I Raised His Heirs, They Shot Me Off a Cliff

"Please… please… just help me leave. I can't take this anymore…" My voice broke into fragments as I clutched the phone so tightly my knuckles turned white, as if it were the only thing tethering me to sanity, the last fragile thread keeping me from completely falling apart.

"Seraphina? What's going on? Where are you?" The voice on the other end was sharp with concern, urgent, grounding, but it felt so far away, like it was coming from another world I no longer belonged to.

I dragged my sleeve roughly across my face, smearing tears and blood together without caring. My whole body trembled uncontrollably as I forced the words out in a hoarse whisper, each one scraping painfully against my throat. "I'm done… I can't stay here anymore. I'm leaving Enzo… and the kids."

The moment the words left my lips, something inside me seemed to collapse.

My fingers loosened without strength, and the phone slipped from my grasp, hitting the bed with a dull, lifeless thud.

Silence followed.

I stood there for a long moment, breathing unevenly, before my gaze slowly lifted toward the mirror.

The woman staring back at me felt like a stranger.

Bruised. Blood smeared across her temple. Lips cracked. Eyes hollow and empty, like all the light inside had been drained out.

I looked… ruined.

Like someone who had crawled out of a battlefield, barely alive.

And in a way… I had.

Two hours ago…

I had been standing in front of the same mirror, twirling slowly, forcing myself to smile.

The royal blue dress clung perfectly to my body, hugging every curve. The color made my dark hair look richer, softer. It was elegant. Beautiful.

Catarina's favorite color.

For a brief second, I almost believed I looked… worthy. Acceptable. Good enough to sit at the table when the family gathered, good enough that no one would whisper about why the Acting Boss kept a wife he never touched in a house she wasn't welcome in.

Thud!

The impact came out of nowhere.

Pain exploded across my skull, sharp and blinding, and my vision went white for a split second. My body staggered backward, and I slammed hard into the dresser behind me, the force knocking the air out of my lungs.

A crash echoed through the room. Somewhere down the corridor, a soldier posted outside the east wing would have heard it. None of them would come. They never did.

My hand flew instinctively to my forehead, fingers trembling as they brushed against something wet.

Sticky.

Warm.

I pulled my hand back and stared at it.

Blood.

"What the hell—" My voice came out unsteady, barely audible.

"Nice shot, Matteo!" Nico's voice rang out, loud and gleeful.

I blinked, my vision struggling to focus as dizziness washed over me in waves.

When the blur cleared, I saw them.

All six of them.

Standing in a straight line like they had planned it. Like this was a performance.

Gianna. Matteo. Nico. Lucia. Rocco. Alessia.

My babies.

At least… that's what I had always believed.

But the way they looked at me now—

Cold. Mocking. Disgusted.

It was as if I was nothing.

No… worse than nothing.

Like I was something beneath them. Something they had stepped in and couldn't wait to scrape off their shoes.

"What did you throw at me?" I croaked, struggling to stay upright as the room tilted around me.

"A rock," Rocco said with a smirk, completely unapologetic. "Next time, maybe we'll aim lower."

A ripple of laughter followed his words. Six voices in unison, the sound bouncing off the high walls of the Montecarlo estate bedroom like it belonged there. Like cruelty was just another thing this house had taught them.

"You don't belong here," Matteo added, stepping forward slightly, his eyes full of open hostility.

Gianna crossed her arms tightly over her chest, her lips curling. "Wearing Mom's color won't make you her."

"You're a fake," Lucia said softly.

Her voice was quiet, almost gentle, but it cut deeper than all the others combined.

I bit down hard on my lip, so hard I tasted blood again, trying to hold myself together. My left hand found my right wrist and pressed, two fingers digging into the bare skin where my mother's bracelet once sat, the familiar ache of its absence the only steady thing left in my body. "But I raised you—"

"Shut up!" Nico barked, his voice sharp and commanding.

They moved then.

Not chaotically. Not impulsively.

But together.

Like a pack that had practiced this moment.

Before I could even react, bowls were overturned above me.

Something cold and crawling spilled over my head, my shoulders, my arms.

Ants.

Dozens, no, hundreds of them.

I screamed, the sound ripping out of me uncontrollably as I flailed, slapping frantically at my skin. They bit down instantly, tiny sharp stings exploding everywhere at once, my neck, my arms, my scalp, crawling through my hair, slipping beneath my dress.

I couldn't breathe.

I couldn't think.

All I could hear was their laughter.