로그인There, Iris sat by the large window, staring at the garden with a look of fragility that always deceived those who saw her. But the moment the maid whispered in her ear, that mask of vulnerability shattered.
The teacup in Iris’s hand slipped. The expensive porcelain hit the marble floor, shattering into pieces.
“Sara is pregnant?” Iris hissed, staring intently at the small object in her maid's hand. Her voice was no longer shaky or raspy. It was cold, sharp, and laced with a predatory threat she had perfectly concealed until now.
She gripped the armrests of her wheelchair. If Damon found out Sara was carrying his offspring, Iris’s position as the only woman Damon cherished would be jeopardized. More than that, Damon’s adoptive father would view the baby as a valuable asset. If the child were born, Sara would gain a layer of protection that neither Damon nor Iris could touch.
“She cannot bear that child,” she murmured to herself.
She didn’t cry. She no longer looked like a tragic victim. She gazed at her loyal maid with piercing intensity. A cruel plan began to take shape in her mind.
She knew Damon was an emotional time bomb when it came to her, and she would use that bomb to destroy Sara and the fetus in her womb.
Iris wasted no time. In the Moretti world, pity was a luxury she couldn't afford. The moment she learned of Sara’s pregnancy, she knew her time by Damon’s side was running out.
That night, she ordered her loyal maid to slip into the pavilion. In the maid’s hand was a small vial of clear liquid. A poison—odorless, colorless, and lethal.
“Make sure she drinks it before dawn,” Iris whispered.
Fate, however, had other plans.
Albert Sterling’s health plummeted. On Damon’s orders, the guards moved him to the medical pavilion for closer supervision. Damon wouldn't let him die. His revenge had only just begun.
“Go tend to your father,” Damon said, leaving Sara alone.
She had just finished helping her father lie down, exhausted after a day of suppressing the nausea in her stomach.
The maid, assuming the pavilion was occupied only by Sara, placed a tray of herbal tea laced with poison on the old wooden table before vanishing into the darkness.
“Drink this, Dad. It will help your breathing before the doctor comes back,” she said softly. She offered the cup to her father, who was struggling against the tightness in his chest.
Albert, with trembling hands, drained the cup.
It took only minutes for the poison to take hold. Sara, who was straightening the blankets, froze as she heard a guttural sound from her father's throat.
Albert choked, his breath cutting off sharply. His frail body went rigid, then arched in a violent seizure.
“Dad?!” Sara screamed, scrambling onto the bed and clutching his trembling frame. “Help! Guards! Get a doctor!”
Thin foam seeped from the corner of Albert’s lips. His eyes widened, staring at the ceiling, before his body finally went limp.
Silence followed. Only the ticking of the wall clock remained, sounding like a judgment.
She cradled her father’s body, her tears hot and suffocating. The doctor arrived and delivered the worst possible news: her father was gone.
“Dad, wake up... please, wake up... don't leave me alone….”
But the heartbeat she prayed would return was gone forever. Her father was truly dead, leaving her alone in this prison.
Damon arrived at the pavilion shortly after, summoned by the doctor. He found Sara still clinging to her father’s cold body. A medical examination by the family doctor confirmed the presence of a high-dose toxin.
The next day, rumors spread like wildfire. Iris, with her masterful ability to manipulate the truth, ensured the whispers reached Sara’s ears.
“Albert Sterling was a casualty of the power struggle between Roger and Damon. The old man was just a pawn used by one to corner the other.”
Sara, completely shattered, swallowed the lie whole. To her, the logic held.
Roger had suddenly appeared to offer freedom, and Damon hated them both. Her father was merely a worthless pawn sacrificed in their bloody feud.
