Blurb：
Dive into the enchanting world of Eldoria, where ancient prophecies and forbidden magic collide. Follow the journey of Alaric, a warrior haunted by his past, and Elara, a sorceress with a hidden destiny. As they uncover the secrets of the Shadow King and the lost city of Aethel, their bond is tested by betrayal and dark forces. Will they fulfill the prophecy or succumb to the chaos threatening their realm? Perfect for fans of epic fantasy, this novel weaves romance, adventure, and intrigue into a masterpiece you won’t want to miss. Keywords: Alaric, Elara, Eldoria, prophecy, Shadow King, Aethel, magic, fantasy romance.
Content：
I fought with my husband, Alessio, the Don of the Moretti family, over the mistress who’d given him twin sons.
The next day, he stormed into my bedroom and put a gun to my head.
Did you take my sons?! You vicious bitch!
While I was still in shock, he ordered his men to lock my eight-year-old daughter, Lucia, in the icehouse for three whole days of “training.”
He gave me an ultimatum: Lucia would stay there until I brought him his sons.
Lucia froze to death in that icehouse.
I returned with her death certificate in my hand, my heart a hollow stone in my chest, only to find him moving his mistress and their sons into the home we once shared.
He was cheerful, dismissing the whole thing as a misunderstanding.
He even had the audacity to tell me to go get Lucia to meet her “new little brothers.”
I just stared, tears tracking paths down my face, the life inside me extinguished.
It wasn’t until that thin piece of paper—the death certificate—fluttered to the floor that the color drained from Alessio’s face.
He finally realized Lucia was gone.
Killed by his own blind, cruel pride.
Chapter 1
As the wife of the Don, I never imagined my husband would lock our own daughter in an icehouse and freeze her to death, all because he suspected I’d kidnapped his mistress’s sons.
It started the day before.
I found out that my husband, Alessio Moretti, the boss of the Moretti family, had twin bastard sons.
Rage, pure and hot, blinded me.
I snatched the photos from the private investigator and stormed into his study.
“Your whore gave you twins?” I didn’t bother knocking, just slammed the photos onto his desk.
In the photos, he held two baby boys.
The blonde, Cassandra, was draped over him like a cheap suit, her smile a brand on my soul.
Alessio didn’t even look up. “I thought you’d knock, Isabella.”
“Knock?” I sneered. “Do I need an appointment to see my own husband now?”
He stood up slowly, fixing his cuffs with a grace that was almost cruel. “What do you want?”
“I want you to admit you betrayed me!”
“Betrayal?” He walked toward me, each step like a predator circling its territory. “I need heirs. In seven years, all you’ve given me is a daughter.”
His words were a poisoned knife straight to my heart. “Lucia is your blood, too!”
“A daughter can’t lead the Moretti family,” he said, his tone chillingly calm. “Marco and Mike are my heirs. My true heirs.”
I stared at him. The man I’d loved for ten years was looking at me like I was a stranger.
“Then what am I to you?”
“You’re my wife. The lady of the Moretti family. That position is always yours.”
“A position?” My voice started to shake. “I’m not one of your business partners!”
He turned away, his back cold. “In the Moretti family, there’s no difference.”
A chill that had nothing to do with the room crept through me.
I spun on my heel and walked out, pausing at the door for one last word. “You’ll regret this, Alessio.”
The next morning, I woke up to a gunshot.
Alessio stood in my bedroom doorway, a black Beretta in his hand. The barrel was pointed at the floor, but the threat was clear.
“Get up. Marco and Mike are gone.”
I shot up in bed. “What?”
“My heirs,” he said, stalking toward me, his eyes like a hawk’s. “They were in the safe house last night. This morning, they vanished.”
“What’s that got to do with me?”
“You threatened me yesterday. Today, my sons are missing.” He slowly raised the gun, aiming it at my chest. “What a coincidence, my wife.”
A chill shot up my spine, and fear choked my throat. The husband I knew was gone. In his place stood the Don of the Moretti family—a cold, ruthless stranger.
“I swear, I didn’t—”
“Swear?” He laughed, a cold, sharp sound. “I only believe in action. Give me my sons, or you’ll learn the price of betraying me.”
“I really don’t know where they are!”
He didn’t answer. He just turned and stormed out.
Ten minutes later, Lucia’s screams ripped through the entire estate.
I flew down the stairs like a madwoman to see two of his men dragging my eight-year-old daughter away.
