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.

Chapter 1

Catarina DeLuca POV

My husband studied the fertility report on his desk as if it were a botched hit, his eyes scanning the data with the same cold precision he used to order executions.

He refused to meet my gaze.

Instead, he checked his Rolex, the gold glinting under the harsh office lights, and delivered the sentence that ended my life.

"Your genetic profile is defective, Catarina."

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

I sat perfectly still in the leather chair.

I folded my hands in my lap to hide the tremors.

Alexander DeLuca was the Underboss of New York.

He was a man who had buried seventeen rivals in the foundations of the new casino.

He was a man who commanded an army of soldiers and owned half the politicians in the state.

But he could not command my body to produce a child.

"Defective," I whispered.

It wasn't a question.

It was an echo of the failure that had haunted me for five years.

Alex finally looked up.

His eyes were dark, devoid of the warmth they used to hold when we were first married.

Now, they were merely mirrors reflecting his ambition.

"It is a mitochondrial flaw," he said, his voice flat.

He tapped the paper with a manicured finger.

"The doctors say the viability is near zero."

He stood up and walked to the window, looking out over the city he ruled.

"The laws of Cosa Nostra are absolute, Catarina. The bloodline must remain pure."

I knew the law.

I was born into this life.

I was a Jensen before I was a DeLuca.

I knew that a barren wife in the Mafia was worse than a dead one.

She was a liability.

A loose end.

"My father gave me an ultimatum this morning," Alex said, his back still turned to me.

"I have one year to produce an heir. One year, or I forfeit my title as Underboss."

My heart hammered against my ribs.

Forfeit the title?

Alex lived for the title.

He breathed power.

He would burn the world to ash before he gave up his birthright.

"So what are you saying, Alex?" I asked, my voice steady despite the nausea rising in my throat.

"Are you divorcing me?"

He turned around then.

He looked at me with a strange mixture of pity and annoyance.

"No. Divorce is messy. It shows weakness."

He pressed a button on his intercom.

"Send her in."

The heavy oak doors opened.

A woman walked in.

She was everything I was not.

I was pale, blonde, and composed-the perfect Ice Queen.

She was dark, curvaceous, and loud.

She wore a dress that was too tight and heels that were too high.

She was chewing gum.

"This is Aria Diaz," Alex said.

The woman smirked at me, popping a bubble of gum.

"Nice place," she said, her eyes roaming over the expensive art on the walls.

Alex walked over to her.

He didn't touch her, but the air between them crackled with a familiarity that made my stomach turn.

"Aria is the solution," Alex said.

"She is a vessel."

I stood up.

My legs felt like lead.

"A vessel?"

"She has been screened," Alex continued, as if discussing a new shipment of guns.

"Her genetic profile is compatible. She will carry the heir."

I looked from him to her.

"You are bringing a mistress into our marriage?"

"It is a business arrangement, Catarina," Alex snapped.

"Do not be dramatic. She is a womb. Nothing more."

"Once the child is born, she will be paid and exiled. We will raise the child as ours. Our marriage will return to normal."

Normal.

He thought this was normal.

He thought shattering my heart to save his legacy was a logical business move.

Don Donato, his father, walked into the room then.

The Don was old, shrunken, but his eyes were sharp as glass shards.

He looked at me with open disdain.

"It is done?" the Don asked.

Alex nodded.

"It is done."

The Don looked at Aria.

"Good hips. Make sure it is a boy."

Then he looked at me.

"You have one job now, Catarina. Maintain the image."

"Smile for the cameras. Do not embarrass my son while he secures the future of this family."

I looked at Alex.

I waited for him to defend me.

I waited for him to tell his father that I was his wife, not an employee.

But Alex just looked at Aria.

His gaze lingered on her waist, on the curve of her hips.

He wasn't looking at her like a vessel.

He was looking at her like a starving man looks at a feast.

I realized then that I had already lost him.

I wasn't the wife anymore.

I was just the benchwarmer.

I walked to the door.

"Where are you going?" Alex asked.

"Home," I said.

"I have a headache."

He didn't try to stop me.

He didn't even watch me leave.

He was already pouring a drink for Aria.

I walked out of the office and into the elevator.

As the doors closed, I saw Aria lean over the desk.

I saw her hand brush Alex's arm.

I saw him lean into her touch.

The elevator dropped, and my stomach dropped with it.

I drove myself home in a daze.

That night, Alex didn't come home.

He texted me at 2 AM.

"Monitoring the asset. Don't wait up."

I lay in our king-sized bed, staring at the empty pillow beside me.

It was our fifth anniversary.

On the nightstand, a tube of cheap drugstore lipstick sat where my diamond earrings used to be.

It wasn't mine.

It was a bright, vulgar red.

Just like Aria's dress.

He hadn't just brought a vessel into our lives.

He had brought a replacement.

And I was the only one who didn't know I had been fired.