When the Heir's Cradle Falls

The day I was admitted to the family’s medical center for a high-risk pregnancy, my husband, Ronan Lucas—the family’s Underboss—had his encrypted phone blow up with 108 frantic calls.

The calls were from Jenna, the daughter of a low-level member.

Lying in the hospital bed, I watched the medication drip from the IV bag and asked if he needed to respond. He clicked his tongue in annoyance. "All she does is call me, day in and day out. Doesn't she have a family of her own? Goddamn nuisance."

Then, that same girl sent a photo of herself in a white dress, standing on the rooftop of a rival family's territory.

The caption read: If I fall from here, will I come back as a bird? Maybe then I won’t be a burden to anyone anymore.

Ronan merely glanced at it, then let out a derisive snort, though his fingers unconsciously caressed the screen. "Become a bird? Is she insane? That idiot's going to get herself riddled with bullets on their turf."

Despite his words, he began pacing, on edge, before rushing out of the room. He didn't come back all night.

That night, I hemorrhaged and was rushed into the emergency room.

When the doctor, his hands bloodied, asked if they should do everything they could for the baby, I glanced at the empty space beside me, calmly closed my eyes, and replied, "No. I don't want it anymore."

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1

When the anesthesia from the emergency procedure wore off and I opened my eyes again, it was the following afternoon.

I raised a hand to my now-flat abdomen. My sleeve slid down, revealing the back of my hand, bruised and swollen.

I’d been terrified of needles since I was a child, yet to save our baby, I had gritted my teeth and endured over three hundred hormone injections in the past few months.

However, from the moment I was wheeled into the operating room last night until now, a full twenty-seven hours had passed, and he still hadn't come back.

As if on cue, the encrypted phone on the bedside table vibrated.

It was a short, encrypted voice message from Ronan, but it had nothing to do with my health or the baby's condition. No, it was just a brief complaint, with the sound of wind and a roaring engine in the background.

He said, "Jenna was on that rooftop so long last night she freaked herself out and spiked a fever. Her old man's a gambling addict off dodging his debts, and her brother's a useless bum. I'm the only one left to look after her. Dammit, such a pain in the ass."

He called her a nuisance, but his tone held a trace of tenderness he himself hadn't noticed.

Staring at his profile picture—the Ouroboros seal that symbolized the family's power—I replied, "Understood."

On a whim, I opened the long-blocked inbox.

Sure enough, Jenna had sent a photo. Around her fair neck hung a necklace, its pendant all too familiar to me—it was the Ouroboros signet ring, the mark of his rank in the family, that I had personally placed on his finger the day he became Underboss.

The caption read: He said this is closer to his heart than wearing it on his finger.

The background was a messy king-sized bed, its dark sheets tangled in a heap—a silent testament to the night's activities.

I recognized it immediately. It was the bed in the master bedroom of our penthouse apartment.

A silent, icy smile touched my lips. I changed my phone's wallpaper—our only photo together—to the blueprints of the seaside villa I’d designed for myself before we were married. That had been my original dream.

Less than a minute after I sent my message, my phone rang. It was Ronan.

"Serena, I already explained this. Jenna's situation is special." His voice was laced with an exhausted, self-righteous edge. "She's just a little girl who needs protection. Her father once took a bullet for me. As her guardian, it's my responsibility to look after her. Besides, she's enough trouble as it is. Can you stop being so unreasonable?"

Ah, trouble. That was the word Ronan most often used to describe Jenna.

When the girl was first brought to the family by her father, she didn't even know the most basic rules. She was clumsy and timid, like a frightened fawn, always trailing behind Ronan, asking questions about everything.

Ronan used to complain about her to me constantly, saying she was slow and troublesome, unable to even learn how to load a gun.

He used to share everything about the family's business with me, but at some point, every story he told started to be about her.

"Serena, that girl cut her hand just trying to open a bottle of red wine! I honestly don't know how she's survived this long."

"Jenna delivered the wrong documents today and made me look like a fool during my report to the Don! I swear, one of these days I'm going to make her father take her back!"

He always said he was going to send her away, but to this day, she remained by his side, even climbing into our bed.

Then, I watched as his contact name for her changed from 'Troublemaker' to 'Poor Little Thing'.

Now, with all the clues laid out before me, how could I continue to deceive myself?

I listened calmly, lacking the energy to even argue with him, and just let out a soft laugh. "Mm, I understand."

Clearly, he hadn't expected me to be so calm. He must have thought I was playing some kind of game, so his tone softened. "I'll have Finn buy you your favorite Black Swan cake from Éclat, alright? You know the situation in the East District is tense right now, and I can't get away, so please…"

He didn't finish his sentence. A tearful "Ronan" from Jenna on the other end cut him off. "I'm scared, I think I see a shadow outside the window…"

And just like that, all his attention was stolen away. On the other end of the line, I heard his panicked voice. "What's wrong? Is someone harassing you again? Don't be afraid, I'm here."

Jenna whimpered softly, saying no, it was just a nightmare.

He was frantic with worry, scolding her gently. "You idiot, why didn't you just call for the guards outside?"

"I'm sorry, I've caused you trouble again, Ronan…" Jenna's voice trailed off sorrowfully.

After that, I heard Ronan sigh and continue talking to Jenna, but by then he had pulled the phone away, and his voice became a muffled murmur I couldn't decipher.

Not that I wanted to listen anyway.

Though my abdomen was still cramping from the surgery moments ago, the wave of nausea that rose in my throat like bile at the way he doted on Jenna was so overpowering it snuffed out everything else I felt.

I hung up the phone.

Just then, the doctor pushed open the door and began to remove the IV needle from my hand, his eyes filled with sympathy.

"Mrs. Lucas, you're cleared for discharge. But you've just had major surgery, and your body is extremely weak. You need to focus on resting. Also… your uterus was severely damaged. The chances of you conceiving again are practically zero."

The only response I could muster was a faint, "Mm."