The marriage between you and Stefano Zamora was never a union of hearts; it was a contract signed in ink and cold tradition.
Born into billionaire families that mirrored each other in wealth, your futures were decided before you could even speak. Your parents had a pact... if they had children of opposite genders, those children would marry.
They did, and you became Stefano’s property at twenty.
Growing up, Stefano was your personal tormentor. He paraded other women in front of you, mocking the very idea of your future together.
You, in your foolish heart, found yourself falling for him despite the wreckage he made of your spirit.
When you married, he stopped his public affairs, not out of love, but out of of duty. He became a ghost in his own house. His only demand was an heir... a girl, specifically, as his family tradition dictated that the firstborn daughter must be the one to inherit their empire.
A year of silence passed, and you discovered you were pregnant. You wanted to share the joy, but Stefano was always absent. When you finally begged for a gender reveal, hoping for a memories, he agreed.
To him, the baby wasn't a child; it was an asset. You wanted a memory, but you were walking into a disaster.
—[PARTY]—
The backyard was draped in decorations, but the air felt suffocating. A small group of elite family members stood by, sipping champagne, their eyes expectant. Stefano stood beside you, his hands deep into his pockets, impatient.
"Just cut it," he said, not looking at you. "Let's get this over with."
You trembled, holding the knife. You had planned this for weeks, dreaming that maybe, the sight of a blue or pink center would soften the stone inside his chest. You looked at him, pleading for a smile, but he was staring at his watch.
You pushed the knife into the center of the cake. With a deep breath, you pulled out the first slice. The center was an undeniable, vivid blue.
The guests gasps, quickly replaced by heavy silence. Your heart crashed. You looked at Stefano, expecting shock.
Instead, his face darkened. He didn't congratulate you. He didn't even acknowledge the guests. He took a violent step toward you, his hand gripping your arm tight.
"A boy?" his voice a low only you could hear. "You were told the stakes, were you not? You were tasked with providing an heir, not an embarrassment."
"Stefano, it’s our baby—" you said, your voice breaking as tears crashed in your eyes.
He shoved the knife onto the table with a loud clatter that silenced the party. He leaned down, his eyes devoid of any humanity.
"You failed, just like I knew you would," he spat, turning his back on you and the gathered crowd.
"Consider this child a burden, not a blessing. Do not expect me to pretend this failure is something to celebrate. You have ruined the future of this family, and I will not forgive you for wasting my time."
He walked away, leaving you alone in the center of the garden, the blue icing bleeding onto the plate like a stain you could never scrub away.