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 7

I didn't make it to the front door.

"Catarina."

Don Donato's voice stopped me cold in the foyer.

He was standing by the door to his study, a sentinel in the shadows.

"Inside."

I obeyed, walking into the room that smelled of parchment, stale tobacco, and old secrets. The Don moved behind his desk, his movements heavy.

He didn't look like a monster tonight. He looked like a tired old man, methodically cleaning up a mess.

Opening a drawer, he pulled out a thick stack of papers and slid them across the mahogany surface.

"Sign here," he commanded.

I looked down at the documents. The bold headings stared back at me: Separation Agreement. Asset Transfer. New Identity Protocol.

"You knew," I whispered.

"I knew my son is a fool," Donato replied, his voice devoid of emotion. He sat down heavily, the leather chair creaking under his weight.

"He is distracted. A leader cannot be distracted by a mistress. It is a fatal flaw."

He looked at me with cold, pragmatic eyes, assessing me one last time.

"You were a good wife, Catarina. You played your part. But the play is over."

He pushed a fountain pen toward me.

"Sign. Take the money. Take the new name. Disappear. If you come back, I cannot protect you."

I picked up the pen. To my surprise, my hand didn't shake.

I signed my name.

Catarina DeLuca.

The ink was black and permanent, glistening on the page. It was the last time I would ever write those letters.

Suddenly, the door burst open behind me.

Alex stormed in, bringing a chaotic energy into the quiet room. His hair was disheveled, his tie crooked-a portrait of a man unraveling.

"Is she okay?" Donato asked immediately.

"Just heat exhaustion," Alex said, breathless. He turned his wild eyes toward me, his expression hardening.

"What was that stunt in there, Catarina? Separating? Are you trying to humiliate me?"

"Just sign the papers, Alex," Donato cut in, his voice calm and authoritative. "We need to secure the assets before the twins are born. It is just territory management."

Alex didn't read them.

He was too arrogant. He was too used to being the center of the universe to suspect he was being maneuvered.

He thought I was just acting out. He assumed his father was handling the boring business details.

He grabbed the pen from my hand.

With an impatient huff, he scrawled his signature next to mine.

"There," he snapped, tossing the pen down. "Are you happy? Now stop this nonsense and go check on Aria. She needs water."

I stared at the wet ink of his signature.

He had just signed our divorce.

He had just signed away his marriage for a glass of water.

I stood up, the chair scraping against the floor.

"I have a headache, Alex," I said softly. "I'm going home."

He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. "Fine. I'll drive you."

"Daddy?"

Aria appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame. She looked frail and pathetic, clutching her stomach.

"I feel sick again."

Alex looked at me. Then he looked at her.

"Take the driver, Cat," he said, turning his back on me.

He walked over to Aria, wrapping his arm protectively around her waist.

"I have to stay. For the heirs."

He waved his hand at me over his shoulder, dismissing me.

Like I was a servant.

I turned and walked out of the study.

I walked out of the mansion, leaving the suffocating weight of the DeLuca name behind me.

The night air hit my face.

It was cold. It was crisp.

It tasted like oxygen.

It tasted like freedom.

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