Don Called Me a Whore.I Killed His Heir.

"You spread your legs and crawled into my bed at nineteen, and now you're sneaking off to abort the baby—do you really think you're better than Camille?" My husband, Don Cassian Marchetti, drove those words into my heart in front of the servants and his mistress. All to protect his precious, fragile sister-in-law. What he didn't know was that I was carrying the child he'd spent six years desperate for. So the next morning, I walked into that clinic alone and signed the consent form. At that very moment, he was in the same building, escorting Camille to her cardiac appointment. The baby was gone. The marriage was over. And when he finally fell to his knees begging my forgiveness, I said only one thing: "You killed your own child, Don. With your own hands."