Chapter 6 - The Secret Kept

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Three weeks after the divorce was finalized by the syndicate’s corrupt lawyers, I woke up in my tiny, rented apartment feeling violently ill.
I attributed the nausea to stress, heartbreak, and the sudden shift from extreme luxury to living paycheck to paycheck as a freelance graphic designer. But when the sickness persisted for two solid weeks, a terrifying thought crept into my mind.
I bought a cheap plastic test from a corner drugstore. I sat on the cracked linoleum floor of my bathroom, staring at the stick, waiting for the single line that had mocked me for five years to appear.
Instead, two bright, undeniable pink lines developed in less than thirty seconds.
I didn't cheer. I didn't cry tears of joy. I experienced a full-blown panic attack. I was carrying the heir to the Gallow empire—the very thing Dominic had discarded me for failing to produce. If I told him, he would drag me right back into that golden cage. Rosa would take complete control of my child. My baby would be raised to inherit a violent, bloody syndicate, surrounded by bodyguards and death threats.
A week later, an ultrasound revealed it wasn't just one heartbeat. It was four.
The fertility drugs I had taken for years had caused a hyper-ovulation event right before I left the estate.
That day, I made the hardest decision of my life. I changed my phone number. Maya and I moved two towns over to a quiet, working-class neighborhood. I secured a job at a local marketing firm under my maiden name. I built a fortress of absolute anonymity.
I endured a high-risk pregnancy entirely alone, relying only on my sister. When Noah, Elise, Clare, and Henry were born, they were my entire world. They were brilliant, loud, chaotic, and completely free from the shadow of the mafia.
I kept the secret for five years. And if that magazine article hadn’t publicly humiliated me and called my existence a tragic failure, I would have kept it forever.
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"Mom?" Henry's sleepy voice pulled me out of my memories. I looked in the rearview mirror. He was rubbing his eyes. "Are we going home?"
"Yes, baby," I smiled, fighting back tears. "We're going home."