After My Son Chose His Dad's First Love, I Found Another Child

I hadn't seen my son, Lucas, in seven days.

Today was his seventh birthday. I'd ordered his favorite Superman cake and waited five hours, but my husband, Victor—the second heir to the Corsican mafia family—still wasn't answering his phone.

At ten that night, a text came in from an unknown number: [He's at the North Estate.]

That was Isabella's territory. The widow of Victor's late older brother.

I drove there immediately, only to find the gates shut tight. A guard stopped me at the entrance. "Sorry, ma'am. Mr. Corsican gave orders. Tonight is a private family gathering."

A private family gathering?

A family gathering that excluded me, my son's actual mother?

I let out a cold laugh, broke the code lock on the side greenhouse entrance, and slipped into the estate.

As I moved through the hallway, I caught sight of the scene through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Isabella lounged lazily on the sofa, Lucas curled up in her arms.

And my husband, Victor, was looking at them with a kind of tenderness I had never once received.

Lucas suddenly lifted an elegant little handgun, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Mom, is this a real gun? Can I pull the trigger?"

Mom?

Who was he calling that?

I shoved the doors open.

"Lucas!"

Lucas recoiled in fear and hid most of his body behind Isabella.

"Emma." Victor frowned and immediately stepped in front of Isabella and Lucas. "Why are you here?"

"Give me back my son!" I rushed forward to grab Lucas, but Victor clamped a hand around my wrist.

"I'm your biological mother! What did you just call her?" I stared at Lucas, my voice breaking.

Lucas's eyes turned red. "You're not my mom! You're always mean to me. You make me practice piano, you make me do math. Isabella gives me guns. She's the one who acts like a real mom. I don't want to go back to that awful house!"

My mind went blank with a sharp buzz.

As someone on the margins of a mafia family, one wrong step could get him killed. I'd done everything I could to keep him away from that bloody world! And somehow, all my effort had become the reason he ran into someone else's arms.

Victor's expression turned cold. He pulled a document from the drawer of the side table and slapped it in my face.

"Take a good look, Emma."

Pages scattered across the floor.

My hands shook as I picked one up. It was a Transfer of Full Custody Agreement. At the bottom was my signature—the same one I had signed three months ago on a stack of French documents Victor claimed were for the family's overseas tax restructuring.

"Are you insane?" I looked up at him in despair. "You tricked me into signing this?"

"He belongs to Isabella now." Victor's voice was indifferent. "Throw her out."

Two bodyguards appeared out of nowhere, dragged me through the doors, and tossed me into the mud.

I don't know how I managed to drive back to the apartment.

A few hours later, Victor came home.

"Why?" I sat on the couch staring at him. "Back then, when you saved me and married me... was all of it a lie?"

Victor yanked off his tie, irritation etched across his face. "Don't flatter yourself, Emma. My brother was ordered to marry Isabella, so I had to step aside. But I still loved her. A few years ago, the family needed a third-generation heir to secure its position, but Isabella lost the ability to have children after an accident."

He paused. "You needed a leading man to rescue your ordinary little life. I needed a healthy womb with no family background and no power of its own. That's all. Now the job is done. Lucas filled the void in Isabella's life and strengthened her place in the family. That is the only contribution you were ever meant to make."

Before he finished speaking, the doorbell rang.

FedEx.

Victor signed for the package himself, then tossed a manila envelope at my feet. A birth certificate slid out.

Lucas Castellano Corsican.

And under Mother, it said:

Isabella Castellano.

They had erased every trace that I had ever existed.

Then my phone rang.

It was Dr. Harrison, the attending physician who had delivered my baby.

"Ms. Emma," he said, his voice heavy with regret, "when you went into hemorrhagic labor at the family hospital, Mr. Corsican signed the surgical consent forms. We delivered the baby, but we also performed a total hysterectomy. I thought you already knew."

My phone slipped from my hand and hit the floor.

I hadn't just lost my son. I had lost my ability to ever become a mother again.

At dawn, the family lawyer called. "Ma'am, sign the agreement voluntarily surrendering all visitation rights and agreeing to permanent confidentiality. If you choose to sue, then by the rules of the family court, you won't live to see tomorrow."

Like a walking corpse, I drifted into Lucas's room.

The Lego sets, the Superman posters, even the birthday cake I had bought last night—everything had already been cleared away by the staff.

When your heart truly dies, nothing hurts anymore.

"I'll give you what you want." I signed the departure papers they had prepared for me and walked to the door.

But when I turned the handle all the way, the door didn't move.

A voice came from outside. The butler. "My apologies, ma'am. Mr. Corsican has given orders. We must ensure that your emotional state is completely stable and that you have fully lost the ability to seek help from the outside world before you can be transferred. Until then, you are not permitted to leave."

I was imprisoned.