He Killed Us Both

In my dreams, I returned to the first time I met Linus.

It was at a medical charity gala. He stood before a Francis Bacon painting, his features sharp, his deep brown eyes like flames trapped in amber.

His dangerous charm had already ensnared countless high-society women across the city.

I was one of them. After that one look, I decided he would be mine.

Back then, I was just a promising medical graduate from a middle-class family, and he was oblivious to my existence. To enter his world, I relentlessly published papers, securing a place in top journals until my research sent shockwaves through the medical community.

I hosted a private dinner for a select few elites under the guise of an academic celebration and sent him an invitation. That night, I finally caught a flicker of interest in his eyes.

I seized the opportunity, pursuing him with everything I had: inside medical intelligence, rare art pieces, vintage watches that suited his taste. Eventually, he let me in.

I thought it was the beginning of my success, but it was the prelude to a nightmare.

After our marriage, he grew more distant. Any date could be canceled at a moment's notice for "family business." I never suspected a thing until our wedding day, when I accidentally saw the security footage from his office.

Lydia had compiled a decade's worth of call logs—every time she called him away with a trembling voice, every feigned crisis that summoned him to her side.

All those times he'd canceled on me, he was at her beck and call.

He would stay by her bedside all night to ward off her "nightmares," soothe her "fragile nerves" with the most expensive gifts, and move heaven and earth for her at the slightest grievance.

To my shame, I never found the courage to expose any of it. I was too terrified of losing him.

In my previous life, when Lydia supposedly lost her leg in the car crash, he acted remarkably calm. I was naive enough to believe I had won.

He devoted himself to me and our child, pouring all his affection onto us.

That sudden deluge of affection blinded me completely.

It wasn't until I died at his hands after giving birth that I finally understood: it was all a long, cold prelude to his revenge.

When I woke up, I was in a shabby underground clinic. Beside me was not Linus, but a stranger.

"You're awake?" A middle-aged man leaned over me. He didn't carry the scent of gunpowder like a mobster, only the sterile tang of disinfectant from an unlicensed clinic in a rough part of town.

"I was just a block away when the explosion happened. Saw the whole thing, went to check, and found you bleeding out. I brought you here myself." He clenched his jaw. "Those bastards… the Valeriano family… they were all crowded around some other woman, didn't even give you a second look."

I struggled to move. When my hand touched my abdomen, I froze.

"I'm so sorry," he said, his eyes filled with pity. "The baby... By the time I got you here, it was too late."

A bitter smile touched my lips. "It's not your fault. I know." I paused. "Thank you for bringing me here."

A stranger could see I was dying, yet my husband of five years wouldn't spare me a glance.

Seeing my condition, the stranger, whose name was Liam, was more furious than I was. "What the hell is wrong with that family? A pregnant woman is lying there bleeding to death, and they do nothing?"

He growled, "If I hadn't gone over, you would've died! Doesn't your husband give a damn? Give me his number. I'll call him. You shouldn't be alone."

I shook my head, and when I tried to speak, only a hoarse rasp came out. "The father of that child is dead to me."

Liam's face was filled with sympathy. He offered to stay and take care of me until I recovered.

I refused. I transferred a sum of money to his account for the medical fees and warned him not to get any more involved.

After he left, the storm was just beginning on the underworld's rumor mill.

The topic "Valeriano's Wife in Car Crash" exploded across encrypted channels and underground forums, shooting to the top of every list within minutes.

A bystander had uploaded a photo of me—crawling from the wreckage, covered in blood, while the family's Soldati stood guard around an unharmed Lydia.

The public channels erupted. Thousands of people cursed, demanding an explanation from the Valeriano family, condemning the soldiers who were more concerned with dousing a fire on a luxury car than with a pregnant woman's life.

I scrolled through the angry comments, but this level of punishment was still too light for Linus. I was opening my phone to send a message when a gloating text from Lydia arrived first.

It was a selfie. She was in a VIP hospital room, Linus feeding her soup with a silver spoon, his gaze as gentle as a warm spring day. On her hand was a ring—the signet ring that symbolized the Don's power.

I had seen countless intimate photos of them. This one stirred nothing but ice in my veins.

I closed the chat window and dialed Linus's number. He answered on the fifth ring, his voice thick with suppressed fury.

"You have the nerve to call?" he roared. "What do you want? To see if Lydia's dead? Sorry to disappoint you—I saved her. She's alive and well!"

"Cassandra, I've known you for five years, and I never thought you were capable of murder. Do you have any idea what you've done? You tried to kill her! Are you insane?"

"You have one hour to get over here and apologize. Otherwise, we're done."

Before I could speak, Lydia's voice came through the phone—a wounded cry, performed to perfection.

"Linus... don't blame her. It's all my fault. If she insists I was the one who cut the brakes, just tell her I did. Don't fight with her; a pregnant woman can't handle the stress."

Linus let out a long, disappointed sigh. "You're just too kind, Lydia. That's why she dares to walk all over you. We grew up together. She's nothing compared to you. What right does she have to lay a finger on you?"

"Don't worry. This time, I'm going to teach her a lesson she'll never forget."

While they were lost in their hypocritical performance, I spoke clearly into the phone.

"Fine. Annul the marriage. I agree. I'll have my lawyer draw up the papers. Just be ready to sign them."