The rain hammered against my skin like a thousand tiny needles, each drop colder than the last. I stood on the porch of what was supposed to be my home, my sanctuary, pounding on the door until my knuckles split and bled. Through the frosted glass, I could see their shadows.
My husband and his mother standing perfectly still, watching me beg.
“Please.” My voice cracked raw from screaming. “I’m pregnant.
Your baby is inside me.”
The shadow that was my husband turned away first, then his mother. The living room light clicked off, leaving me in complete darkness except for the occasional flash of lightning that illuminated my trembling, soaked body.
That’s when I felt it — the first cramp, the twisting, a warning.
I pressed my hand against my swollen belly, feeling our daughter move beneath my palm. And something inside me didn’t just break. It shattered into a million pieces that could never be put back together.
The woman who loved him, who trusted him, who would have died for him — she died on that porch in the freezing rain.
But someone else was born. I didn’t know it then, but at that exact moment, a black car was turning onto our street.
Inside sat a man I hadn’t spoken to in three years. A man who had once promised to destroy anyone who hurt me.
A man I had walked away from because I thought I’d found something safer, something gentler.
I had been so wrong. When those headlights cut through the rain and illuminated my broken form collapsed on the porch steps, bleeding and shaking, I looked up into eyes that held murder. “Hello, little sister,” he said, his voice soft as silk and sharp as a blade.
“Tell me who did this to you.”
And God help me — I told him everything.
What happened next? What we did to them?
It kept me up at night. Not with guilt — with satisfaction.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
You need to understand how I got here. You need to understand what they took from me before I tell you what I took from them. This is the story of how I lost everything — and how I made damn sure they lost more.
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Six months earlier, I believed I was living a fairy tale.
My name is Elena, and I was twenty-eight years old, four months pregnant, and married to a man I thought hung the moon — Thomas Adonis. God, even his name sounded like it belonged in a romance novel. Tall, blond, with those soft gray eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled at me.
When we met two years ago at that coffee shop downtown, I actually believed in love at first sight.
I should have known better. I came from nothing.
A group home, foster care — the whole tragic backstory. No family, no safety net, no one to warn me about men like Thomas or women like his mother.
I had only one person in the world who had ever truly been family to me: Alexe Volov.
We weren’t related by blood, but we grew up in the same group home from the time I was seven and he was twelve. Alexe was the boy who taught me how to fight, how to survive, how to never let them see you cry. When he aged out of the system at eighteen, he kissed my forehead and made me a promise.
“I’m going to build an empire, little Elena.
And when I do, you’ll never want for anything again.”
I believed him because Alexe never lied. But his empire, when it came, was built on foundations I couldn’t accept — money laundering, underground gambling — things he never spelled out, but I wasn’t naive enough to ignore.
When he found me at twenty-five and offered me a place in his world, I said no. “I want something clean,” I told him.
“Something normal.
A real life.”
He looked at me with those ice-blue eyes that had seen too much too young and nodded slowly. “If that’s what you need. But Elena, when the normal world shows you what it really is — when it chews you up and spits you out — you call me.
No matter what.
No matter when.”
I promised I would, but I never thought I’d need to. Then I met Thomas — with his normal job as a pharmaceutical sales rep.
His normal suburban house. His normal life.
He was everything Alexe wasn’t — soft, safe, ordinary.
When he proposed after six months, I said yes without hesitation. I was pregnant within a year, and I thought I had finally found the family I’d always dreamed of. But there was one crack in my perfect picture: Diane.
Thomas’s mother was a widow who had raised him alone after his father died when Thomas was ten.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page to discover the rest 🔎👇
