The heavy air in the VIP room reached a fever pitch. As Alia's touch lingered on his bare chest, Marcos snapped. In one swift motion, he lifted Alia into his arms and carried her toward the massive bed (Marcos carries Alia to the bed) in the adjoining room.
He laid her down on the silk sheets, the moonlight reflecting in her half-closed, wine-clouded eyes. Marcos hovered over her, his golden eyes burning with a primal intensity.
Marcos: "Is the three-month pact ending tonight, Alia? Because I can't wait a second longer."
He pinned her wrists above her head, his strength overwhelming. He trailed hot, demanding kisses from her ear down to her throat, making Alia gasp for air.
Alia: (In a low moan) "Ahhh... Marcos..."
As their bodies melded in the darkness, Alia's fingers dug into the rose tattoos on his back. Amidst the heat of the moment, she remained a strategist; she was carefully trying to embed a microscopic tracking chip into his skin, hidden under her nails.
The room was filled with the sound of their heavy breathing and the rhythmic thud of their hearts. Outside, the moon hid behind the clouds, as if refusing to witness this forbidden union.In the middle of that intense moment, a sudden chill filled the room. A single tear rolled down Alia's cheek. Marcos stopped, cupping her face in his hands, his golden eyes filled with a sudden, tragic softness.
Marcos: (In a low whisper) "Alia, we probably won't see each other again. But remember, my child stays with me. He carries my blood."
Alia looked at him, bewildered. Marcos stroked her hair and began to reveal a truth she never knew.
Marcos: "You hate me, but you don't know the truth. Victor and I, along with 3 other Lords, were once imprisoned together (We were 5 Lords trapped together). We used to talk in a group; we had common goals. But the Mafia world tore us apart. And now... I have my own life. I have a wife (I have a wife)."
Alia was stunned. The man she thought was just an obsessed predator had layers of history she hadn't imagined. Marcos knew the war was coming to a bloody end, and he chose this moment to let her go.
He leaned in and pressed a long, tender kiss on her forehead (He kisses her forehead), his eyes brimming with unshed tears.
Marcos: (Whispering) "Love you... Stay safe, Alia."
With that, he stood up, pulled on his shirt, and disappeared into the shadows of the room. Alia lay there, tears blurring her vision, wondering if this was his final move or the only honest emotion a killer ever had.Alia lay on the bed, shattered. The weight of Marcos's confession and his sudden "Love you" broke her last defenses. She buried her face in the pillow and started crying uncontrollably (Alia starts crying loudly). Her tears were a mix of guilt for Victor, confusion over Marcos's past, and the sheer exhaustion of her trapped life.
Marcos had almost reached the door, but the sound of her heartbreaking sobs acted like invisible chains on his feet. He stopped in his tracks. His cold, hardened heart flickered with a raw emotion he hadn't felt in years.
He quickly walked back to the bed and pulled Alia into a protective hug (Marcos pulls her into a hug). He buried his face in her hair, trying to soothe her in a voice that was uncharacteristically gentle.
Marcos: "Shhhh (Shhhh)... Alia, don't cry. I'm right here."
Alia gripped his chest, her sobs intensifying. Marcos held her tighter, as if trying to shield her from the very world they belonged to.
Marcos: (Whispering) "Calm down. I know you love Victor. I know you don't want to be here. But let this night just be for us—for our unfinished story. Don't cry... Shhhh... (Shhhh...) everything will be okay."
In that dark room, only the sound of Alia's stifled sobs and Marcos's whispers remained. Eventually, Alia grew quiet in his arms, realizing that the secret of the 5 Lords was a rabbit hole that could change her and Victor's life forever.The morning mist hadn't fully cleared when Alia reached her private jet. Standing there, waiting for her, was Marcos. In his arms was their child, looking smaller than ever against Marcos's broad frame.
As soon as the toddler saw Alia, he reached out his tiny hands, crying in a soft, broken voice—
Child: "Mam... Mam... (Mam... Mam...)"
That sound pierced through Alia's heart like a dagger. She was caught between two worlds—the husband (Victor) who was waiting for her, and this tiny soul who didn't want to let go of his father.
Marcos stroked the boy's head and looked at Alia one last time. His golden eyes were filled with a silent, heavy pain. He nudged her toward the jet and spoke in a low, hollow voice.
Marcos: "Go, Alia. Your destiny is calling. I will protect him, just as I promised. He will grow up as a Lord."
As Alia stepped onto the jet's stairs, the child cried out again—"Mam! Mam!" Alia turned to see Marcos holding him tightly, preventing him from running toward her. She saw a single tear glisten in Marcos's eye before he quickly wiped it away.
As the jet door hissed shut, Alia watched through the window as the figures of Marcos and her son grew smaller and smaller. On one side was her freedom; on the other, her own flesh and blood and a mysterious Lord she could never truly understand.As Alia's jet disappeared into the horizon, the silence at the airstrip was deafening. Marcos stood still, his son's tiny heartbeat thumping against his chest. Slowly, he turned back toward a hidden wing of his palace—a place where no one was allowed to enter.
Inside a room filled with the scent of lilies and expensive incense, a woman stood by the window. This was Marcos's mysterious wife. She didn't look like a victim; she looked like a queen.
