The Mafia Don's Runaway Secret Baby

CARA POV:

The night was deep, heavy with an unnatural, suffocating silence. Inside the exquisitely crafted mansion, every piece of furniture and decor was worth an absolute fortune, radiating an oppressive sense of ancient wealth and untouchable power. The air smelled faintly of expensive cigars and aged whiskey, a scent that spoke of a world far removed from my own.

I lay on the bed, my mind clouded and dizzy, caught in a hazy space between consciousness and deep slumber. It was a vintage, massive bed, every inch of its intricate wooden patterns hand-carved by master artisans. The silk sheets felt cool against my feverish skin, yet a strange, inescapable heat coiled in the pit of my stomach.

Suddenly, the heavy oak doors were pushed open with a soft, ominous creak. Several men entered in quick succession, their footsteps muffled by the thick, imported Persian rug. They immediately stood ramrod straight by the entrance in respectful silence, their heads bowed, welcoming the last man who stepped into the room.

The room was entirely dark, illuminated only by the faint, silvery glow of the moonlight filtering through the heavy velvet curtains. I tried with all my might to open my eyes and see the intruder, but through my groggy state, I could only make out a tall, broad-shouldered silhouette. Even in the shadows, I could faintly sense the man's overwhelming, dominant aura-a predatory presence that made people instinctively want to bow in absolute submission.

"Is this her?" the man's voice was a low, resonant rumble, vibrating in the quiet room like the distant warning of a thunderstorm. It was a voice used to giving orders that were never questioned.

"Yes, lord," one of the men answered, his tone dripping with absolute reverence. "She is the only suitable match we found in the bloodline registry. Her background is clean, her health is pristine."

The man waved a hand dismissively, a simple gesture that carried absolute authority. Instantly, all the men who had just entered retreated silently, vanishing into the corridor as if they had never been there, pulling the heavy doors shut behind them.

The click of the lock echoing in the darkness was the last thing I heard before the shadow descended upon me.

...

"Ah!" With a sharp, desperate gasp, my eyes snapped open. I bolted upright, my chest heaving as I dragged oxygen into my burning lungs. Outside the window, the bright morning sun was shining brilliantly across the New York skyline, yet a layer of cold sweat clung to my slender back, making my pajamas stick to my skin.

I had actually just had a dream! An erotic, terrifyingly vivid dream! In the dream, there was a man, but I frustratingly couldn't see his face clearly. Who on earth was that man?

I took a deep breath, clutching the blanket as I slowly sat up. However, my body felt as if it had been run over by a heavy truck; every single muscle and joint ached with a deep, inexplicable soreness. My thighs trembled slightly as I swung my legs over the edge of the bed.

I frowned deeply, pressing the heels of my hands against my temples.

If it really was just a dream, this dream... was way too realistic! It felt as though it had actually happened, leaving physical imprints on my body and my mind.

I was utterly speechless at myself. Since when had I become so boy-crazy? I clearly had a boyfriend, Evan Reed, whom I had been dating for a while, yet here I was, dreaming about doing that kind of intimate thing with a complete stranger. What was even more ridiculous... I vaguely remembered the man demanding that I bear him a child. A child to carry on his legacy.

Ridiculous! I was only eighteen years old right now, just starting my life. Why on earth would I have a child for him? Who did he think he was? Some king of the underworld?

However, to my absolute shock, this bizarre and vivid dream haunted me for an entire week. Every night, the same shadows, the same overwhelming scent, the same inescapable heat. I even began to doubt if it was a dream at all, because it felt too real...

It was so real that I could vividly remember the man's aggressively masculine scent, a potent mix of expensive tobacco, dark cologne, and raw danger. I even... remembered his icy eyes that held not a single trace of warmth.

Those deep, ice-blue eyes-noble, calm, and terrifyingly mysterious...

He was so high and mighty, looking down on everything as if he didn't belong to the same world as me. In reality, a man like that probably didn't even exist! He was a phantom, a figment of my overactive imagination.

Therefore, I convinced myself even more that it was just a dream. Just a stupid, stress-induced nightmare!

...

Two months later.

I was in my room, sitting at my desk and studying my English literature textbook. The afternoon sun was warm, and the house was relatively quiet. Just as I was reading a complex passage from Shakespeare, trying to memorize the archaic words, my stomach suddenly churned violently. A wave of intense nausea hit me like a physical blow to the gut.

"Ugh!" Unable to hold it back, I clamped a hand over my mouth, pushed my chair back so hard it crashed to the floor, and sprinted toward the bathroom down the hall. I threw open the toilet lid, dropped to my knees on the cold tiles, and began to dry-heave uncontrollably, my eyes watering from the sheer force of it.

"Miss, are you alright?" A maid, hearing the commotion, hurried over and began gently patting my back, handing me a tissue.

The noise was loud enough to draw attention. From the adjacent room, my half-sister, Skylar Wells, pushed the door open and stepped out. Seeing me in such a miserable state, Skylar quickly crouched down beside me. Her eyes sparkled with a hidden gleam, but she asked with feigned sweetness and concern, "Sister, did you eat something bad? You look absolutely awful."

I simply didn't have the energy to reply to my hypocritical half-sister. I merely reached up, flushed the toilet, and weakly tried to stand, leaning heavily against the sink. But just as I was about to step out of the bathroom, another wave of severe nausea assaulted my stomach, forcing me back down.

What was wrong with me? Was it really just food poisoning? Or a severe stomach bug?

The next day, the nausea didn't subside. If anything, it was worse.

I decided I couldn't ignore it anymore. I went to the local hospital for a check-up, accompanied by my boyfriend, Evan. He held my hand in the waiting room, looking slightly bored but trying to be supportive.

Initially, we registered at the gastroenterology department, assuming it was a severe case of gastritis. However, after a preliminary examination and asking me a few pointed questions about my cycle, the doctor gave me a strange, knowing look and transferred me directly to the gynecology department.

A cold dread began to pool in my stomach, far worse than the nausea.