FROZEN

ERICA

I stood rooted to the hardwood floor, frozen in the shadows of the doorway. My hand remained glued to the brass handle, but my body refused to obey my mind. I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. I couldn't even breathe.

For fifteen agonizing minutes, I stood there in absolute silence, watching them.

They didn't see me. They didn't even notice I was standing right there. Andrew was completely lost in the filth of it all, putting his dick inside Ann's mouth before pulling away and thrusting deep into Jessica's vagina. I saw every single detail. I watched him touch their bodies, playing with their clitorises in the exact, intimate way he used to play with mine. The same hands that had held my face with gentle reverence were now gripping Jessica's hips. The same mouth that had whispered "I love you" into my ear while making me feel like the luckiest girl alive was now pressed against Ann’s skin.

The sheer betrayal tore through my chest like a dull, rusted blade. The nausea hit me in violent waves, mixing with the morning sickness already pooling in my stomach. Every touch, every moan echoing off the high ceilings of that luxurious room felt like a physical blow to my heart.

When I couldn't take the suffocating pain any longer, I slowly pulled the door shut, turned around, and walked out.

I didn't cry on the walk back. I felt completely hollowed out, like an empty shell walking down the street. When I got home, my mother was sitting in the small living room, humming softly to herself while mending a shirt. She looked up at me with hopeful, bright eyes, waiting to hear how Lord Andrew had reacted to the news of his heir.

I couldn't look her in the eye. I couldn't bring myself to say the words out loud. Telling her the truth would have broken her heart into a million pieces, especially after she had encouraged me to trust him.

"Erica? How did it go, sweetheart?" she asked softly.

"I'm just tired, Mum," I managed to whisper, keeping my voice flat. "I need to lie down."

I walked straight into my bedroom and locked the door behind me. I sat on the edge of my mattress in the dark, staring at the wall until the sun went down. My hands rested over my still-flat stomach. Andrew didn't love me. I was just another poor girl he could play with, use up, and discard whenever he pleased—just like Jessica and Annabel had said.

In the middle of the night, while the house was dead silent and the world was fast asleep, I made my decision. I pulled out a worn duffel bag from under my bed and packed my clothes. I grabbed my phone, my documents, and a few personal keepsakes. I looked at my sleeping mother one last time through her cracked bedroom door, a tear finally slipping down my cheek, before I stepped quietly into the cold night air and left.

I didn't know where I was going, but I kept walking until my legs ached, guided only by the dim streetlights until I reached the central bus station. The terminal was bright, loud, and smelled like diesel exhaust and cheap coffee. I walked straight up to the ticket counter.

"Where is the next long-distance bus headed?" I asked the clerk behind the glass.

"From here to Panama is 20,000," the bus guy said, tapping his screen without looking up. "Leaves in ten minutes."

"I'll take it," I said immediately.

I handed over the cash and boarded the bus. As the vehicle pulled out of the station and the city lights faded into the distance, I closed my eyes. I could easily afford luxury suites and big hotels at the moment because all the money Andrew had showered on me during those lavish two months was still safely saved in my bank account—millions of dollars that he had thrown at me like pocket change.

When I arrived in Panama, I chose to lodge in a small, quiet local hotel. I didn't want to draw attention to myself by spending big money. I needed to blend into the background, invisible and untouchable.

Sitting in that small hotel room, looking out at an unfamiliar skyline, I made up my mind. I was done being the helpless, uneducated poor girl whom wealthy lords could stomp over. I was going to build a real life for myself and my unborn child. I applied to a local university, submitted my high school transcripts, and managed to secure admission to study Criminal Law.

The first year was absolute hell.

Balancing brutal late-night study sessions, complex legal textbooks, and the heavy physical toll of a high-risk pregnancy nearly broke me. But nine months after leaving my old life behind, I went into labor and successfully gave birth to two healthy, beautiful baby boys. Twin boys. They had my dark eyes, but as they grew, I saw undeniable traces of Andrew's sharp features in their little faces.

I desperately wanted to invite my mum to Panama to meet her grandsons, but I knew I couldn't. Mum was far too traditional. If she knew where I was and saw that I was raising Andrew's children all alone, her guilt and traditional beliefs would have forced her to contact Andrew to "make things right." She would have betrayed my location out of a misguided sense of duty. So, I kept her completely in the dark about where I was living and the fact that she was a grandmother. However, I never abandoned her. Every month, through an untraceable offshore transfer, I sent large sums of money to her account, along with brief, anonymous letters letting her know that I was healthy, safe, and doing OK.

Six years passed in the blink of an eye.