Marcos: (His voice cold and devoid of emotion) "She is gone. The three months are over. Now, we begin the final phase of the '5 Lords' pact."
The woman turned around, her face finally emerging from the shadows. She looked at the child in Marcos's arms and smiled a chilling, beautiful smile.
The Wife: "You did well, Marcos. But tell me... did you actually fall for her, or was the hair-pulling and the pool just part of the act?"
Marcos didn't answer. He looked away, his jaw tightening. He had played his part, but the ghost of Alia's "Ahhh" and her tears still haunted his skin.
Meanwhile, at the Romanov Mansion...
Alia finally entered the grand foyer of her home. The familiar scent of leather and expensive cigars hit her, but it didn't feel like home anymore. It felt like a mausoleum. Victor wasn't there; he was out at a meeting with the Russian syndicate.
Alia tried to walk up the grand marble staircase, but her legs felt like lead. The exhaustion of the past 90 days, the physical trauma of her nights with Marcos, and the heartbreak of leaving her son finally took their toll.
The world began to spin. The ornate chandelier above her seemed to shatter into a thousand pieces of light. She reached for the railing, but her fingers slipped.
Alia's eyes rolled back, and she collapsed, tumbling down the final few steps (Alia faints and falls down).
She lay motionless on the cold marble floor, her hair fanned out like silk. Just then, the heavy front doors swung open. Victor walked in, his face hardened by business—until he saw her.
Victor: (His voice cracking in pure terror) "ALIA!"
He rushed to her side, his hands trembling as he touched her pale face. He noticed the faint, dark marks on her neck marks that didn't belong to him. His blood ran cold with a mixture of rage and soul-crushing worry.Alia lay on the bed, motionless, while the doctor examined her with a grave expression. Victor stood by the bedside, his eyes fixed on the faint bruises on her neck—marks that screamed of betrayal and violence.
Doctor: "Lord Victor, she is suffering from extreme physical and emotional trauma. Her blood pressure is dangerously low."
The doctor hesitated before continuing, "And Lord... there's a possibility that she is pregnant. We need to run more tests to be sure."
The word 'pregnant' hit Victor like a physical blow. He knew the child wasn't his. Just then, Alia started mumbling in her unconscious state, her voice trembling with fear.
Alia: (Whispering) "Marcos... no... don't pull my hair... Ahhh... my baby..."
Victor froze. Hearing the name of his rival from the lips of his wife, combined with the sounds of her pain, left him shattered.As Victor sat by Alia's bed, his phone buzzed with an encrypted image from his private investigator. When he opened it, his heart skipped a beat.
The photo showed Marcos standing with a woman—his wife. It was Isabella, Victor's ex-girlfriend. Years ago, Victor had loved her deeply, but she had vanished during a brutal gang war. Everyone thought she was dead. But here she was, alive, and she was the Queen of Marcos's empire.
Victor realized the terrifying truth: This wasn't just about a child or a territory. This was a personal vendetta. Isabella and Marcos had teamed up to destroy Victor by using the one thing he loved most Alia.The air in the room was thick with the scent of medicine and the cold, sharp edge of betrayal. Alia's eyelids felt heavy, like lead, but she forced them open. The grand ceiling of her own bedroom came into focus, and then she saw him—Victor.
He was standing by the window, his silhouette dark against the morning light. But when he turned, the warmth she used to find in his eyes was gone. In its place was a bottomless void of disbelief and pure, icy hatred.
Alia: (In a weak, trembling voice) "Victor... I... I'm home..."
Victor: (His voice dropping to a deadly chill) "Shut up, Alia! Just shut up. I heard you. I heard you screaming his name in your sleep. 'Marcos, don't pull my hair... Marcos, it hurts.' Every word was like a knife in my chest."
Alia tried to sit up, but her body felt broken. She reached out a hand, but Victor stepped back as if her touch were poisonous.
Victor: "And do you know the best part? I just found out who Marcos's 'mysterious wife' is. It's Isabella. My ex-girlfriend. The woman I thought was dead for years. Are you all in this together? Was this a grand game to see how easily you could destroy me?"
Alia was stunned. The name 'Isabella' meant nothing to her, yet everything to the man standing before her. She had lived through a nightmare in Italy, but she never knew the woman behind the scenes was the ghost of Victor's past.
Alia: "Victor, please... listen to me. I didn't know anything about her. He trapped me... he used the child to keep me there. He's a monster..."
Victor: (Coming closer, his eyes fixed on the dark marks on her throat) "Trapped you? Or were you enjoying yourself while sitting on his lap? These marks on your skin, the way your body reacted to him... the bruises don't lie, Alia. You didn't just survive him. You let him in."
Alia felt a sob rise in her throat. She wanted to tell him about the tracking chip, about how she sacrificed her body to protect his empire, but the look in Victor's eyes told her that the man who loved her was gone. In his place was a Lord who had been humiliated.
Victor: "I saved you from the streets, I made you a Godmother... and you rewarded me by carrying a traitor's mark. If that child in your womb is his... pray that I never see its face."
He turned his back on her, his fists clenched so hard his knuckles were white.