The Runaway Wife's Secret Heir

Elara Sovrano POV

I made it back to the penthouse before the adrenaline finally abandoned me.

I locked the door and leaned against it, sliding down until I hit the cold marble floor. I hugged the portfolio to my chest. He signed it. He had actually signed it.

My phone pinged, shattering the silence. It was an encrypted email from Julian.

Subject: Residency Acceptance.

Location: Zurich, Switzerland. The Alpine Arts Program.

Start Date: Effective Immediately.

I didn't hesitate. I pulled up the airline app and booked a one-way ticket to Zurich under the name "Elena Rossi."

My mother's maiden name. A ghost he wouldn't think to look for.

I forced myself to my feet and ran to the bedroom. I pulled a duffel bag from the back of the closet. I couldn't take much. If I took too much, the staff would know. Dante's eyes were everywhere.

I packed two pairs of jeans, my sketchbook, my charcoal pencils, and a thick sweater.

I left the diamond necklace he gave me for our first anniversary.

I left the emerald earrings he bought me after he forgot my birthday.

I left the credit cards.

They weren't gifts. They were shackles.

I was zipping the bag when a wave of dizziness hit me. The room gave a violent lurch.

I gripped the edge of the dresser, breathing through my nose. Nausea rolled in my stomach, hot and sudden.

I frowned, wiping a sheen of cold sweat from my forehead. I hadn't eaten since yesterday. Stress, probably.

But then I did the math.

My period was late. Three weeks late.

I froze.

"No," I whispered to the empty room. "No, please."

My mind flashed back to six weeks ago. The night Dante had come home drunk, smelling of whiskey and gunpowder.

He had been rough, desperate, his hands claiming me with a hunger that felt less like love and more like possession. Like he was trying to erase a memory from his mind by burying himself in me.

We hadn't used protection. We never did. He wanted an heir.

I ran to the master bathroom. I tore through the cabinet under the sink until I found the box I had bought months ago, just in case.

My hands were shaking so badly I dropped the box twice.

I sat on the edge of the tub, staring at the white stick for three agonizing minutes. The silence in the penthouse was deafening. It was usually quiet here, but now the silence felt heavy, charged like the air before a tornado strikes.

I looked down.

Two pink lines.

Positive.

The world tilted on its axis.

I wasn't just escaping a bad marriage anymore. I wasn't just running from a man who didn't love me.

I was carrying the Sovrano Heir.

If Dante found out, he would never let me go. He would lock me in this tower and throw away the key until I produced his legacy.

I wouldn't be a wife. I would be a vessel. An incubator.

And this child... this child would be raised in a world of blood and bullets, just like him.

I placed a hand over my flat stomach. A fierce, primal protectiveness surged through me, stronger than any fear I had ever felt.

"I won't let him have you," I whispered.

The stakes had just changed. I wasn't just stealing my freedom.

I was stealing his bloodline.