Her little hands clawed at the air, her eyes filled with a terror I’d never seen before.
“Mama! Save me! Mama!”
“Let her go!” I lunged at them, but Alessio blocked me like a brick wall.
“It’s a family tradition,” he said, his voice so calm it was monstrous. “The Moretti crucible. Every true member of this family is forged in it.”
“She’s just a child!”
“She’s Moretti blood.” He grabbed my wrist, his grip so tight I thought my bones would snap. “She needs to learn discipline.”
I watched in horror as they dragged Lucia toward the cold-storage cellar—the same one we used as an icehouse for our finest wines, kept at a constant, freezing temperature.
“Alessio, please!” I fell to my knees, grabbing his pants leg like a beggar. “She’s your daughter! She’ll die!”
He shoved me away with his foot, his eyes merciless. “Find my sons,” he repeated, “or she’ll learn what a Moretti winter truly feels like.”
The heavy iron door slammed shut in front of me. The sound of the lock clicking into place was like a death sentence.
I could hear Lucia’s desperate cries from inside. “Mama! Mama! It’s so cold! I’m so cold!”
Her voice was a thousand needles stabbing the softest part of my heart.
For the next two days, I searched for those boys like a woman possessed.
I called in every favor, contacted every informant, and didn’t sleep for a second.
Nothing.
On the dawn of the third day, I knelt before the cold iron door, pounding on it with my bloody fists.
“Alessio! Please! I can’t find them! She’s going to die! She’s really going to die!”
Finally, I heard heavy footsteps.
Two of his men walked over and emotionlessly unlocked the door.
The moment it opened, a blast of frigid air hit my face.
And then I saw her.
My Lucia. Lying on the frozen ground, her lips purple, her skin as pale as snow.
She was still breathing, but it was so faint I could barely feel it.
“Mama…” She tried to open her eyes, her voice a tiny thread of sound. “Am I… going to die?”
In that instant, my heart stopped beating.
“No, baby.” I picked her up, my hands trembling. Her body was as cold as a block of ice. “Mama’s here. Everything’s going to be okay.”
But I knew nothing would ever be okay again. I could feel her growing colder in my arms, lighter.
On the way to the hospital, I talked to her nonstop, trying to keep her awake.
“Lucia, look at Mama. Remember what we promised? We’re going to the ballet next week, right?”
She tried to nod, but her eyes were losing focus.
“Mama… it hurts…”
“I know, baby. We’re almost there.” Tears blurred my vision. “Mama loves you. I’ll always love you.”
At the hospital, the doctor’s words were a cold, clinical blur: “Severe hypothermia… cardiac arrest… I’m so sorry…” My world didn’t just fall apart; it ceased to exist.
The time was 11:23 AM.
I held her cold body and cried without making a sound.
She looked so small, so fragile, like a sleeping angel.
But she would never open her eyes again.
Never spin for me in the princess dress I bought her.
Those eyes, so much like Alessio’s, were closed forever.
My heart was torn to pieces.
I wept all night, until the morning sun cut through the sterile white of the hospital hallway.
“I’m sorry, baby,” I whispered, kissing her cold forehead one last time. “Mama couldn’t protect you.”
My heart died with her.
I called my father and had my daughter’s body taken to my family’s cemetery to be buried.
Then, with her autopsy report in my hand, I went back to that place he called “home.”
The people who killed my daughter were going to pay.
I ran into Alessio at the door. He’d been gone for three days.
He was in a great mood, even humming a little tune, like nothing had happened.
“Isabella? Good news.” He walked into the living room and poured himself a whiskey. “I found Marco and Mike. It was a false alarm—Cassandra’s parents took them to the country and forgot to tell anyone.”
A false alarm.
My daughter was dead, and he called it a false alarm.
Rage burned through my veins, but I forced my hands to stop shaking and said nothing.
“But it wasn’t all bad,” he went on, completely oblivious to my state. “It proved how tough Lucia is. Three days in the icehouse. A true Moretti.”
He pulled a beautiful jewelry box from his pocket.
“This is for her.” He opened the box.
Inside was a brilliant diamond bracelet, her name spelled out in tiny, perfect stones. “A reward for her resilience. Where is she? Tell her to come down. I want to put it on her myself.”
I slowly turned to face him, the hate in my eyes enough to burn the world down.
He didn’t know.
