My Fiancé Betrayed the Wrong Mafia Heiress

I hang up on my mother and call Vanessa. She answers on the third ring. Before I can say a word, she speaks. “Serena, I’m sorry. But just for tonight, let Ethan be mine.” Then she ends the call. I close my eyes and let the tears slide down my face. Another lifetime. Another version of us. A different ending. None of it matters anymore. If Ethan, Vanessa, and my entire family want me gone, I will give them exactly what they want. One week ago, I thought I was the happiest woman alive. I have been nauseous for days. I could barely stay awake in the afternoon, and even the smell of my favorite coffee made my stomach turn. When my period was almost two weeks late, I finally told my mother. For once, she seemed genuinely concerned. She canceled a charity luncheon and took me to a Vale-owned concierge clinic that afternoon. The clinic serves our family and a small circle of wealthy clients. Everyone there was so attentive that I never thought to question anything. A nurse drew my blood. Less than an hour later, the doctor handed me a report. “Congratulations, Miss Vale,” he said with a warm smile. “You’re about six weeks pregnant.” I stared at the page until the words blurred. My mother reached across the desk and squeezed my hand. Only then did I look down at my still-flat stomach. There was a baby inside me. Ethan’s baby. Ours. I wanted to call him immediately. But he had been busy with work and the wedding, and we had barely seen each other for days. The Future Call challenge felt like the perfect chance to surprise him. I imagined the silence in the line when I told him. Then he would laugh. Then he would rush home and pull me into his arms. Instead, he already knew. So did Vanessa. So did my parents. The pregnancy I had treated like a miracle was nothing more than another way to keep me trapped in a marriage built on lies. My phone vibrates in my hand. A message from an unknown number appears on the screen. Now that you’ve heard the truth for yourself, are you ready to leave? I stare at it. Whoever sent this knew about the call. Maybe they knew even more. My fingers hover over the screen before I type a reply. Downstairs café. Now. The café on the ground floor is almost empty at this hour. Soft jazz plays through the speakers while the barista wipes glasses behind the counter. A man in a black coat sits alone beside the rear window. The moment he sees me, he stands. He stares at me like he’s been waiting for this moment for years. “Serafina.” His expression changes, but I can’t read it. The name hits me like a blow. The café disappears. Cold stone beneath my bare feet. A damp underground training room. Hot blood spraying across my face as an instructor falls. Then darkness. A hand closes tightly around mine and pulls me forward. Rusted wire slices into the stranger’s palm, cutting so deep I can see bone. The images vanish as quickly as they came. Pain explodes behind my eyes. I grab the back of a chair to keep myself upright. “Don’t call me that.” The man’s jaw tightens. Guilt flashes in his eyes, but he quickly hides it and lowers his head slightly. “As you wish.” His voice is calm and controlled, but he never looks away from me. “Luca?” The name leaves my mouth before I can think. For a second, neither of us moves. Then he answers, “Yes.” I walk to his table. Two medical reports and a tablet are waiting there. Luca slides the first report toward me. The Vale clinic’s name is printed at the top. My name is printed at the top. Serena Vale. Below it, one result is marked in bold. Serum hCG: 38,420 mIU/mL. Estimated gestational age: six weeks. It is the same report the doctor handed me last week. The same report my mother cried over while she held me and said I would be a wonderful mother. Luca places the second report beside it. My name. The same collection date. The same blood sample number. But this one is the clinic’s original laboratory record. Serum hCG: below 5 mIU/mL. Not pregnant. Everything around me fades away. All I can hear is the blood pounding in my ears. My fingertips turn numb. My chest tightens until I can barely breathe. Same name. Same date. Same blood sample. But this report says I was never pregnant.

