Blackwood Manor glittered with crystal and candlelight, a museum of inherited wealth pretending nothing was wrong.
I stood in the kitchen, nine months pregnant with twins, balancing silver platters while sweat ran down my spine. My ankles throbbed. My back screamed. I hadn’t sat down once.
From the dining room came laughter.
“To Isabella!” my mother-in-law trilled. “For saving the Blackwood family from ruin.”
My husband laughed. “Beauty, brains, and money. Finally, a woman who brings something to the table.”
Isabella giggled, jewelry flashing. “It was nothing. Daddy always said—if something beautiful is being wasted on the poor, rescue it.”
I pushed through the doors.
No one paused. No one looked at me.
Isabella sat in my seat beside Ethan. I served the food like hired help.
“Where’s the Cabernet?” Ethan snapped. “Isabella prefers the good one.”
I froze. My fingers brushed the pocket of my apron, where the real deed was folded—bought quietly, anonymously, with my entire inheritance three days earlier. The house wasn’t Isabella’s.
It was mine.
“I’m tired,” I said.
“Tired?” my mother-in-law scoffed. “From unemployment?”
“I’m carrying twins.”
“Well, be useful anyway,” Ethan muttered.
I turned—and pain tore through me.
The bottle hit the table. Water spread across the Persian rug.
“It’s time,” I gasped.
Ethan stared at the mess with irritation. “Now? Isabella was about to talk about Monaco.”
Part 2: Left Behind
“I need a hospital,” I said.
Ethan sighed. “Take a cab. Labor takes hours. Don’t ruin the evening.”
He squeezed Isabella’s hand. “We’re celebrating us.”
I didn’t beg.
I left.
Six hours later, I held my newborns alone. Leo and Mia. Perfect. Screaming. Alive.
My phone buzzed.
Instagram.
A photo of Ethan and Isabella in the manor library.
Caption: Finally, a woman who brings something to the table.
The nurse asked gently, “Is the father coming?”
“No,” I said. “He made his choice.”
The next morning, Ethan arrived smelling of alcohol and another woman.
He threw a manila envelope on my bed.
“I’m filing for divorce. Isabella is my future.”
Then he pointed.
“I’ll take the boy. He’s the heir. You keep the girl.”
The room went cold.
“You’re separating twins?” I asked.
“I want my son to have stability,” he sneered. “Isabella owns the house now. You can’t fight money.”
I smiled.
Part 3: The Truth
After he left, my phone buzzed again.
The investigator’s file opened to mugshots.
Isabella Rossi wasn’t an heiress.
She was a grifter.
Wire fraud. Identity theft. Grand larceny.
She hadn’t paid the mortgage.
I had.
I called the police.
Part 4: The Fall
Morning sunlight filled the kitchen as Ethan drank espresso.
CRASH.
Police tore through the doors.
They went straight for Isabella.
“She’s broke,” a detective laughed. “She’s been squatting in mansions for years.”
My lawyer stepped forward, holding the deed.
“The house belongs to Clara Thorne. Your wife.”
Ethan went white.
“You’re trespassing.”
Part 5: No Return
Ethan ran to the hospital.
“We can fix this,” he pleaded. “You saved us!”
I slapped his hand away from my son.
“You abandoned me in labor. You tried to take one child and discard the other.”
“I panicked!”
“You chose.”
Security escorted him out.
His parents were evicted that same hour.
Part 6: Legacy
One year later, the estate bloomed with wildflowers instead of brittle roses.
Leo and Mia crawled together, inseparable.
Ethan bartended downtown. His wages were garnished. Isabella served eight years.
At sunset, his rusted car stopped outside the gate.
I stood tall, holding my children.
He drove away.
I went home.