He Chose His Bastard Over Our Baby - Chapter 5: Chapter 5
You are reading He Chose His Bastard Over Our Baby, Chapter 5: Chapter 5. Read more chapters of He Chose His Bastard Over Our Baby.
He moved closer, his fingers digging into my skin. "Know why you're still weak?" His tone was smooth as silk, but just as deadly.
I lifted my chin. "Do tell."
His grip tightened around my throat. "Because that woman—the wife, the mother—she's still clinging to life inside you." His gaze turned stormy. "Until you kill her, you'll never be ready."
When he released me, I collapsed, gasping for air. But the truth hit harder than his hands ever could.
No more second-guessing.
Hesitation was what got my daughter killed.
I wiped my mouth and stood on shaking legs. "I'll be ready."
Darius gave me that infuriating half-smile. "We'll see."
The real trial came seven days later.
The cold metal of a pistol pressed into my palm. "Thieving bastard thought he could cross me," Darius nodded toward the locked door. "Show him how wrong he was."
I weighed the gun in my hand. Stared at the bloodstained doorjamb.
This was the moment—the razor's edge between my past and future.
Darius's whisper curled around me: "Hesitate, and you're dead."
I didn't.
The door creaked open.
The traitor sat slumped in his chair, crimson dripping onto concrete. "Mercy..." he croaked.
The gunshot echoed off concrete walls.
No trembling.
No looking back.
When I turned, Darius's grin was all teeth. "There she is."
Week by week, I transformed.
My hands learned to break bones as easily as they'd once rocked cradles.
My tongue grew sharper than any blade.
I discovered true power wasn't in brute force or fat stacks of cash—it was in making people believe you held their fate between your manicured fingers.
Darius observed me like a chessmaster studying his queen. "Endgame, Valeria?" he asked one whiskey-soaked night.
I didn't blink. "Lorenzo."
His glass paused mid-sip. "Just to watch him die?"
"Better." I traced the rim of my glass. "I want him to watch while I burn his world to ashes."
Darius's laugh was dark as the liquor in his glass. "Now you're speaking my language."
Thirty days later, I wasn't just navigating the underworld—I was rewriting its rules.
Ronan smirked from his barstool. "Lorenzo's little widow playing crime lord? Never saw that coming."
I sipped my bourbon. "You should pay better attention."
Across the table, Darius's approving gaze burned hotter than the liquor. "You've impressed me."
I set down my glass with deliberate calm. "Not nearly enough."
His smile promised beautiful destruction. "Then let's raise the stakes."
Because revenge was just the opening move.
The throne? That was checkmate.
I lifted my chin. "Do tell."
His grip tightened around my throat. "Because that woman—the wife, the mother—she's still clinging to life inside you." His gaze turned stormy. "Until you kill her, you'll never be ready."
When he released me, I collapsed, gasping for air. But the truth hit harder than his hands ever could.
No more second-guessing.
Hesitation was what got my daughter killed.
I wiped my mouth and stood on shaking legs. "I'll be ready."
Darius gave me that infuriating half-smile. "We'll see."
The real trial came seven days later.
The cold metal of a pistol pressed into my palm. "Thieving bastard thought he could cross me," Darius nodded toward the locked door. "Show him how wrong he was."
I weighed the gun in my hand. Stared at the bloodstained doorjamb.
This was the moment—the razor's edge between my past and future.
Darius's whisper curled around me: "Hesitate, and you're dead."
I didn't.
The door creaked open.
The traitor sat slumped in his chair, crimson dripping onto concrete. "Mercy..." he croaked.
The gunshot echoed off concrete walls.
No trembling.
No looking back.
When I turned, Darius's grin was all teeth. "There she is."
Week by week, I transformed.
My hands learned to break bones as easily as they'd once rocked cradles.
My tongue grew sharper than any blade.
I discovered true power wasn't in brute force or fat stacks of cash—it was in making people believe you held their fate between your manicured fingers.
Darius observed me like a chessmaster studying his queen. "Endgame, Valeria?" he asked one whiskey-soaked night.
I didn't blink. "Lorenzo."
His glass paused mid-sip. "Just to watch him die?"
"Better." I traced the rim of my glass. "I want him to watch while I burn his world to ashes."
Darius's laugh was dark as the liquor in his glass. "Now you're speaking my language."
Thirty days later, I wasn't just navigating the underworld—I was rewriting its rules.
Ronan smirked from his barstool. "Lorenzo's little widow playing crime lord? Never saw that coming."
I sipped my bourbon. "You should pay better attention."
Across the table, Darius's approving gaze burned hotter than the liquor. "You've impressed me."
I set down my glass with deliberate calm. "Not nearly enough."
His smile promised beautiful destruction. "Then let's raise the stakes."
Because revenge was just the opening move.
The throne? That was checkmate.
End of He Chose His Bastard Over Our Baby Chapter 5. Continue reading Chapter 6 or return to He Chose His Bastard Over Our Baby book page.