I should feel relieved. I am not pregnant. There is no baby tying me to Ethan for the rest of my life. But all I can see is my mother’s hand resting gently on my stomach. My father pouring Ethan a drink and congratulating him on becoming a father. Vanessa kneeling in front of me with tears in her eyes, promising she will always help me take care of my child. They all knew. They knew there was no baby when they smiled at me. They knew when they watched me press a hand to my stomach and whisper that I would protect my child. Every tear, every embrace, every blessing was part of the same lie. Luca watches me in silence. Then he reaches for the tablet and opens an audio file. “This was recorded three days ago,” he says. “It proves they were together before tonight.” The video is from a car’s dashboard camera. The screen shows nothing but the gray concrete wall of an underground parking garage. Their voices are painfully clear. Vanessa speaks first, soft and playful. Ethan answers with a patience he hasn’t shown me in years. They talk about my wedding, which was six days away when this was recorded, as if it belongs to them. Vanessa complains about having to stand beside me. Ethan promises that marrying me will change nothing between them. They sound relaxed. Intimate. Like they are the couple about to exchange vows, while I am only a problem they have agreed to manage. Then Vanessa laughs. Ethan laughs with her. It hurts more than I expect. I remember when he used to speak to me in that same low, gentle voice. I thought that tenderness belonged only to me. Now I know he can use that same gentle voice with another woman. Their quiet laughter, their comfortable pauses, the affection they make no effort to hide. Every sound makes my chest tighten. A cold ache spreads through me. My hands begin to shake. I press them against my knees, but I cannot make it stop. Then Vanessa speaks again. “But what about the things Daniel left behind?” Ethan’s voice turns sharp. “Vanessa.” “I’m only saying, if Serena finds out...” “Enough.” The recording cuts off. I stare at the dark screen. Daniel Carter. Vanessa’s late husband. Ethan’s older brother. He died three years ago in what both families called a tragic accident. Until now, I have never questioned that story. Why are she and Ethan afraid of something Daniel left behind? What could it possibly have to do with me? The questions keep running through my head. But I can’t make myself speak. Luca closes the tablet. “What are you going to do?” he asks. No answer. I do not even remember standing. One moment I am at the table. The next, I am outside the café with the city moving around me as if nothing has changed. Sunlight falls across my face, bright and warm. I cannot feel it. Every part of me is cold.

I sit alone in the living room all night. My wedding dress hangs by the window inside a white garment bag. Moonlight traces its pale outline, making it look like a ghost suspended in the darkness. Tomorrow, I am supposed to attend my final fitting. Three days from now, I am supposed to wear that dress and walk down an aisle covered in flowers. My father will place my hand in Ethan’s. My mother will cry from the front row. Vanessa will stand beside me as my maid of honor. They will all smile as they send me into a marriage built on lies. At 4:17 a.m., the lock finally turns. Ethan slips inside quietly. When he sees me sitting in the dark, he stops. “Serena?” He switches on the floor lamp. Warm light fills the room. His hair is still damp. He must have showered before coming home. His shirt is buttoned wrong, and a dark red mark shows above his collar, and a dark red mark shows above his collar. He walks over and crouches in front of me. The faint scent of jasmine and sandalwood clings to him. Vanessa’s perfume. “Why are you still awake?” he asks. I look directly into his eyes. “Ethan, cancel the wedding.” He freezes. Then his gaze moves over my swollen, red eyes. “What kind of joke is this?” “I played a game last night,” I say. “The Future Call challenge.” His hand stills on his watch. The color slowly drains from his face. “Serena, were you testing me?” A bitter laugh escapes me. His first reaction is not guilt. It is anger that I caught him. “If I hadn’t tested you, how long were you planning to make a fool of me?” He says nothing. My eyes burn as I stare at the mark Vanessa left on his skin. “You two are disgusting.” His hand strikes my face. The slap snaps my head to the side. For a moment, I cannot move. Heat spreads across my cheek as I slowly lift a hand to cover it. Ethan stares at his own palm. He looks almost shocked, as if he did not expect himself to hit me either. Then his expression hardens. “Serena, you had no right to call her that.” Blood rushes to my head. He comes home from my sister’s bed, wearing her perfume and her marks, and still thinks he has the right to defend her. I raise my hand and swing at him. “You don’t get to hit me!” He catches my wrist before my palm reaches his face. His fingers tighten around my arm until it hurts. “My parents have never laid a hand on me,” I say through clenched teeth. A cold smile touches his mouth. “Your parents?” He leans closer. “They’ve known about Vanessa and me the entire time.” My body goes still. He watches my face as if he enjoys seeing me hurt. “Last Thanksgiving, your mother dragged you out to go shopping as soon as you arrived. Your father claimed he needed to pick up the pumpkin pie.” I remember that afternoon. My mother kept me out for almost three hours, even after I told her I wanted to go home. When we finally returned, Vanessa and Ethan were sitting on opposite sides of the living room. I never questioned it. “They were getting you out of the house so Vanessa and I could be alone,” Ethan says. His grip loosens, but I can no longer feel my hand. “Your whole family has been covering for us.” He releases me with a small shove. “Wake up, Serena.” My knees hit the floor. Ethan looks down at me without a trace of pity. “If I were you, I’d make good use of whatever guilt your future husband still feels.” His mouth curves into a cruel smile. “After all, even your own parents don’t love you.”