I poured my blood, sweat, and tears into my education, driven by a fierce desire to protect my sons. When graduation day arrived, I stood on the stage as the valedictorian, graduating at the top of my class as the best law student in the university's history.

Shortly after, I took a job at a small, modest law firm in the city to gain practical courtroom experience. I didn't expect my breakthrough to come so fast, but six months into the job, I took on a high-profile, seemingly impossible murder defense case that every senior lawyer in the state was terrified to touch. The defendant was an innocent man framed by a powerful corporate cartel.

I tore the prosecution’s argument apart piece by piece in open court. My sharp cross-examinations, ruthless logic, and unyielding presence made national headlines. We won. The victory didn't just earn me a massive f*e that skyrocketed my wealth into billions of dollars; it thrust me directly into the global spotlight.

The money was incredible, but the fame brought a very specific, dangerous kind of attention.

Within weeks, powerful mafia lords from across the region started reaching out, desperate to hire the brilliant, fearless legal prodigy to protect their assets and keep their asses out of prison. I turned down their criminal money, but the sheer volume of offers proved one thing: I had built a reputation that made men in power bow to my intellect.

My sons, Leo and Lucas, were thriving—smart, handsome, and full of life. But as much as Panama had been a safe haven, I knew I needed to expand my practice. I needed to move to a major metropolis to truly grow my career and give my boys the elite life they deserved.

I made the nerve-wracking decision to move back to the big city—the very city where I had grown up, where my father had died, and where Andrew ruled.

To protect my family, I stayed far away from my old neighborhood and Andrew’s known territories. I purchased a heavily secured luxury penthouse in the high-end financial district on the opposite side of the city. I enrolled my six-year-old boys into a prestigious private nursery school nearby, using a legally altered last name.

For the first few weeks, everything was going smoothly. I was handling high-profile corporate litigation, my boys were loving their new school, and I finally felt like I was in complete control of my destiny.

Until this afternoon.

I was sitting in my glass office, reviewing a contract, when my cell phone rang. I picked it up on the second ring.

"Is this Miss Erica?" a frantic female voice asked over the line.

"Yes, speaking. Who is this?"

"This is the administrator from Saint Jude's Children's Hospital," the woman said, her voice shaking slightly. "Ma'am, you need to come to the emergency room immediately. There was an incident near the school gate. Your twin sons were knocked down by a speeding vehicle."

The room spun. The paper in my hand drifted to the floor as cold fear gripped my heart.

"What?!" I screamed, standing up so fast my chair crashed backward against the floor. "Are they alive?! Are my boys alive?!"

"They are in critical condition, ma'am. Please, hurry!"

I don't remember the drive. I ran through the red lights, my hands shaking on the steering wheel, tears blurring my vision as I prayed to God to save my children. I sprinted through the automatic doors of the emergency wing, my heels clicking frantically against the polished linoleum floor until I reached the nurses' station.

"Where are my sons? Leo and Lucas! Where are they?!" I demanded, my hands slamming against the counter.

A doctor stepped out from behind the swing doors, pulling down his surgical mask. "Miss Erica? Calm down. We've stabilized both boys. They have severe contusions and a few fractured bones, but they are going to survive."

I let out a ragged sob, burying my face in my hands as the overwhelming relief washed over me. "Thank God... Oh, thank God."

"I need to speak with the police," I said, wiping my eyes and hardening my tone. "Where is the driver who hit my children? Is he in custody?"

The doctor looked down awkwardly, shuffling the papers on his clipboard. "That's the issue, ma'am. The driver fled the scene immediately after the impact. Witnesses said the car didn't even tap its brakes—it sped up right as the boys stepped toward the sidewalk. The vehicle had no license plates, and the driver was wearing a dark ski mask. The police have no information, no traffic camera footage, and zero leads to track him down."

My blood ran instantly cold.

Didn't tap the brakes. Sped up. No license plates. A ski mask.

My mind, trained in criminal law and shaped by the violent reality of the underworld I grew up around, immediately connected the dots. A normal hit-and-run driver panics, slams on the brakes, or shows hesitation. A hit-and-run driver doesn't put on a ski mask and accelerate into two small children on a quiet school street.

This was no tragic accident. This was a calculated, cold-blooded murder attempt on my children.

I stood straight, my tear-stained face transforming into a mask of pure, murderous rage. Someone had tracked me down. Someone had targeted my six-year-old boys and tried to slaughter them in broad daylight.

But who could it be?

Was it one of the dangerous cartels whose legal advances I had turned down? Was it an enemy from my father's old past?

Or had Lord Andrew finally discovered that I had walked away six years ago carrying his blood?