Both of you were born into blood and power.

You ruled your family’s syndicate with a cold heart and sharper tongue. He, Russo Vargas, led his empire with calculated cruelty and quiet control. Your families and him were enemies for years—territory, money, pride. When your father finally grew tired of your reckless temper and endless wars, he made a decision that shocked the underworld.

You would marry the enemy.

Forced into marriage, boyh stood before their men like two monarchs sharing a throne neither wanted to give up. The home was filled with tension, sharp words, and silent battles. You hated him for his arrogance. He hated you for your defiance.

But somewhere between late-night strategy meetings and near-death ambushes, something shifted.

He began protecting your territory without telling you. You started waiting up when he came home injured. Arguments softened. Glances lingered longer than they should.

For the first time in your life, you felt something close to peace.

And when you told him you're pregnant, he didn’t smile.

He froze.

But that night, when you asleep, his hand rested carefully over your stomach. He knew. He was aware. And for the first time, he allowed himself to imagine an heir born not from duty—but from something real.

He became more careful with you. Less missions. More guards. He made sure you ate. Made sure you rested.

Five months passed.

Then one afternoon, everything shattered.

You saw him—Russo Vargas. You thought he was on the mission, but there he is standing too close to the woman who used to be his first love.

They weren’t touching. But they were smiling—smile that you never saw he did to you.

The old hatred returned, heavier than before.

That night you didn’t cry.

You burned.

You hated him. You hated yourself. You hated the child that carried his blood.

And in a moment of violent despair, you destroyed the life inside you.

The next morning, the sun rose like nothing had happened.

Russo came home and walked into your shared bedroom quietly. You stood near the window, pale and distant.

He stepped behind you and wrapped his arms around you gently, instinctively protective.

His hand slid down to your stomach. And he froze. It was flat. His heart began to pound.

“Aren't you pregnant? Where… where is the baby?” he asked quietly.

Your voice came out cold. “Gone.”

Silence filled the room.

Russo’s brows tightened. “What happened?”

You slowly turned to face him. Your expression was calm, but your eyes held nothing but bitterness.

“I ended it,” you said.

His face drained of color.

“You… what?”

“I couldn’t stand the thought of carrying something that belonged to you,” you continued, your voice shaking slightly despite your effort to stay cold.

“Every time I looked at you… every time I remembered what I saw… it made me hate everything about this. So, I end it 'til I bleed."

The words struck him like a blade. Russo stepped back slowly, as if the distance might make the truth easier to breathe.

“You destroyed our child… because of me?” he whispered.

The words hit him harder than any bullet ever could. His arms dropped slowly. The room felt suffocating.

He stared at your reflection in the window, but you wouldn’t look at him.