ribs. She was the daughter of the rival syndicate. She had made my life hell in university. She had ordered her guards to lock me in closets. She had poured wine on my textbooks. "Three years of celibacy for me," Anthony sighed. "I deserve a medal. Keeping myself pure for the alliance while you play with my toy." "We switch off the lights," Emmanuel laughed, the sound wet and ugly. "She never knows. She thinks your hands are rough from work. She thinks your silence is passion." I stopped breathing. My knees hit the floor with a silent thud. Every memory of the last three years flashed before my eyes. The nights Anthony insisted on total darkness. The way he never spoke when he touched me. The way he would leave immediately after. It wasn't him. It was never him. I had been sleeping with a monster. And now, I was carrying that monster's child. I stood up. I didn't think. I didn't plan. I kicked the door open. The heavy wood slammed against the wall, the crack echoing like a gunshot. The room went silent. Anthony was sitting on the leather sofa, holding a glass of whiskey. Emmanuel was leaning against the bar. They looked exactly alike. Same dark hair. Same cruel eyes. Same sharp suits. But now, I saw the difference. Anthony looked clean. Emmanuel looked like he had blood under his fingernails. And in the corner, sitting in a velvet armchair like a queen, was Bianca. She smiled. It was the smile of a predator who had just trapped a rabbit. "Happy anniversary, Erica," she said. Anthony didn't look guilty. He didn't scramble to cover himself. He just looked annoyed. "You are early," he said. "We were not going to tell you until the party." "Tell me what?" I whispered, my voice like broken glass. "That you were just a placeholder," Emmanuel said, walking toward me. I stepped back, my skin crawling. This was the man I had been intimate with. This was the father of the baby in my womb. "Don't touch me," I said. Emmanuel smirked. "You liked it last night." I felt bile rise in my throat. "Why?" I looked at Anthony. "Three years. Why?" Anthony took a sip of his drink. "Bianca demanded a dowry," he said simply. "She wanted your dignity. I want her father's territory. It was a fair trade." He stood up and walked to Bianca. He kissed her hand. It was a gesture of reverence he had never shown me. "You are nothing, Erica," Anthony said, looking at me over his shoulder. "You are a nurse. A civilian. You exist because we allow it." Bianca laughed. "Look at her dress. It is from last season." She reached into her purse and pulled out a stack of cash. She threw it at me. The bills fluttered through the air like dead leaves, hitting my face, hitting my chest. "For your cab fare," Bianca said. "Get out of my city." I looked at the money on the floor. I looked at the men who had destroyed me. I touched my pocket. The test was still there. I realized then that I was not just a victim. I was a loose end. And if they knew about the baby, I would be a dead end. I turned around. I walked out. I didn't run. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing me run. But as the door clicked shut behind me, the first tear fell. It was hot and angry.