---- Chapter 8 Katarina POV: Alex came back to the penthouse hours later, humming. He was giddy with the news of his "twins," drunk on the victory of securing his lineage. He carried a bag from a high-end baby boutique. "Look at this," he said, pulling out a pair of tiny, cashmere booties. "| thought you could... learn. About this new lifestyle." He wanted me to play the role of the benevolent, barren wife, helping to raise my husband's children with his mistress. The audacity of it was breathtaking. "Where will Aria be staying?" | asked, my voice deceptively calm. He waved a dismissive hand. "Don't worry about her. We'll give her a nice apartment, a big check. I'll have her secretly moved to the villa in Europe after the birth. She'll be taken care of." He was still spinning the same web of lies, convinced of his own brilliance. | looked at him, at this man so thoroughly duped, and felt a flicker of something almost like pity for Aria. She was a pawn in his game, just as | had been. But her greed would be ---- her undoing. My escape was my salvation. "Im going to take a shower," he said, heading for the bedroom. As the water started running, | saw his tablet lying on the kitchen counter. It chimed with a new notification. A secure email from "Capo Giovanni." My fingers trembled slightly as | picked it up. His password was still my birthday. | opened the email. It wasn't a message. It was an attachment. A full private investigator's report. My breath hitched. | opened it. And there it was. The whole, sordid truth, laid out in black and white. Aria Diaz was not pregnant. She had never been pregnant. The sonograms were fakes, bought online. The doctor's reports were forged by a disgraced physician her brother knew. She was deeply in debt to a violent loan shark, and this was her desperate, high-stakes play to get out. But the report contained another, more sickening revelation. It detailed Alex's real plan. He wasn't going to send Aria away. He was going to use her to produce an heir (or so he thought), then install her as his permanent mistress in the Como villa. His plan was to tell me the surrogate had miscarried, a tragic accident. He wanted everything. His power, his wife, and his whore. He wanted to have his ---- perfect statue on display in New York, and his fiery, "real" woman tucked away in Italy. | closed the tablet, a wave of absolute clarity washing over me. The last emotional tie, a thin, frayed thread of shared history, snapped. | saw his greed, his bottomless capacity for betrayal. And | felt nothing but the sweet, clean finality of being done. When he came out of the shower, wrapped in a towel, | was standing at the stove. "Make me a steak," | said quietly. "The way you used to." He looked surprised by the simple, domestic request, but relieved. He thought this was me, coming around, accepting my place. He thought he had won. As he seasoned the meat, his back to me, Aria's name flashed on his phone with an urgent text. Another manufactured crisis, no doubt. "| have to go," he said, dropping the tongs. "It's an emergency with... the business." He rushed out, leaving the raw steaks sizzling on the hot pan. | watched him go. Then | turned off the stove, took the pan, and scraped the two perfect cuts of filet mignon into the garbage disposal. | picked up the small, pre-packed suitcase from beside the door. My "purification" was complete. | walked out of the ---- apartment for the last time, the sound of the garbage disposal grinding his pathetic offering to dust behind me. Discover our latest featured short drama reel. Watch now and enjoy the story!