I lay on the delivery bed in the private clinic, each contraction threatening to rip my body apart. My husband, Dante Corsetti, held my hand, his eyes so tender they could melt. “Just a little longer, Valentina. We’re about to meet our baby.” I was drenched in sweat from the pain, but I still managed to squeeze out a smile for him. Then the nurse walked in carrying a syringe. I assumed it was the epidural. But Dante suddenly let go of my hand and stepped back. The instant the needle pierced my skin, I heard him give the order: “Eleanora wants her baby born first. Get the dosage right—she has to wait until Eleanora delivers.” I stared at him wide-eyed, but he simply glanced down at his watch. “Eleanora’s already six centimeters dilated. Just stall for two more hours.” I wanted to scream, to fight back, but the drug was already flooding my bloodstream. The violent contractions in my abdomen were suddenly strangled— Cut dead. …… …… I was wheeled into a makeshift cell converted from the clinic’s basement. Dante’s sister, Bianca, stood in the doorway, toying with a scalpel. “Valentina, don’t blame my brother.” “The baby in Eleanora’s belly is my eldest brother’s child—the only male heir of this generation of the Corsetti family. The future Don.” “No matter how early you deliver, it’s just a girl. Useless.” I clutched my stomach. A new wave of contractions was battling the drugs, and the pain was blinding. “Get the doctor. I’m about to deliver, I really am—” Bianca let out a soft laugh, walked over, and crouched in front of me. “Deliver what?” “The drug’s good for another three hours. Eleanora’s already gone into the delivery room.” “Just sit tight like a good girl. Once her son is safely born, you can push all you want.” She stood up and called to the guard at the door: “Keep an eye on her. If she starts screaming, gag her.” The door slammed shut. I lay on the freezing concrete floor, the blood beneath me already soaking through my skirt. My phone had been taken the moment I entered the clinic. Dante said the radiation was bad for the baby. Now I realized it was just to stop me from calling for help. I curled into myself, trying to breathe through the pain, but all I could see was the look in Dante’s eyes. Cold. Calculating. Like he was appraising a tool. Not a wife. Not the woman about to bear his child. Three months ago, his older brother Nico had died in a car accident, leaving behind a widow three months pregnant—Eleanora. At the funeral, Dante’s father, the old Don, had clutched Eleanora’s hand, tears streaming down his weathered face. “You must carry this baby to term safely. The Corsetti bloodline cannot end.” I’d felt sorry for Eleanora then. I’d stepped forward and offered: “Dad, don’t worry. My baby with Dante will protect this family too.” The old Don had looked at me once and said nothing. So from that moment on, my child had already been written off. “Ahhh—” Another contraction hit, fiercer than the last. The drug was wearing off. The baby was coming. I clawed my way upright and pounded on the door with everything I had. “Someone! I’m in labor! Save my baby!” Dead silence on the other side. I screamed until my voice gave out before the guard’s irritated reply finally came: “Shut up. The young miss said to wait.” “But the baby—” “If it dies, that’s fate. Shouldn’t have been a girl. A daughter can never be the Don’s heir.” I slid to the ground, cold to the bone. But someone wanted my child dead. Death should not be this baby’s destiny.
I don’t know how long I lasted in that basement. The blood kept coming, pooling beneath me until everything was soaked through. Just as consciousness began to slip away, the iron door swung open. It wasn’t Bianca. It wasn’t the guard. It was the family’s private physician, Dr. Bianchi. One look at me and the color drained from his face. “Valentina? What are you doing here?” “The Don told me you were resting in the VIP suite, ready for delivery—” I tried to speak but couldn’t produce a sound. All I could do was point at my belly, tears streaming endlessly. Dr. Bianchi rushed over and knelt to examine me. The moment his hands touched my abdomen, he sucked in a sharp breath. “Fully dilated! Her water’s broken! And she’s hemorrhaging!” “We need surgery immediately!” He tried to lift me, but the moment I moved, a hot surge gushed between my legs. Blood. So much blood. Dr. Bianchi’s hands were shaking. He shouted toward the door: “Help! Someone help! The patient is hemorrhaging!” The corridor was empty. Not a soul answered. This private clinic was wholly owned by the Corsetti family. Tonight, for Eleanora’s delivery, the entire building had been cleared—every last nurse and doctor reassigned to the third-floor delivery suite. Dr. Bianchi pulled out his phone to call for help, only to find there was no signal in the basement. He gritted his teeth. “I’ll carry you upstairs. Hold on!” He heaved me into his arms and staggered toward the exit. The stairwell was steep and dark. Every step jolted through me like a knife. I could feel the baby descending, but the drug’s lingering effects made the contractions erratic—surging one moment, vanishing the next. That agonizing limbo made me want to die on the spot. “Dr. Bianchi…” I clutched his collar, barely a whisper. “Save my baby. Please.” “Don’t worry—you’re both going to be fine!” He finally reached the first floor and sprinted toward the operating room. But at the door, we both froze. The operating room stood wide open—and completely empty. The surgical lights, the operating table, the monitors, the oxygen machine—every piece of medical equipment was gone. Nothing remained but a bare room and a few power outlets on the walls. Dr. Bianchi stood rigid. I heard a strangled sound rise from his throat, like someone had seized him by the neck. “How is this possible…” “I checked the equipment this afternoon…” Footsteps echoed from the far end of the corridor. Bianca approached with two nurses in tow. Spotting us, she raised an eyebrow. “Dr. Bianchi, what are you doing down here?” “Eleanora is on the third floor, about to deliver. Why did you wander off?” Dr. Bianchi pointed at the gutted operating room, his voice trembling: “The equipment—where is the equipment?” Bianca’s expression was pure innocence. “Moved to the third floor.” “Eleanora’s carrying the family heir. She needs a C-section—only the best equipment will do. What if there’s an emergency? A standard OR would never cut it.” Her gaze drifted to me, and she smiled. “Oh, is Valentina in labor?” “She’ll have to wait. Eleanora isn’t finished yet.” “Just hang in there a bit longer. It won’t kill you.” I stared at that perfectly made-up face and suddenly remembered how, six months ago, she’d looped her arm through mine while shopping, cooing: “Valentina, you’re so wonderful—even better than a real sister. I’m going to take such good care of you.” I’d felt sorry for her then, growing up without a mother. I’d bought her a custom bracelet worth over a hundred thousand. Looking back now, what a colossal joke.
