The gun in my hand trembled violently, almost firing. I shook uncontrollably, every fiber of me quivering.
He knew as well as I did why our child had died. Those enemies, hunting revenge, were after him.
First, they found my parents’ villa and slaughtered them, then strung their bodies in front of the house to lure Zavier out.
When that failed, they dragged me from the basement and used the child as leverage, forcing me to call him. I called, but he didn’t answer.
They thought I was only his lover, so they chose to vent all their hatred on me. Hundreds of thugs came, planning to humiliate me, to film it, and send it to Zavier.
But they underestimated a mother’s will to protect her child. They all died, horribly.
That night, I wept endlessly, clutching my parents’ corpses. With my bare hands, I dug them a grave in front of the villa until my ten fingertips were shredded and bleeding. Through the long hours of digging, Zavier knelt beside me in silence.
By dawn, the child had been cut out, already without breath.
He cradled the child and knelt before me for three days and three nights. “Tiffany, from this moment, this life is yours. My blood will only flow for you.”