He didn’t know his “training” had killed his own daughter.
He didn’t know our angel was never coming back.
I stared at the jewelry box, my heart feeling like it was being stabbed with an ice pick over and over.
My Lucia would never get to wear it.
With red-rimmed eyes and all the strength I had left, I snatched the expensive box and hurled it against the wall. The diamonds and metal shattered on impact.
Chapter 2
“Are you crazy, Isabella! That was a gift for Lucia! I’m her father, she shouldn’t be so spoiled!”
Alessio’s face went cold in an instant.
“And another thing, I’ve made up my mind. I’m moving Cassandra and the boys in here.”
He slammed the door, leaving me to collapse on the floor.
With Lucia barely cold in her grave, he was already moving his mistress and his bastard heirs into our home.
Into the home where Lucia grew up.
That evening, I heard Alessio’s voice from downstairs.
“Welcome to your new home.”
I stood on the second-floor landing, looking down through the ornate railing, my eyes cold.
The blonde, Cassandra, walked into the hall on Alessio’s arm.
Two little boys, about five years old, followed them.
So these were Marco and Mike.
The two kids who had gotten my daughter killed.
“Wow, this house is huge!” one of the boys shouted.
“This is our new home now,” Cassandra cooed, her voice so sweet it made me sick. “Do you like it?”
My nails dug into the wooden banister.
This was my home with Alessio.
This was Lucia’s playground.
“I object.”
I walked slowly down the stairs, every step fueled by suppressed rage.
Four pairs of eyes snapped to me.
“Isabella.” Alessio’s tone was calm, but I heard the warning in it. “Come meet Marco and Mike. They’ll be living here from now on.”
“No,” I said, my voice like ice. “They don’t belong here.”
Cassandra immediately played the part of the frightened doe, pulling the two boys behind her. “Alessio, maybe… maybe we should get a hotel for now…”
“That won’t be necessary.” Alessio walked toward me, his voice turning dangerous. “Isabella will get used to it. Right, my wife?”
“Get used to it?” I laughed coldly. “Get used to watching another woman’s kids run around in my daughter’s house?”
“This is the Moretti estate,” he corrected me. “Marco and Mike are my heirs. They need to learn how to be true Morettis here.”
Heirs. That word cut me like a knife again.
“And what about Lucia? She’s a Moretti, too!”
“Lucia is a princess,” he said, as if stating an obvious truth. “Princesses are to be cherished. Not to rule.”
I stared at him. This man was saying the cruelest things in the gentlest voice.
The revenge I was planning felt so distant, so powerless.
I couldn’t even stand to breathe the same air as these people.
“If they move in, I’m leaving.”
The words hung in the air.
The hall went silent.
A flicker of triumph crossed Cassandra’s face.
“What?” Alessio’s voice dropped, becoming dangerous.
“I said, I’m leaving,” I repeated. “I’m going back to my father’s house.”
“You’re not going anywhere.” He stepped toward me. “You are the lady of the Moretti family. No one can replace you.”
“Even if I don’t want the position anymore?”
“You don’t have a choice.” His eyes blazed with anger. “Isabella, I made a mistake that every man in power makes. I needed heirs. You couldn’t give me sons, so I had to find someone who could. What’s so wrong with that?”
That sentence shattered my last shred of hope.
“Wrong?” My voice trembled. “You think betrayal and lies aren’t wrong?”
“This isn’t betrayal, it’s a necessity for the family.” He tried to grab my arm. “You need to see the bigger picture.”
“The bigger picture?” I yanked my arm away. “So let me see if I understand the bigger picture. It’s me, living under the same roof as your goomah and her bastards?”
“Cassandra is not my goomah. She’s the mother of my children.”
“Then what am I?”
“You are my wife. My forever wife.” His tone softened, trying to placate me. “Isabella, we can make this work. You just need to accept reality.”
“Mommy, look at all the pretty things!” Marco suddenly ran toward the living room, pointing at something on the coffee table. “What’s this?”
I turned, and my heart nearly stopped.
He was pointing at Lucia’s favorite crystal music box. Inside was a little ballerina, a gift from Alessio for her seventh birthday.
“Don’t touch that!” I yelled.
But it was too late.
Marco had already picked it up and opened it.
A delicate melody played for half a second before the box slipped from his hands and shattered on the marble floor.
The music died.
I fell to my knees, staring at the scattered crystal shards.