Dr. Bianchi tore into the adjacent nurses’ station like a man possessed, ripping open cabinets in search of emergency supplies. Every shelf was bare—not even a basic hemostat or roll of gauze. “The medications! Hemostatics! Oxytocin!” He roared at the two nurses. One of them answered in a near-whisper: “They’ve all been sent to the third floor.” “Mr. Dante ordered that all medical resources be prioritized for Ms. Eleanora.” Dr. Bianchi slammed his fist against the cabinet. He looked at me with bloodshot eyes, his lips quivering: “I’m sorry, Valentina. I’m so sorry…” “There’s nothing I can do…” Bianca strolled over and patted his shoulder. “Relax, Doctor.” “Valentina hasn’t actually delivered yet, has she? Once Eleanora’s done, we’ll bring the equipment and meds right back down.” She glanced at the blood still streaming between my legs and added: “Even if it does come out, it’s just a girl. Lose it and move on.” “The Corsetti family is not short of heirs.” I fixed my eyes on her. On this woman I’d loved like a little sister for three years. Then, with every ounce of strength I had left, I forced out two words: “You’re. Vile.” Bianca’s expression hardened. She bent down, brought her lips close to my ear, and dropped her voice low: “Go ahead and curse. Knock yourself out.” “Once you’ve delivered and your body’s wrecked, I have plenty of ways to shut you up.” “When that happens, the title of Donna will belong to Eleanora.” “As for you—” She straightened up, flashing a smile so radiant it was blinding. “For my brother’s sake, we’ll let you keep your life. You can serve the household as a maid.” Dr. Bianchi couldn’t take it anymore. “Bianca! This is murder!” “Murder?” Bianca scoffed, her eyes like ice. “Watch your mouth, Doctor.” “Women die in childbirth all the time. It’s perfectly ordinary.” “Besides, which member of this family hasn’t seen a dead body?” She turned to the guards at the door and waved her hand. “Escort Dr. Bianchi to the break room.” “I’ll look after Valentina myself.” Two guards stepped forward immediately, seizing the struggling doctor and dragging him away. Dr. Bianchi fought against them, shouting: “Valentina! Press the pressure point below the carotid artery! And the median nerve on the inside of your wrist! Press them repeatedly! It can stimulate contractions!!” “Don’t give up! You have to hold on!” His voice faded into the distance. Bianca shut the nurses’ station door. She turned, pulled out her phone, and placed a video call. “Hey, big brother. Valentina’s about to give birth. She’s bleeding a lot—want to take a look?” Dante’s face appeared on screen. He was standing outside the third-floor delivery suite, medical staff bustling behind him. “Valentina, stop making a fuss.” His voice was thick with irritation. “Eleanora’s in trouble—the fetal heart rate is dropping. I can’t leave.” Bianca angled the camera at the blood pooling beneath me and deliberately zoomed in. “Look at Valentina like this—think she might die?” Dante glanced briefly, then quickly looked away. “Tell her to wait.” “Once Eleanora’s delivered, the doctors will go down.” “Bianca, just keep an eye on things for now. I really can’t step away.” The call ended. Bianca shrugged and tucked her phone away. “You heard him.” “In my brother’s heart, there’s only Eleanora and the heir in her belly.” “You? You’re just a breeding tool.” “And once the tool’s served its purpose, it gets tossed.” I closed my eyes. I refused to look at her anymore. My hand crept silently behind me, finding a button-sized metal device sewn into the lining of my skirt. A gift from my father. He’d told me: “Valentina, the waters in the Corsetti house run deep. If anything ever goes wrong, press this.” I’d laughed at him then, called him paranoid. Told him Dante treated me beautifully and the whole Corsetti family had been nothing but kind. Looking back, I’d been an inexcusable fool. I pried open the device’s protective cover with my fingernail and pressed down. No sound. No light. But I knew the distress signal had been sent. My father had promised: once I pressed it, someone would come within thirty minutes. But thirty minutes… Could my baby last that long?
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