My Twin Sister Is Pregnant With My Husband’s Child

The doctor asked if I needed anything else. I forced a smile, bitter and metallic on my lips. "Has anyone come to see me?"

"I'm sorry… no one has," she replied softly.

A chill settled into my chest then. Not the kind that makes your skin crawl, but the kind that sinks deep into your bones, leaving a hollow, frozen ache.

When she left, I stared at the blank wall for what felt like hours. Eventually, I shoved the blanket off me. Every movement sent jagged waves of pain through my body, but I ignored it.

"Mrs. Falcone?" a nurse called as she entered. "You shouldn't be up and moving. You lost a lot of blood. Your stitches—"

"I'm leaving," I said, voice flat, cutting her off. "I don't care that I'm still bleeding. I'm not staying another second."

She tried to reason with me, worry etched across her face. "You're not stable enough—"

"I said I'm leaving. Just bring me whatever I need to sign," I snapped.

She stared at me for a long moment, hesitating, then retreated. The private clinic was quiet. No guards posted outside my door. No flowers. No one from the Valenti Family had thought to send even a soldier to check whether the Boss's wife was still breathing. A few minutes later, she returned with the discharge papers.

Every step toward the door was agony. My legs trembled, my back screamed, but I forced myself forward.

Halfway down the hall, I saw them. Dante and Valentina, my twin sister, sitting side by side in another room. Laughing. Smiling. As if nothing had happened. As if my babies had never existed.

I turned away before they could notice me.

They had taken everything from me once. I wasn't letting them do it again.

This time, I had Lazaro. The man who concealed an empire behind a polite smile. The man whose name was spoken only in hushed tones, whose syndicate moved through the city's tunnels and docks like a second bloodstream. The man who could reduce the entire Valenti dynasty to ashes without lifting a finger.

I was done being their victim.

Dante was feeding Valentina soup, that fake gentle smile plastered on his face, the same smile he never bothered to give me. Valentina sat there, fragile-looking but smug, soaking in every bit of attention like she was the donna of the Family already.

Once, seeing them like this would have shattered me. Now, I felt nothing. I turned to slip past them, but, as usual, luck had other plans.

"Seraphina?" His voice cut through me. I stiffened, jaw tightening.

I turned slowly, face calm, hiding the storm inside. When our eyes met, I glimpsed a flicker in him. Guilt, maybe, like he suddenly remembered I even existed. His father's signet ring sat still on his pinky. Not spinning. He hadn't been worried enough to spin it.

"I didn't realize you were awake," he stammered, pushing himself upright from the chair beside Valentina. "How are you feeling?"

I didn't answer. My silence said everything I needed it to.

Dante's shoulders slumped. "Your sacrifice… it wasn't in vain," he murmured, eyes locking on mine as if trying to force me to believe him. "Valentina's fine. Her baby is healthy. You saved them both."

I laughed. Sharp, bitter, humorless. He flinched.

Valentina placed her hand gently on her flat stomach, her sweetness feigned. "Dante hasn't left me alone for a second. He's been so good to me."

I refused to stay and watch their sick charade. I turned to leave, but Dante sprang to his feet, reaching for me.

"Wait, Seraphina. Just wait."

I froze. Not because I wanted to, but because I knew how ridiculous it sounded to even consider listening.

"I'm throwing a gathering tonight," he blurted. "To celebrate your recovery and Valentina coming home safe. It's been… difficult. My father will be there. He really wants to see you."

I said nothing. Salvatore Falcone wanting to see me meant nothing good. The old Don's invitations were summons, and his interest in his daughter-in-law had never once been warm.

He stepped closer, softer now, as if sincerity could make a difference. "Let me drive you home. We're all going the same way."

"I'm not going home," I said flatly. "I'm going to my parents' vineyard."

Lazaro had promised to watch over it once I accepted his offer. It was the only piece of my parents left. Something Dante could never touch. Castellano land, Castellano soil, protected now by the one man the Valenti Family feared.

"The vineyard? Why?" Dante blinked, confused.

I tilted my head, keeping my expression icy. "I have business there. None of your concern."

Valentina's eyes brightened suddenly, her fake charm on full display. "Perfect timing. I was planning to visit too. After all, it is our parents' vineyard."

That caught me off guard. She had always acted like it didn't matter. The estate where we'd grown up, where our father had built his name before anyone in this city knew what the Castellano Family could become. She'd never once gone back after the funeral.

Dante nodded quickly. "Then we'll come with you."

I stared at him, surprised at how eagerly he agreed. The same man who once called the vineyard a waste, a burden, now jumped at the chance to go because Valentina mentioned it.

I allowed a quiet sneer. "Fine. You can come. But there's one thing I need from you first."

Dante straightened, hopeful. "Anything."

I reached into my bag and pulled out the papers I'd held since he brought Valentina home. Divorce papers. In this world, marriages between Families weren't dissolved by courts. They were dissolved by blood, by the Commission's decree, or by the signature of both parties on a severance pact witnessed under the old codes. I had the pact. I had been carrying it against my body like a concealed weapon.

He took them, brow furrowed. "What's this?"

"My discharge form," I said flatly, not meeting his gaze.

He hesitated. Always so careful when signing. In this life, a signature on the wrong document could sign away territory, soldiers, entire bloodlines. But he glanced at Valentina. She fluttered her lashes, smiled sweetly, and suddenly he forgot all caution.

"I'm tired, Dante," she purred. "Let's go home quickly."

He nodded, barely glancing at the papers before signing.

The moment his pen lifted, a small, victorious smirk spread across my lips. My fingers drifted to the hollow of my throat where my mother's pendant once hung. The skin was bare. The pendant was gone, buried with the body that bought my escape. But the absence steadied me, the way it always did.

"Thank you," I said, slipping the documents back into my bag. "Now I'm free from you."