Chapter Thirty-nine
Serena
“Unbreakable” by Faydee ft. Miracle is blasting through the speakers as I drive, bass thudding through the car and into my chest. Today was a day for myself.
Therapy.
Apparently, my brain still refuses to remember who those people were.
Which makes me wonder if I should just stop trying.
What’s the point of digging up ghosts that clearly don’t want to be found?
The point could be knowing who’s still looking for you, the voice in the back of my mind whispers.
I turn the music up louder.
Therapy is working, in its own way. I sleep better. I don’t wake up shaking anymore. But the memories? Nothing. Just empty spaces where fear should live.
And honestly, I’m not even sad about it.
The last few weeks have been blissful, and I want to keep them that way.
Lorenzo moved back home. We’re a complete family now.
We take care of the babies together during the day, and at night, he fucks me into oblivion.
During naps too, when we can steal the time.
He takes me out on dates every week like we’re still at the beginning, and weekends are just us, no world, no problems, just our little bubble.
The babies are growing so fast it scares me. My mom has been a huge help, and so has Sofia, Lorenzo’s mother. We mostly texted before, but when I asked if she wanted to visit, she came immediately.
Weirdly, my mom and Sofia seem to get along well.
Too well, maybe.
Lorenzo still doesn’t fully trust her.
If I’m honest, neither do I.
But she hasn’t given us a reason to doubt her.
I pull into the mansion driveway and park. The house looks peaceful, sunlight spilling over the stone walls like something out of a dream.
The moment I step inside, the dogs come running, tails wagging wildly, paws sliding across the floor as they lick my hands and face.
“Hi, Serena,” my mom calls gently.
She’s holding Celeste, who’s already half asleep against her shoulder. Celeste has always been her favorite.
“Hi, Mom,” I say, walking closer. “Where is everyone?”
I swear I saw Bianca when I left earlier.
“One second,” she says softly. “I’ll just put Celeste down and I’ll be right back.”
I follow her down the hallway, just to check on Maddox too. He’s fast asleep in his crib in the living room corner, tiny fists curled near his face. My mom settles Celeste beside him carefully, like she’s done this a thousand times.
We turn on the baby monitor and head into the kitchen.
“How was therapy?” she asks as she reaches for the coffee machine. “Are you feeling better?”
I give her a real smile. “I’m okay. I feel good, actually. The memories still aren’t coming back, though.”
She hands me a cappuccino. “Thank you,” I say, taking a sip.
It’s horrible. Way too bitter. I like my coffee sweet.
I don’t say anything.
“It will take time, darling,” she says, sipping her black coffee. “But you should prepare yourself mentally in case they don’t come back at all. It’s been a long time.”
I stare into my cup, watching the foam dissolve. “I don’t even know if I want them back,” I admit quietly.
She smiles, soft, almost relieved. “What you don’t know can’t hurt you.”
The words hit something deep in my chest.
That was my father’s favorite saying.
I look at her more closely then.
She looks, beautiful. Too beautiful for a casual day with her grandchildren. Her hair is done, makeup soft but perfect, clothes elegant instead of comfortable.
“You look amazing,” I tell her. “Are you going somewhere?”
She blushes, almost girlish. “Actually, I’m seeing someone.”
That makes me blink. “Oh?”
“I’m meeting him after I leave here,” she says, a little breathless with excitement. Then her expression shifts, uncertain. “I hope that’s okay. Me, seeing someone.”
She sits at the table beside me, her hands finally leaving the coffee cup and resting lightly on the surface. There’s something delicate about the way she places them there, like she’s suddenly aware of being watched.
I reach over and take one of her hands in mine. “Of course it is,” I tell her softly. “I want to see you happy.”
She smiles, warm, almost relieved.
But then I notice something under my fingers.
A ring.
A huge diamond catches the light, deep and warm, almost honey-colored, nothing like the cold, clear stones you usually see.
“Wow,” I say, lifting her hand slightly to look closer. “It’s beautiful. How come I’ve never seen it before?”
She smiles again, but this one is quieter. “I only wear it on special occasions.”
My eyebrows lift. “So this date is important?” I tease, still staring at the stone.
“Kind of,” she admits.
I study it, the way it glows instead of sparkles. “Well, you look gorgeous. And that ring suits you perfectly.”
She shakes her head gently. “Actually, it’s supposed to be yours.”
I blink. “What?”
“My mother gave it to me,” she says, her voice taking on that soft, distant tone people use when they’re talking about the past. “She told me to pass it down to my daughter.” She glances at the stone, almost fondly. “But she always said I shouldn’t wear it much. My eyes are green.”
