After Being Fake-Married, I Became the Donna of the Underworld King

"Principessa Evangeline, the Bloodline Trust has been activated."

"According to the ironclad rule your mother established, once the Bloodline Trust is initiated, only someone with direct Collins blood can touch a single cent. Not even God himself can override it."

"Your father, Marco, is already frantically trying to bypass the controls."

I stroked my swollen belly, murmured an acknowledgment, and ended the encrypted call.

Marco thought he had a stranglehold on the Collins family's lifeline, but he forgot my mother had been guarding against him until the day she died.

I remember my mother's funeral. My father knelt before her casket, weeping inconsolably.

He repented for his drunken indiscretion, for falling into his mistress Caterina's bed, and swore he would live the rest of his life only for me.

I was too young then. I believed his tears.

And Vincent, then just a minor caporegime in the Jenkins family, stood by my mother's grave with me all night.

He gave me a shoulder to lean on when I had just lost the person closest to me, wiping away my tears.

"Evie, from now on, let me be the one to protect you."

That one sentence was all it took. I gave him my body and soul, and for his sake, I even began to step back from the family business, nearly losing everything.

I used the Collins influence to push Vincent to the position of Don.

I had completely forgotten my mother's final warning: never trust a man who starts with nothing and is too willing to bow.

Thinking back now, all that warmth had just been part of a cold, calculated plot.

My phone vibrated, pulling me from my thoughts.

Sarah had sent a string of photos.

The first was of our master bedroom, the large bed a complete mess.

The second was of Sarah in my silk nightgown, holding a glass of red wine, taking a selfie in the mirror.

The third was of her straddling Vincent's lap, the two of them about to kiss.

Each photo came with a taunting caption.

[Sister, this robe is so silky. No wonder Vincent says holding you feels so good.]

[Vincent said the soundproofing in here is excellent. You should have heard how I screamed for him on his office desk.]

A wave of nausea churned in my stomach. I rushed to the bathroom and retched violently.

I didn't even hear Vincent return.

The bedroom door was thrown open. "Evie? What's wrong? I tried calling you, but the line was busy. Are you not feeling well?"

He strode over, his eyes filled with practiced anxiety, and expertly lifted me onto the bed.

Then he handed me a slice of strawberry cake, my favorite.

"I even had our pastry chef teach me how to make this. It's not as rich this way. Want to try some?"

I'd heard he had canceled an important territory negotiation just to finish this cake by hand.

The man's deep eyes were brimming with feigned heartache. I had been fooled by this act for years.

Seeing my blank expression, he froze for a second.

Then his expression softened, and he placed a hand on my lower abdomen, stroking it gently.

"Vincent," I said, looking him in the eye. "Is there anything you need to confess?"

"You still have one last chance."

For the sake of the night he'd dragged me from a burning warehouse, scorching his own arm to save me, I would give him this one last chance to be honest.

"Baby, what are you talking about?"

He laughed, a helpless, doting sound, and leaned in, his nose brushing against mine.

"You and our baby are my entire world. I have no secrets from you."

I looked at his handsome face and felt a bone-deep chill.

It was true. The devil really does wear an angel's face.

Seeing no reaction from me, Vincent let out a soft laugh and placed a kiss on my eyelid.

"Thinking too much again? Is it because I've been too busy to be with you lately?"

As he spoke, his hand slid to my waist, trying to soothe me with familiar intimacy.

A sudden flash of lightning lit up the room, bathing it in a ghastly white light.

I flinched instinctively.

The night my mother was assassinated, there was a storm just like this.

But after Vincent came into my life, I was never afraid of them again.

Now, he still held me tight, his chin resting on top of my head.

"Don't be afraid. I'm here. Nothing can hurt you."

His embrace was as warm as ever, but my heart was ice.

Gradually, thinking I had fallen asleep, he glanced at a message on his phone, his expression shifting slightly.

After confirming my eyes were closed and that I was "asleep," he left the room in such a hurry he didn't even fix his tie.

Soon, my own phone lit up.

Sarah's messages, perfectly timed, came flooding in.

Each one more explicit than the last.

I scrolled through them, numb, thinking I was already dead inside, until I reached the final one.

It was a video.

Vincent was shirtless, kissing the small red mole on Sarah's left shoulder.

"Sarah, this mole is beautiful. It's my lucky star."

My world went blank.

Because in the exact same spot on my own left shoulder, there was a bullet scar.

It was from three years ago, during a firefight at the docks. I had thrown myself in front of him, taking a bullet meant for him.

After that, the scar had become our most "sacred" mark.

Every time we made love, Vincent would kiss it, almost pathologically.

"Evie, this is the proof of your love for me. When I see it, I remember you gave me my life."

I once thought it was reverence, a love for me carved into his very bones.

Sarah's final voice message arrived, her voice a soft, triumphant laugh:

[He insists on taking me from behind, licking this mole on my shoulder over and over. He says it makes him incredibly excited.]

[Isn't that strange? Hahahaha.]

[He also said he wants to give our baby a name connected to a 'lucky star.']

The phone slipped from my hand, thudding onto the carpet.

Humiliation, rage, and disgust coiled in my gut.

They had not only trampled on my dignity but had turned the scar I took for him into a prop for their sordid little game.

What I had mistaken for love and a sacred debt was now the cruelest joke in the world.

I sat in the darkness until the first light of dawn.

Picking up my phone, I scrolled back to the old message and replied:

[I agree. Let my child bear your name.]