Each piece was like a fragment of my broken heart.
“I’m sorry!” Marco cried, terrified. “I didn’t mean to!”
I slowly stood up, my eyes filled with nothing but cold, murderous intent.
“Get away from it.”
“Isabella!” Cassandra rushed over and hugged Marco. “You’re scaring him! He’s just a child!”
“He broke it…” My voice choked. “He broke Lucia’s most precious thing.”
“It’s just a music box!” Cassandra shot back, playing the part of the angry mother. “How could you treat an innocent child like this over a toy!”
“A toy?” I spun to face her, the fire in my eyes hot enough to burn her alive. “That was not a toy!”
“Isabella, that’s enough,” Alessio said, his voice ice cold as he walked over. “It was an accident.”
“An accident?” I pointed at the broken pieces on the floor, my voice rising to a hysterical shriek. “Just like your sons’ ‘disappearance’ was an ‘accident’? Why is it that every ‘accident’ involving your precious heirs always comes at the expense of my daughter?”
For a fleeting second, panic flashed in Cassandra’s eyes before she masked it with a look of pure innocence.
“Isabella, I know you’re upset, but you can’t take it out on the children,” she said, holding Marco tighter. “They did nothing wrong.”
“Nothing wrong?” I scoffed. “If it wasn’t for them, Lucia wouldn’t have…”
I stopped myself. I couldn’t tell them the truth. Not yet. The time wasn’t right.
“Lucia wouldn’t have what?” Alessio pressed.
“Wouldn’t have been locked in that icehouse by you!” I finally exploded. “Wouldn’t have been tortured by your so-called ‘family training’!”
“It was necessary discipline.” He didn’t back down.
“She’s an eight-year-old child!”
“She is a Moretti.” His tone became dangerous. “Isabella, you are becoming a bigger and bigger disappointment.”
“A disappointment?” I laughed, a sharp, broken sound that scared even me.
“Yes.” He stalked toward me, his face dark. “You’re jealous, petty, and taking it out on innocent kids. Where is the grace of a Don’s wife?”
“Grace?” I stared at him. “You want me to show grace to the people who destroyed my daughter’s treasure?”
CRACK.
The sound of his palm connecting with my cheek echoed through the vast hall, silencing everything.
“Isabella,” Alessio’s voice was cold as ice. “Show me the grace of a Don’s wife.”
Chapter 3
The echo of that slap hung in the air.
I held my burning cheek and looked at the broken pieces of the music box on the floor.
Each shard of crystal reflected the cold light, like a piece of Lucia’s shattered life.
“Clean up this mess,” Alessio ordered coldly. “Then prepare dinner. Our family is eating together tonight.”
Trash.
He called Lucia’s most beloved treasure trash.
I knelt, my hands shaking, and carefully gathered every single piece. Maybe I could fix it. Maybe I could hear Lucia’s song again.
But I knew some things, once broken, can never be repaired.
Like my heart. Like my family. Like my dead daughter.
“Isabella.” Alessio’s voice was above me. “Stop making a scene. It’s just a music box.”
Just a music box. Just like Lucia was just a daughter, an existence that could be sacrificed.
I stood up, holding the broken pieces, and walked toward the stairs without a word.
“Where’s Lucia?” Alessio suddenly asked. “I want her to come down and meet Marco and Mike.”
My feet froze.
“She’s resting.”
“Resting? At this hour?” His voice was laced with impatience. “Go get her.”
“She’s not ready.” My voice was trembling. “That ‘training’ took a lot out of her.”
“All the more reason for her to get up and move around,” he said, striding toward the stairs. “I’ll get her myself.”
“No!” I blocked his path like a cornered lioness. “She doesn’t want to see anyone!”
Alessio frowned. “What do you mean?”
“She’s… sick,” I stammered, scrambling for an excuse. “A fever. The doctor said she needs to be isolated.”
“When did this happen? How come I don’t know?”
“Right… right after you left.” My lie was paper-thin, but it would have to do. “She caught a chill in the icehouse.”
Alessio was silent for a moment, then seemed to accept it with a nod. “Then let her rest. She should be fine by tomorrow.”
Tomorrow.
If he knew the truth, there would be no more tomorrows in his world.
I rushed back to my room and locked the door. My heart was pounding. The plan had to start now.
I took out my phone and first dialed the number for Antonio, the family Consigliere.
“Consigliere’s office.”