I frown, not understanding where this is going.
“She said you should wear it,” she continues. “Because your brown eyes are the exact same color as this diamond.”
My breath catches as I look at the stone again.
She’s right.
It’s not just brown. It’s warm. Deep. Almost golden in certain light.
“Oh my God,” I whisper. “It actually looks like my eyes.”
She smiles softly. “It’s a cognac diamond.”
The words hit me like ice water down my spine.
My stomach twists.
“A what?” I ask, my voice suddenly thin.
Her expression shifts slightly, confused by my reaction. “A cognac diamond. It’s been in our family for generations. Only the Ashworth women were meant to wear it, but only the ones with brown eyes.”
My thoughts scatter.
She keeps talking, unaware of the way my pulse is starting to hammer.
“There was always this, story in the family. That men were obsessed with the Ashworth women who had brown eyes. Said they were unforgettable. Dangerous.” She gives a small laugh, like it’s silly.
“So they’d spoil them. Buy them the most expensive things they could.
And this diamond was the most expensive of all. ”
I can’t breathe properly.
Ashworth.
Brown eyes.
Everything goes black.
And then I’m back in the nightmare.
A voice cuts through the darkness.
“How long until she’ll recover?”
I’m on the table again.
Cold metal beneath my back. My wrists strapped down. Ankles too. Something tight around my arms, my legs. I try to move, but my body feels heavy, distant, like it doesn’t belong to me.
The IV is in my arm again. I can feel the slow drip of something entering my veins, warm and wrong.
My head is foggy. My tongue thick. I try to swallow but my throat barely works.
There are three figures in the room now, all with their backs turned to me. Two men. One woman.
“With the IV we’re giving her, if she delivers naturally, she’ll recover in a day,” one of the men says calmly. Clinical. Detached. “If it’s a C-section, two weeks at most.”
Don’t talk about me like I’m not here. Don’t talk about my body like it’s equipment.
“Don’t worry,” the other man replies. “She’ll be ready for the auction.” He sounds amused. Casual. Like he’s discussing livestock. “We’ve been giving her the serum for two months.”
Auction.
My stomach drops.
“But I think they’d pay more if she’s pregnant,” he adds, laughing. “I know I would.”
My breath turns shallow. No. No. No.
The woman sighs in irritation. “He doesn’t want her with baggage,” she says. Her voice is smooth. Familiar. “He won’t make love to her, and her huge belly will be an inconvenience for the other families.”
Baggage.
That’s my baby.
Panic rips through me. I try to pull my hands free, to curl forward, to protect my stomach, but the restraints hold tight. My body feels too weak. Too slow.
I want to scream. I want to tell my baby I’m here. That I’ll protect them. That I won’t let anyone touch them.
I can’t make a sound.
Then they turn around.
And my blood turns to ice.
The doctor is old. Gray hair. Glasses. Familiar.
The other man—
Luciano.
And the woman.
Oh God.
My mother.
She walks toward me and sits beside the table like this is a hospital visit. Like I’m just tired, not trapped. Her hand slides into my hair gently, lovingly.
“My cognac diamond,” she murmurs.
Tears pour down my face, hot and helpless.
“You’ll fulfill your duty,” she continues softly, like she’s comforting me. “And so will your daughter.”
I shake my head, panic clawing up my throat. I try to speak, try to beg, try to ask her why, but nothing comes out. My mouth won’t work. My voice is gone.
Her fingers brush my cheek, wiping tears like a loving mother would.
“You are the Ashworth Cognac Diamond,” she says tenderly. “The most valuable treasure in our family.”
Treasure.
I feel like I’m suffocating.
“You’ll pay all the debts of the Ashworth family,” she whispers, pride in her voice. “And you’ll give us so much more.”
Her thumb strokes my cheek again.
“Thank you for your sacrifice, Serena.”
Everything inside me breaks.
I blink.
The kitchen comes back into focus.
Light. The table. The coffee cup in my hand.
“Serena? Are you okay?” my mother asks, her voice full of concern.
I force my eyes to clear. My heart is racing so hard it hurts. My skin feels cold. My hands are shaking.
I swallow the scream still stuck in my throat.
And I give her a smile.
A fake one.
“I’m fine,” I say, forcing a laugh that sounds nothing like me. “I just need to go to the bathroom. I think that coffee messed with my stomach.”
She studies me for a second too long. “Okay, honey. If you need me, I’ll be right here.”
“Sure.”
I grab my phone and walk fast. Not too fast. Don’t run. Don’t panic. Don’t let her see.
The moment the bathroom door closes behind me, my body gives out.
Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.