Used by Three Brothers, Forged Into Their Doom

The sound of the fall must have echoed through the house, because Alessandro came rushing out moments later, water still dripping from his hair, his face tense.

Before I could even catch my breath, Camilla collapsed dramatically to the floor as if she were the one who had been attacked.

She burst into tears instantly. “Rosalie, I’ve always treated you with respect! I only came to help because you’re pregnant! Why would you try to hit me?”

She pointed at me with trembling hands, pretending to be terrified.

“Why would you throw yourself down the stairs like that?” she cried. “Are you trying to frame me? I didn’t touch you! Alessandro, I swear, I never pushed her! Why is she doing this to me?”

Then Camilla turned as though she had only just noticed Alessandro standing there.

Her voice softened at once, weak and fragile.

“I’m alright, Alessandro… really,” she murmured shakily. “Don’t worry about me. Please, check on Rosalie instead. She… she just slipped.”

She even made her lip quiver, playing the innocent victim perfectly.

Alessandro’s eyes moved to the red marks on her skin, and I saw several emotions flash across his face all at once—guilt, panic, and possessiveness.

Without hesitation, he tore off his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders as if she were something precious and fragile.

“Camilla, are you hurt?” he asked urgently. “I’m taking you to the hospital right now.”

“I… I’m okay,” she whispered softly. “My leg hurts a little, but Rosalie looks like she’s in much worse shape…”

The instant she said that, Alessandro’s expression hardened.

He turned to me with that cold, merciless look he always wore when he was angry.

“Get up,” he barked. “I heard what happened. Camilla was trying to help you, and this is how you repay her? You ungrateful bitch.”

I was still crumpled on the stairs, dizzy and barely able to breathe through the pain twisting in my stomach.

I tried to speak, my voice shaking.

“No… that’s not true… she pushed me—”

But Alessandro cut me off before I could finish.

“Enough,” he snapped. “Do you think I’m stupid enough to believe that nonsense? Camilla can barely open a bottle on her own. She would never shove you. She’s gentle. She’s kind. Why would she ever hurt you?”

His voice dropped into the dangerous tone he used when he was punishing people.

“When did you become this pathetic, Rosalie?” he said coldly. “Lying. Twisting the truth. Acting vicious.”

He didn’t wait for me to answer.

Instead, he bent down, lifted Camilla into his arms, and carried her like she was royalty.

As he stepped past me, he kicked me aside without hesitation because I was in his way.

“Stay there, then,” he said harshly. “Just don’t block my path.”

Camilla looked over his shoulder as he carried her away.

She gave me the smallest smirk before wrapping her arms tighter around his neck.

Then I heard the front door slam.

A second later, the engine started.

And then—

Silence.

For a moment, I thought I might black out right there on the stairs.

But I couldn’t.

The maids stood nearby watching, but none of them moved.

The pain in my stomach was getting worse—sharp, violent cramps that felt like something inside me was being ripped apart.

Alessandro wasn’t coming back.

And if I stayed there any longer, I would die bleeding on the staircase like I meant nothing.

So I forced myself to breathe.

I grabbed the railing and dragged myself upright.

Every movement hurt.

Every step was agony.

But I kept moving.

I didn’t even dare call a taxi at first.

I was terrified something would happen on the ride—that I’d bleed everywhere, that the driver would see and throw me out.

So I walked.

Bent over, clutching my stomach, dragging myself forward while each step felt like being stabbed.

By the time I staggered into the nearest hospital, blood had soaked through my clothes.

The nurse at the desk gasped the moment she saw me and rushed me inside.

The doctor pulled up my records and let out a heavy sigh, as if he already knew how this would end.

“The pregnancy is only five weeks along,” he said. “After a puncture that early, the uterus can contract dangerously. And after a fall down the stairs…” He shook his head. “There’s no way the pregnancy can survive.”

He examined me again, and his expression became grim.

“You’re fortunate you made it here at all,” he said. “You were hemorrhaging. Another hour and you wouldn’t have survived.”

I let out a long breath.

Not from grief.

From relief.

Then I laughed.

Softly.

Brokenly.

“Doctor…” I whispered. “Please terminate the pregnancy. Right now.”

He looked startled.

But I wasn’t.

The moment I learned the truth—that the three of them had used me, humiliated me, turned me into part of their twisted game—the life inside me no longer felt like a blessing.

It felt like poison.

Losing the baby didn’t feel tragic.

It felt like freedom.

This pregnancy had never been hope.

It had been a nightmare.

And for the first time, I felt like I was finally waking up.

**

I returned home the next day.

I already knew Alessandro and Camilla wouldn’t be there.

The second I walked inside, the air made me sick.

The room still smelled like them.

The bed sheets were tangled.

Clothes were scattered everywhere.

They hadn’t even bothered to clean up after themselves.

I stepped over the mess, my stomach turning, and went straight into the bathroom.

I turned on the shower.

I washed once.

Then again.

Then again.

After the fifth time, I stopped counting.

But no matter how hard I scrubbed, the smell wouldn’t go away.

Sweat.

Sex.

Blood.

And somewhere underneath all of it, I imagined I could still smell the child I had lost.

I scrubbed until my skin stung.

Until it burned.

But I still felt filthy.

Still felt ruined.

Then something inside me snapped.

I grabbed the first thing I saw and hurled it at the floor.

A bottle shattered.

Then another.

Then another.

Perfume bottles.

Shampoo.

Even the mirror.

Glass broke everywhere.

Finally, I slid down into the bathtub and cried so hard it felt like my chest was collapsing.

I cried until there was nothing left.

And when the sobbing finally eased, I thought about my parents.

They had been so happy when Alessandro proposed.

And I had been happy too.

Stupidly happy.

I had chosen every part of my dowry myself.

My parents had paid for everything.

The only thing my mother added was a simple brown folder.

On my wedding day, she pulled me aside and placed it in my hands.

“Rosalie,” she said gently, “I know this marriage didn’t begin with love. But your father and I still want you to have happiness. And if one day you don’t… come home to us. We’ll always be here for you.”

Then she touched my cheek and smiled sadly.

“But I pray that day never comes.”

I looked around at what my life had become.

The ruined sheets.

The bruises on my body.

The empty house that once felt like a dream.

And in that moment, I understood.

The day my mother warned me about—

It had already arrived.