“It’s me, Isabella. I need to see Antonio. It’s urgent.”
“Mrs. Moretti.” The voice on the other end became instantly respectful. “Antonio is free this evening. Where would you like to meet?”
“The old place. One hour.”
After hanging up, my hand hovered over another contact: ‘Father’.
My family, the Falcones, had always looked down on the Morettis’ brutish, violent methods. We preferred to use money and power to silently choke the life out of our rivals.
My marriage to Alessio was meant to be a bridge between our two worlds. A bridge he had just doused in gasoline and set ablaze.
I dialed the number. “Father,” I began, my voice so steady it surprised me, “it’s time for Alessio to repay his debt to our family.”
On the other end, my father’s voice was hard as steel. “Tell me what you need.”
Just as I placed the last essential item in my suitcase, there was a soft knock on the door.
“Isabella?” It was Cassandra. “Can we talk?”
I opened the door. She stood in the hallway, a look of fake concern on her face.
“Are you leaving?” She spotted the suitcase behind me.
“None of your business.”
“I think there’s been a misunderstanding between us,” she said, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. “About Marco and Mike going missing.”
I stopped what I was doing and stared at her, my eyes cold.
Her expression twisted into a smirk as she dropped the act. “Did you really think I didn’t know my parents took them?” she sneered, sitting on my bed. “I knew a day in advance.”
The blood in my veins turned to ice.
“What?”
“I deliberately kept Alessio in the dark.” She crossed her legs, the picture of smug satisfaction. “I wanted to see what he’d do to you—the barren wife who couldn’t give him a son.”
“You… you knew what would happen…”
“What did I think would happen? That your precious Lucia would get a time-out?” She shrugged dismissively. “I just didn’t think Alessio cared so much about me that he’d actually lock your precious daughter in an icehouse over it. Consider it a lesson.”
The volcano of rage inside me finally erupted.
“You vicious bitch!”
I lunged at her, but she was ready. She screamed and jumped back.
“Don’t touch me!” she shrieked, her voice loud enough for the whole house to hear. “Help! She’s trying to kill me!”
I had barely pushed her, but she threw herself backward, tumbling down the stairs with theatrical screams before landing with a sickening thud on the marble floor below.
“Cassandra!” Alessio’s voice boomed from downstairs.
I ran to the top of the stairs and saw her lying on the floor, blood seeping from a gash on her forehead.
But from an angle no one else could see, her eyes glinted with triumph.
“She pushed me!” she cried weakly, pointing at me. “She tried to kill me and my baby!”
Baby?
“You’re pregnant?” Alessio yelled, rushing to her side before looking up at me with murder in his eyes.
“Three months,” she whimpered. “I was going to tell you, but…”
Another heir.
“Isabella! Get down here!” Alessio roared.
I walked slowly down the stairs, each step like walking on knives.
“She admitted it,” I said calmly. “She knew where Marco and Mike were the whole time. She set me up.”
“Enough!” Alessio’s eyes were filled with disgust. “You’re so jealous you’ve lost your mind! You’d attack a pregnant woman?”
“I didn’t push her! She—”
“She threw herself down the stairs?” he sneered. “Isabella, do you take me for a fool?”
“She’s trying to frame me!”
“Frame you?” His voice turned lethal. “You think the whole world is against you?”
“Not the world, just her!” I pointed at Cassandra. “She admitted it! She wanted Lucia to be punished!”
“That’s enough!” Alessio stood up and advanced on me. “If you slander her again, I swear to God I will carve your name on a headstone in the family plot myself.”
A naked threat. He was threatening to kill me.
“And what about Lucia?” I lifted my chin, meeting his gaze. “Will you be carving her name on a headstone, too?”
“What did you just say?”
“She’s dead, Alessio.” The tears finally broke free. “Your daughter is dead. And you, you killed her.”
“Shut your mouth!” He raised his hand to slap me again. “Don’t you dare curse us with such filth! Lucia is upstairs resting!”
“A curse? You think this is a curse?”
I reached into my handbag for the death certificate. My hands were shaking so badly that the bag slipped from my grasp, its contents scattering across the floor.
Curious, Cassandra picked up the folded document from the pile.
“What’s this?” she asked, unfolding it. She began to read aloud: “Certificate of Death… Name: Lucia Moretti…”
Her voice trailed off into silence.
The color drained from Alessio’s face, leaving it the color of ash.
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