He Chose A Fake Heir Over His True Wife

My husband studied the fertility report on his desk with the same cold precision he used to order executions. On our fifth anniversary, he didn't give me diamonds. He checked his Rolex and delivered the sentence that ended my life. "Your genetic profile is defective, Catarina." He didn't just ask for a divorce. He pressed a button on his intercom, and a woman walked in. She was loud, chewing gum, and wearing a dress that was too tight. "This is Aria," Alex said, his voice flat. "She is a vessel. She will carry the heir your body cannot produce." He claimed it was just business, that she would be exiled once the child was born. But at my birthday gala, when Aria tripped into a champagne tower, the truth shattered along with the glass. I was the one bleeding, a jagged shard slicing my arm. But Alex didn't look at me. He threw his body over her. He cradled his mistress, screaming for a doctor to check the baby, while I stood there with blood dripping onto the marble floor, completely invisible. I watched him give his own blood to save her in the clinic later that night. I saw the way he looked at her—not like a vessel, but like a prize. He thought I would stay. He thought I was the obedient Mafia wife who would raise his mistress's child to save the family image. So when he handed me a stack of papers to "protect the assets," he was too arrogant to read them. He didn't notice the header read *Decree of Divorce*. While he was busy buying baby clothes for a child that didn't even exist, I wiped my identity from the servers, signed the papers he blindly authorized, and boarded a one-way jet to Paris. By the time he realizes his "heir" is a fraud, I will already be a ghost.

Chapters

Chapter 5

I went to the recovery room one last time.

Alex was awake, but he looked terrible.

His skin was gray, and dark circles bruised the hollows beneath his eyes. He was weak, diminished.

I sat in the chair beside his bed, my hands folded in my lap.

I was perfectly calm.

My stillness unnerved him. He expected tears. He expected screaming.

"Catarina," he croaked.

"I'm here, Alex."

He tried to sit up but fell back against the pillows, exhausted.

"I have to go," he said, his voice straining. "I have business. On the West Coast. I have to leave tonight."

It was a lie. I knew it was a lie.

He wasn't going to the West Coast. He was going to take Aria to the villa in Lake Como. To "recover."

"I know," I said softly.

He looked at me, surprised. "You do?"

"Yes. Business is important."

He relaxed, sinking deeper into the mattress. He thought he had won. He thought I was the obedient little wife again.

"Aria... she is just a tool, Cat," he rasped.

"Once the baby is born, she is gone. I promise. Just a few more months. Then it's just us. Just us."

Suddenly, the door burst open.

Capo Giovanni rushed in, breathless. "Boss," he panted. "She's awake. She's asking for... for Daddy."

Alex's eyes lit up. The fatigue vanished instantly.

He ripped the IV out of his arm. Blood splattered onto the white sheets, but he didn't care.

He swung his legs out of bed and stood up, swaying dangerously.

"I have to go," he said to me.

He didn't look at me. He looked only at the door.

He walked out.

He left me sitting there. He left me for the third time in three chapters.

But this time was different. This time, I didn't feel pain.

I felt the chains snap-a sharp, distinct ping echoing in the silence of my mind.

I stood up.

I walked out of the hospital and took a cab straight to the penthouse.

When I got there, the apartment was empty. Don Donato's cleaners had already been there.

My clothes were gone. My jewelry was gone. My passport was gone. There was nothing left of Catarina DeLuca.

I went to the computer in the study and logged into our private server.

I initiated the wipe.

Social media. Bank accounts. Medical records.

Delete. Delete. Delete.

I watched the progress bar crawl across the screen. 10%... 50%... 100%.

Done.

I was a ghost.

The front door opened.

Alex walked in, leaning heavily on the wall for support. He was on the phone.

"Yes, baby," he was cooing into the receiver. "Como is beautiful this time of year. The villa is ready. Just you and me."

He hung up, turned, and saw me standing by the computer.

"I'm packing for the West Coast," he said.

Another lie. He didn't even blink.

I nodded. "I understand, Alex."

It was the first honest thing I had said in years. I understood him perfectly. He was a man who wanted everything and deserved nothing.

He looked at me, confused by my calm. "Are you okay?" he asked.

I smiled. It was a small, sad smile.

"I'm fine, Alex. Go. Don't miss your flight."

He nodded, relieved. "I'll call you when I land."

He grabbed his bag and walked out the door.

He didn't kiss me goodbye. He didn't look back.

I waited until the elevator doors closed, then I walked to the kitchen.

I picked up my purse. Inside was a new passport.

I opened it to the ID page. Name: Kate Jensen. Citizenship: French.

I looked around the penthouse one last time.

It was a cage. A gilded, beautiful cage.

And the door was finally open.

I walked out, leaving the key on the counter.

I felt the rust falling off my soul.

I was free.

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