Sara no longer cried. Her eyes, once filled with fear, had turned hollow. Revenge was the only fuel left in her soul after her father was ripped away.Roger walked into the room without knocking. He watched Sara packing her meager belongings into a small bag, her hands no longer shaking.“Damon will never admit it,” he said quietly, flicking his lighter. “But you and I know the truth. He orders his servants to dispose of your father whenever he grows bored with his toys. You’re just a toy he’ll discard soon.”Sara froze. Roger’s lies masked the fact that Iris was the true mastermind.“What do you want?”“I have an escape route,” Roger continued. “Tonight, I will fake your death in a dockyard accident. You will have a new identity and vanish forever. In return, I will frame your departure as a kidnapping by an enemy organization. Damon will lose face, and his reputation in my father’s eyes will be ruined.”Sara was now certain of Roger’s intent. He wanted Damon’s destruction, just
There, Iris sat by the large window, staring at the garden with a look of fragility that always deceived those who saw her. But the moment the maid whispered in her ear, that mask of vulnerability shattered.The teacup in Iris’s hand slipped. The expensive porcelain hit the marble floor, shattering into pieces.“Sara is pregnant?” Iris hissed, staring intently at the small object in her maid's hand. Her voice was no longer shaky or raspy. It was cold, sharp, and laced with a predatory threat she had perfectly concealed until now.She gripped the armrests of her wheelchair. If Damon found out Sara was carrying his offspring, Iris’s position as the only woman Damon cherished would be jeopardized. More than that, Damon’s adoptive father would view the baby as a valuable asset. If the child were born, Sara would gain a layer of protection that neither Damon nor Iris could touch.“She cannot bear that child,” she murmured to herself.She didn’t cry. She no longer looked like a tragic vi
Three months of exile in the pavilion had passed.Sara no longer tracked time by the calendar, but by the bruises that slowly faded from her arms. Yet, something felt wrong. Her gaunt frame now felt heavier. The nausea that struck every morning was not merely a side effect of her husband's abuse. It was a clear sign.She had missed her period.“Sara, are you alright?” Her father knocked on the door, his voice laced with anxiety.“I'll be out in a moment, Dad.”She sat on the cold bathroom floor, her knuckles white as she gripped the edge of the sink. She was certain she was pregnant. The seed of the man who came to her room every night—not to offer affection, but to assert his dominance—was taking root.She stood up weakly, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her face was pale, her eyes had lost their spark, and now, a new life was growing within a womb she was supposed to protect.The bedroom door opened. Her frail father reached for her hand gently, but his eyes could not
Sara woke up feeling as if her body had been shattered, a burning soreness lingering across her skin. On that vast bed, she was left entirely alone.The man who had shredded her dignity the night before was gone before dawn, leaving behind tangled sheets and her ruined wedding dress on the floor.She tried to get up, but a sudden, violent tightness gripped her chest. She clutched her throat, her face turning deathly pale as her lungs refused to function properly.The trauma from the previous night had triggered a severe flare-up of her chronic chest condition. With what little strength she had left, she crawled onto the floor, reached for the small bag the guards had carelessly tossed aside the day before, and grabbed her inhaler. After three deep puffs, her air supply slowly returned, leaving her crying silently on the cold floor.At the same time, in the master study of the main manor, the atmosphere was just as cold as Sara’s bedroom.Damon stood by the large window, staring o
Sara wasn’t given the chance to descend from the altar with any semblance of grace. Brutal hands, belonging to guards in black suits, clamped onto her arms and dragged her away like trash being cleared out.Without a word, they hauled her through the front door, tearing her apart from her father, who was shoved roughly into a different car.By late afternoon, the separate vehicles arrived at an isolated pavilion on the hilltop, still within the Moretti estate. Even there, they were kept under heavy guard, as if they were high-profile criminals.The mountain air seeped into her bones, chilling her to the core, matching the terror that had taken root in her heart. Night brought a suffocating cold into the vast master bedroom of the pavilion.Sara sat on the edge of the bed, still in her wedding gown. Her mind was a whirlwind of unanswered questions.She had already asked her father, but even Albert Sterling knew nothing of the Moretti family. Her father had never been involved with su
The pen trembled in Sara’s hand as she signed the contract. That night, under the cold, lethal muzzle of a gun pressed to her father’s head, she had sold her freedom.Yet, she hadn’t expected the promised hell to begin so soon.The following day, Sara stood frozen in the grand hall of the Moretti estate. The simple white wedding gown felt like a noose. Her damaged lungs flared up, triggering a familiar tightness in her chest fueled by sheer panic. She stood entirely alone at the altar. There were no warm floral arrangements, no music, and most crucially... no groom. Damon Moretti hadn’t bothered to show up, proving he had forced this marriage not to claim her, but to trample her dignity from day one.The silence in the hall was thick enough to drown in. Sara could hear the erratic thud of her own heart. Below the altar, dozens of eyes watched her with contempt, their faces twisted in sneers as hushed, derogatory whispers filled the room. They were members of the Moretti mafia—h







