FIGHT HARDER

ERICA

I sat by my boys' hospital beds for three straight days, watching the steady rise and fall of their chests until the doctor finally cleared them to come home. Holding their small, bruised hands in mine, I made a firm decision: my children will be homeschooled from now on. I was taking zero chances with their safety.

Looking at their pale faces, I finally understood the terrifying fear that drove my mum to run away from the mafia world all those years ago. She was trying to protect me from the violence that took my father. But I refused to be a coward like my mum. I wasn't going to run away into the shadows and hide. I was going to face whatever came for us head-on.

Beyond keeping them safe, I wanted them to grow up strong and secure. I remembered every single insult from Jessica and Annabel—the way they treated me like garbage just because I was the poor girl running errands for them. The humiliation of wearing their hand-me-downs, the smug laughs behind my back... it was a bitter wound that never truly healed. I refused to let my sons ever feel less-than, weak, or targeted because of where they came from.

Once Leo and Lucas were settled comfortably at home with a private tutor and round-the-clock armed security, I put on my dark sunglasses and went to their nursery school to conduct my own private investigation.

I didn't trust the police to dig deep enough, so I used my legal credentials to access the school’s administrative records and security logs. As I scrolled through the newly hired staff list, my breath hitched in my throat.

Jessica had been hired as a administrative assistant at the school just two weeks ago.

My knuckles turned white against the edge of the desk. Jessica? Working at an elite private nursery school? It made no sense unless she had an ulterior motive. A burning rage flared in my chest. Why on earth would she want to kill my innocent six-year-old boys? I was the one who had been wronged six years ago! They were the ones who betrayed me, slept with the man I loved, and laughed behind my back while I walked away with a broken heart. Why were they coming after my children now?

I returned to my high-rise law firm, my mind racing with unanswered questions.

Two days later, I was sitting at my desk, reviewing a corporate brief, when my office door clicked open without a knock.

I looked up, ready to reprimand whoever had walked in, but the words died in my throat.

A tall, broad-shouldered man in an immaculate, dark charcoal suit stepped into the room. It was Andrew.

Lord Andrew.

He looked broader, more dangerous, and devastatingly handsome. His sharp jawline was clean-cut, and his dark, piercing eyes swept across my luxurious office before landing directly on me.

My heart hammered violently against my ribs. I froze, waiting for the shock, the anger, or the emotional confrontation to explode between us.

"Erica," he said, his voice a deep, smooth baritone that echoed in the quiet room.

He walked up to my desk and set a thick leather folder down. He didn't ask how I had been. He didn't mention the night I caught him in bed with my ex-friends. He didn't even acknowledge the six years I had been missing. He didn't act like he recognized the girl he once claimed to love; he just talked strictly business.

"Some rival goons and corrupt officials are trying to execute a fraudulent seizure on my core estate assets," Andrew stated calmly, resting his large hands on the back of the guest chair. "It involves a multi-billion-dollar portfolio of land and residential properties. I need the sharpest defense attorney in this city to register the legal protective injunctions and secure them."

I opened my mouth to tell him to get out of my office, but before I could utter a single word, Andrew pulled a pre-signed cashier's check from his inner jacket pocket, placed it on top of the folder, turned around, and walked straight out of my office.

I stared at the door as it clicked shut, my chest heaving. I looked down at the check. It was a massive, astronomical retainer fee—already deposited into the firm's escrow account routing number.

I am human. For six long years, I had abstained from any romantic or physical intimacy. I had thrown myself entirely into my studies, my career, and my children. But the moment I saw Andrew standing in front of me—smelling his rich cologne, feeling the raw, dominant energy radiating off him—my body betrayed me. I got wet, and a sudden, overwhelming wave of sexual frustration washed over me.

That night, lying alone in my king-sized bed, my mind traitorously replayed the memories of how he used to make love to me. I remembered the heat of his hands, his dark whispers, the way he made me scream his name in his master suite. I knew in my soul that I wanted him all over again. My body craved him, but my pride and my brain kept me grounded. I swore to myself right then: I will never go back to him. I will never be his fool again.

For three days, I tried to avoid his case. I left the thick folder sitting on the corner of my mahogany desk, refusing to touch it. But as his lead attorney, the legal deadlines were ticking down, and I couldn't ignore a registered file in my firm without risking my license.

Finally, I gathered the nerves to open the file and read through the property titles.

As my eyes scanned the legal deeds and ownership declarations, my breath caught in my throat.

The properties weren't registered under Andrew's name, nor were they under his syndicate's holding company. Every single luxury estate, commercial tower, and land plot—worth billions of dollars—was legally registered under the names of Leo Lord and Lucas Lord.

My twin sons.

A cold shudder ran down my spine. He knew. Andrew knew the boys were his. He had known all along, and by tying his vast fortune directly to their names, he had legally trapped me. If I refused to represent the case, his enemies would seize my sons' future inheritance, stripping them of billions. To protect my children's rights, I had no choice but to take the case and defend the property in court.

Later that afternoon, my private investigator called me with a shocking breakthrough regarding Jessica and Annabel.

"Erica, I dug into their medical records and personal histories over the last few years," my investigator reported over the encrypted line. "Both Jessica and Annabel got pregnant for Lord Andrew in the past—Jessica four years ago, and Annabel two years ago. But Andrew refused to keep the babies. He forced both of them to terminate their pregnancies immediately, stating he would never have heirs with women like them."

My hand gripped the phone tight as the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place.

Jessica and Annabel had discovered that I had returned to the city with Andrew's secret twin sons. They knew that Andrew had willed his entire multi-billion-dollar empire to my boys while forcing them to abort theirs. Overwhelmed by bitter jealousy and rage, they wanted my sons dead so I wouldn't use them to trap Andrew and claim his empire.

A cold, lethal calm settled over me.

I didn't care about Andrew's money, nor did I care about his mafia properties. But nobody—nobody—touches my children and gets away with it. I was going to systematically ruin Jessica and Annabel, expose their crimes, and make them pay for every tear my boys shed in that hospital room.

As for Lord Andrew? If he thought he could play mind games, use my sons as leverage, and manipulate me into coming back to his world to help him... he had another thing coming. I was going to win this case for my boys, but I was going to wreck Andrew's cold, arrogant world in the process.