I am the daughter of New York's foremost surgeon.

Councillor Antonio barked, “Hey! You should thank him! If he hadn’t stepped in, your face would be ruined by now!”

Thank him?

Thank him for abandoning me ten years ago, for shoving me into hell with his own hands?

For shattering my family and setting me on this road with no return?

For ramming his car into mine when I was eight months pregnant—then dragging me out and dumping me at my father’s feet like trash?

That day, my father was scheduled to perform a life-saving coronary bypass on a critically ill senator.

That operation would have cemented his reputation and secured the hospital’s future.

Instead, Dante dragged me into the hospital lobby, pointed a finger at my father’s face in front of cameras, reporters, and patients, and shouted:

“Dr. Valerius, didn’t you say street whores weren’t fit for your hands? Well, your unwed daughter’s carrying my child—low as any whore. So tell me, will you save her or not?”

Then he laughed—loud and wild—and walked away.

I lived. My father’s career died.

Thank him?

The greatest joke in the world.

I turned back toward Dante with the smile I’d mastered over the years—bright, hollow, practiced.

“I should thank Dante Costello, indeed. Shame he finds me too filthy. Otherwise, I could offer him a few nights, as repayment.”

Dante’s face flushed dark red, like I’d slapped him.

“Miss Valerius,” he spat, “is there anything left in your head besides filth? Any shred of dignity at all?”

Anyone could accuse me of lacking dignity—but not Dante Costello.

The moment he threw me at my father’s feet like refuse, he ground my dignity into the dirt.

Cast out of high society, I was left to feed two starving children and a father gone mad.

For them, I learned to live without shame.

Each time I smiled at a stranger or let a man’s hands roam where I wished they wouldn’t, I wondered if it would have been better had my father never saved me that night.

I didn’t argue. My voice was calm, flat.

“Call me Luna. Miss Valerius died ten years ago.”

Dante’s fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned white.

After a long moment, he hissed, “Very well, Luna. I truly should never have saved you.”

I met his eyes. “Then I beg you, Don Costello, next time—don’t. Spare yourself the trouble of dirtying your hands with the likes of me. And your reputation, too.”

With that, I turned and walked away without a backward glance.

By the time I reached the small,cottage I rented on the city’s edge, I had to stop and steady myself before pushing the door open.

I forced what I hoped was a cheerful smile.

“Nick, Angie—Mommy’s home.”

My children ran straight into my arms.

But when they saw my bruised face, their smiles faltered into tears.

“Mommy, what happened? Did someone hit you again?”

I crouched, brushing away their tears. “No, Mommy just tripped. Silly me, still falling at my age.”

Angela limped out from the kitchen, leaning on her crutch. When she saw me, she turned away, wiping her eyes.

“Miss, I’ve heated the water. Go wash up.”

I took her hand gently. “Thank you, Angela. Without you, I wouldn’t know what to do.”

Angela had been my family’s housekeeper.

When I insisted on being with Dante, she’d begged me not to—said the Costellos were poison. I hadn’t listened.

And the day Dante abandoned me, she tried to defend me. His men shoved her down the stairs. Her leg never healed right.

When my world collapsed, she stayed. Crippled, forgotten, she still watched over my children and me.

What I owe her, I can never repay.

All I can do is whisper hollow thanks.

After the children were asleep, Angela dabbed my bruises with medicated alcohol.

Her voice trembled. “Miss, maybe you shouldn’t go back there. I can make a few pennies sewing and washing for others.”

I sighed. “That won’t even cover a week. Father’s nursing home alone costs two thousand a month. Nick and Angie were premature, always frail. They need medicine, milk, food. I have to earn more.”

I touched my cheek. “But with this face, I can’t go back tomorrow.”

Rain drummed outside through the night.

I lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The sound was steady, relentless—like the thoughts I couldn’t silence.

The next morning, I went to the pharmacy for Father’s medicine.

I emptied my pockets. “I’m still five hundred short… Could you give me a few days? Please, just put it on my tab.”

The pharmacist sneered. “Miss Valerius, if you’re short, sell yourself again. Come back when you’ve earned it.”

The shop was nearly empty, but every gaze burned.

Their whispers were sharp as glass.

“That proud Dr. Valerius—ruined by his shameless daughter.”

“Even selling herself can’t wash away that disgrace.”

I could endure anything they said about me.

But not about my father.

Biting my lip, I turned and left.

Outside, I collided with a solid chest.

When I looked up, it was Dante Costello.

He’d heard every word.

His face was pale, his eyes hard as stone.

“What they said… is it true?”