The Heir He Never Knew

The next day, Dominic came.

Juliana was on his arm.

She did not wear white this time.

Juliana stepped into the room in a pearl-gray Dior dress, the kind reserved for state banquets and royal audiences, tailored to absolute perfection.

The cut was severe, the fabric heavy, the silhouette unmistakably authoritative. On her feet were stilettos too elegant for a hospital ward, and on her finger gleamed the Santoro family ring, large and merciless, catching the light with every movement.

She looked like someone who had already been crowned.

Dominic walked beside her, unhurried, composed.

He stopped a few steps from my bed and studied me briefly, the way one assessed a weapon after it had been damaged.

“I heard you woke up,” he said calmly. “I knew you wouldn’t die so easily.”

I smiled faintly, the movement pulling at my ribs.

“Yes,” I replied hoarsely. “I’m hard to kill. Always have been.”

There was no concern in his eyes, no relief. Just confirmation.

Juliana released his arm and approached my bedside, her heels clicking softly against the floor. Her expression was gentle, sympathetic, almost apologetic.

“Victoria,” she said quietly, “are you feeling better?”

She paused, then sighed, as if weighed down by guilt.

“I’m so sorry about what happened that night. If I had insisted that Dominic pay the ten million, you wouldn’t have been shot.”

Her fingers tightened slightly around her handbag.

“I heard your leg was badly injured. They say you might limp for the rest of your life.” Her eyes glistened. “I truly didn’t mean for things to go that far.”

I could almost believe her.

She reached out and lightly touched the blanket near my knee, her voice trembling.

“You know how it is,” she continued softly. “Any woman, hearing that her fiancé lived with another woman like lovers, would feel jealous. Would lose control.”

Her gaze lifted to meet mine, sincere and earnest.

“That night, my jealousy got the better of me. You were hurt because of it. Thank God you survived. Otherwise…” She swallowed. “I would have been a sinner.”

She straightened slowly, regaining her composure.

“You’ve worked for Dominic’s family for so many years. You’ve given so much. You deserve to be treated well.”

That was when her eyes fell to my chest.

To the faint outline beneath the hospital gown.

The wolf’s head.

The Santoro family mark.

Her pupils contracted.

“I know I shouldn’t feel this way,” she said after a moment, her voice low and conflicted, “but as a fiancée, I can’t help wanting exclusivity. A woman wants her man to belong only to her.”

She turned to Dominic.

“Let Victoria leave the family,” she said gently. “That way, she’ll be safe. And I won’t ever hurt her again out of jealousy.”

Dominic hesitated.

Before he could speak, another voice entered the room.

“If you can’t give my sister emotional security,” Juliana’s brother said coolly from the doorway, “then our family will reconsider this alliance.”

The silence that followed was absolute.

Dominic’s decision came without hesitation.

“I’ll issue an email today,” he said calmly. “All access revoked. From this moment on, Victoria Miller is no longer a member of the Santoro family.”

The words landed like a public execution.

My mind went blank.

This wasn’t a quiet dismissal.

This was an announcement.

A notice sent to every branch, every crew, every man I had ever commanded, disciplined, or crushed. Without the family’s protection, I wouldn’t just be abandoned—I would be marked.

Former enemies would see it as an invitation.

I looked at him, instinctively, my eyes searching his face. Not pleading. Just asking.

He didn’t look back.

He pretended not to see me at all.

Juliana’s lips curved almost imperceptibly. Satisfaction softened her expression, but she wasn’t finished.

“There’s one more thing,” she said gently, as if thinking aloud. “If the mark remains, people will misunderstand.”

She turned to Dominic, her voice careful, reasonable.

“Just like those attackers at the engagement. They believed you still cared for her. That even if she was cast out, she was still… special.”

Her gaze flicked to my chest.

“As long as the family mark stays, others will think you still have feelings. And everyone knows—anyone who leaves the family is supposed to have it removed. Otherwise, rumors start. My brother won’t feel at ease letting me marry you.”

She smiled faintly.

“I’m not trying to hurt her. I just don’t want more misunderstandings.”

I froze.

That mark.

It had been Dominic’s hand holding the needle back then—his grip steady, his focus absolute.

I still remembered the heat of his breath against my skin, the way he had said my name low and unhurried, as if it meant something that could not be taken back. I had believed it meant acceptance. Belonging.

He turned slightly away from the bed and pulled out his phone, his movements efficient, impersonal.

“Get the removal specialist to the medical wing,” he said into the receiver. “Immediately.”

The call ended, and with it, whatever remained of the past.

Minutes later, men entered the room, footsteps controlled, faces unreadable. The specialist followed, setting his black case down and methodically preparing his equipment, as if this were just another routine procedure. When he finally looked at me, his tone was professional, detached.

“Anesthetic?”

I shook my head at once. “No.”

I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t let anything touch my child—not even mercy.

I had already given up the man I loved. That didn’t mean I would give up the life growing inside me. He was innocent. He had done nothing wrong.

The machine came to life.

Pain exploded through my chest, raw and merciless, as if my skin were being flayed inch by inch. I bit down hard enough to taste blood. My body shook violently against the bed, sweat pouring down my temples, soaking the sheets.

The mirror across the room reflected everything.

My face, ghost-white.

My lips, trembling but silent.

And Dominic.

He stood there with his arms crossed, his expression severe and distant—the same cold composure he wore when passing judgment on traitors. Not once did he tell them to stop.

Then he turned his back on me.

I stared at him through the pain, through the burning, through the moment my last illusion finally collapsed, my gaze fixed on the broad, unmoving line of his back.

This wasn’t discipline.

This was erasure.

And as the mark burned away from my skin, something else disappeared with it.

When it was finished, he turned away first.

Juliana exhaled shakily and leaned into his chest.

“I know it hurts,” she whispered. “But now… now I can finally feel safe.”

He held her close.

“I love you,” he said. “I’ll always be loyal to you.”

His eyes flicked briefly toward me.“I won’t keep female subordinates again.”

They left.

Not long after，he returned alone.

“You performed well,” he said, placing a black card on the table. “Spend it. a confidante, I won’t wrong you materially.”

I took the card.

That night, I withdrew every cent.

Five million.

I set the safe house.

As the flames climbed, I whispered into the smoke:

“Victoria Miller died today.”

And I disappeared.