It all started with a drink you never should have taken.

Your best friend shoved a glass into your hand at the club.

“Just loosen up for once, girl!” she laughed.

You never drank, but that night you were tired, the weight of your little brother’s medical bills crushing you. One sip turned into two, and the room blurred. The last thing you remembered was stepping into a sleek black car, a man with piercing eyes beside you.

By morning, you woke up in a silk-sheeted bed. Your head throbbed, your heart pounded. On the nightstand lay a black card and a note written in bold handwriting.

For when you need me.

You panicked. Grabbing your clothes, you ran before he woke. You swore it was a mistake, one night you would never speak of again.

You never touched that card.

One Month Later

Your brother’s condition worsened. Bills stacked higher and higher. You were desperate.

That’s when you saw the poster.

The Mafia’s Bride. A reality competition. Fifteen women. One winner. One empire.

You didn’t care about the empire or the man. You cared about the prize money, enough to save your brother’s life.

So you signed up.

And fate mocked you.

The host of the show stepped out in a sharp black suit, eyes colder than steel. Lorenzo De Luca. The man you had tried so hard to forget.

His lips curved into a cruel smile. “Well, well. Contestant number twelve. What a surprise.”

Your stomach dropped. “This has to be a joke,” you muttered.

He took a step closer, lowering his voice so only you could hear. “So, you ran away from my bed only to crawl back into my game? Tell me, was one night not enough?”

You clenched your fists. “I didn’t come here for you. I came for the money.”

Lorenzo smirked, but his eyes lingered on you longer than anyone else.

The competition was brutal. Cooking, dancing, serving his men at banquets, rivalries with the other girls who would kill for his attention.

But you carried a secret. You were already pregnant.

Every day was harder. The morning sickness, the exhaustion, the constant hunger. You thought you could hide it, but Lorenzo noticed.

During a cleaning task, when you almost collapsed, he turned to his assistant. “Make sure her tasks aren’t too hard.”

The assistant frowned. “Boss, that’s not fair. You always eliminate the weak first.”

“She’s not weak,” Lorenzo said coldly. His eyes never left you as you struggled to keep standing. “She refuses to fall. That’s strength. That’s the kind of woman who survives beside me.”

The night of eliminations was merciless. All fifteen contestants stood in line, dressed in glitter and fear.

Lorenzo stepped forward, a glass of whiskey in his hand. His gaze swept the line like a blade.

“Tonight,” he said, “I will eliminate ten of you.”

Gasps filled the hall. Some cried, some shouted in protest.

One of the girls glared at you and hissed, “She’ll be the first to go.”

But Lorenzo’s eyes stopped on your face. His voice dropped, almost tender, though his words were for the whole room. “Five will remain. And among them… my future wife.”

The assistant leaned in close. “You’ve already decided?”

Lorenzo smirked. “I decided the night she tried to run from me.”

When the chaos ended, ten women were gone. Only five stood. And you were one of them.

That night, when everyone celebrated their survival, you slipped away to the kitchen. Hunger gnawed at you like a beast. You ate spoonfuls of soup as if you hadn’t eaten in days.

A deep voice cut through the silence. “You eat like you’re feeding two.”

You froze, the spoon slipping back into the bowl. “Do you ever stop stalking your contestants?”

Lorenzo stepped out of the shadows, his eyes locked on your hand resting on your stomach. “Tell me the truth. That night… did you walk away with more than just my black card?”

Your chest tightened. You said nothing, but your silence was louder than any words.

Lorenzo’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. “So, it’s true. You’re carrying my heir.”