[Narrator's POV]
Carmela felt like every shred of happiness she ever held was swallowed up by the earth when her mother died. It had only been three weeks, but the pain felt timeless. Now, carrying the weight of a secret—her pregnancy—she faced the grim reality of her situation. Samson, once her anchor, was nowhere to be found, and Evelyn had taken everything—her business, the assets, and even the penthouse. Alex, the only person who truly understood her, was forced to leave the place he once called home.
They had nothing now, no security, no stability. The struggle was constant—fighting just to find a roof over their heads.
Two weeks passed, and everything came to a head that fateful night.
It was past midnight when Carmela couldn't take it anymore. She ran.
"Wait!" Alex's voice echoed in the still night as he fought off the men who were hunting them down. Carmela knew she couldn't leave him behind, so she stopped, screaming for help in desperation. A sharp pain tore through her, and she felt the blood rush down her legs. Her screams grew louder, frantic.
From the dark, the sound of a car revving up at breakneck speed sliced through the tension of the night. Mr. Lincoln, deep in a business call, had no idea what he was about to witness. His Rolls Royce cut through the cold, humid air, but as the sound of Carmela's screams reached his ears, his instincts kicked in.
"Slow down!" he ordered the driver.
The car rolled to a stop, just a few meters away from the woman writhing on the ground. Mr. Lincoln didn't hesitate. He called for his security team to stay alert. The moment he saw Carmela's face, a shockwave hit him.
"Carmela!" His voice cracked with surprise and concern.
He sprang into action, rushing to her side, lifting her with surprising gentleness. As the rapists were dealt with by his men, Carmela's world went black, her body giving in to the shock.
Mr. Lincoln cradled her in his arms, her head resting on his chest. The moment felt too fragile to be real.
"Get her to the car. Alex?" he barked to his men.
They rushed Alex into the vehicle, his injuries grave but manageable. The air was thick with the tension of what had just transpired. The coldness of the night and the suddenness of the violence had left everyone shaken.
"I need you to stay with her," Mr. Lincoln instructed his driver as he picked up the phone. The wheels of his operation were already in motion.
"Stewards, Aristocrats. This is our new reality. Our new life," he muttered, his voice as cold and resolute as the night.
As the car sped toward the consort's villa, the shadows of their past lives seemed to close in on them, while the future held only uncertainty. But one thing was clear—Carmela and Alex's lives were no longer in their own hands.