1: Strength where there is none

CHAPTER 1: STRENGTH WHERE THERE IS NONE

Cedrick was fourteen years old, and in all those years of life, he knew only a complicated existence, despite belonging to a powerful family. Now, once again, he was locked in his room, tired of his father’s punishments. He spent his life trying to protect his mother, even though she had rejected and despised him since childhood. She never showed compassion, not even when he was punished for defending her from his father’s attacks.

After three days locked up without food, Cedrick was finally released, though he was so weak that he could barely walk. Everyone might have imagined he would go straight to the kitchen, but he diverted his path, heading toward a room at the end of the hallway. Upon reaching it, he hesitated before turning the doorknob, as if afraid of what he might find. Taking a deep breath, he knocked gently on the door and waited for a response. Soon, he heard something being thrown against the wood and let out a sigh of relief.

"Master Romanov, you need to eat. Your father said that as soon as you left the room, I was to take you straight to the kitchen. You cannot see the mistress." The maid held Cedrick’s arm, who was pale and weak, with his head leaning against the door.

He was then taken to the kitchen and, against his own will, forced to eat. He spent the rest of the morning until nightfall in his room, lying on the bed and being cared for by the servants. Cedrick had already lost count of how many times he had been confined there—at least three or four times a month, always for three days of isolation.

Despite his father’s strict orders not to interfere in the fights between him and his mother, Cedrick insisted on defending her every time she was humiliated or attacked. His intervention led to new punishments, to the point where he could barely stand.

When night fell, the servants came to fetch him, all with the same expression of insecurity and fear when facing the thin, debilitated boy.

"Master Romanov ordered you to get ready. There’s a special dinner; he wants to introduce you to someone," one of the servants announced, avoiding eye contact.

Cedrick noticed the look of distrust on their faces and immediately knew something was wrong. The servants helped him get dressed. The clothes they chose indicated that the event that night would be memorable.

Cedrick was escorted to the dining room. The other servants were lined up along the large table, facing Mr. Romanov and his wife.

"Sit down. I have an announcement to make," Mr. Romanov ordered, while Cedrick, confused, remained silent. Despite being his father, he felt both fear and contempt for the man.

"Don’t be upset with me. Everything I teach is for your own good. You need to understand that you mustn’t defend someone who mistreats you," he commented coldly.

"I can defend my mother as many times as necessary. I will defend her," Cedrick murmured quietly.

"Anyway... this will be the new Mrs. Romanov. She is also expecting a new Romanov heir, so you won’t be an only child," he declared, tapping his spoon lightly against the glass so the servants would serve the table.

"What do you mean ‘new Mrs.’? Where is my mother? You’re married to her, and now you say this woman is the new lady?" Cedrick asked, his breathing irregular, afraid of what his father might have done to his mother.

"Are you afraid I got rid of her? Don’t worry; I won’t give you the pleasure of seeing me free."

"And where is she?" Cedrick insisted as his father smiled, watching a maid enter the room with a tray.

Cedrick froze upon seeing that the woman was his mother, dressed like a servant. She approached, avoiding their gaze, expressionless; even her eyes seemed empty.

"Mother..." Cedrick murmured as she placed the tray on the table. Her trembling hands caused her to drop everything on the floor, including the wine bottle.

"It seems you were only useful to me for giving me a son, isn’t that right?" Mr. Romanov muttered impatiently, while she stood there paralyzed, squeezing her eyes shut in fear. "Do you know how much that wine bottle costs? How will you pay for it?" he asked, now irritated.

"You owe me much more. The value of a life is priceless, you bastard!" she shouted, receiving a slap that knocked her to the ground. Cedrick stood up, pushing his father, creating yet another reason for his irritation.

"Will you never learn? Do you want to die?!" his father roared, slapping Cedrick, who no longer had the strength to fight back.

"Darling, please... this isn’t the time to fight," the new Mrs. Romanov tried to intervene, frightened by the man’s aggressiveness.

"I’m not your son. I’m tired of this life. If you want a new woman, leave my mother alone, free her, and let us go," Cedrick pleaded, but his father just laughed.

"You’re not going anywhere. Especially being my successor. Prepare yourself to take my place, and for that, you will need to stop defending that woman!" he asserted firmly.

"Not even in death. I will never despise my mother. You are the only thing I despise," Cedrick declared resolutely.

"If you’re of no use to me, soon you’ll face a fate worse than hers."

"Are you going to send your thugs to kill me? I don’t want to succeed your mafia business or inherit your companies. I want you to fall into disgrace..." His voice was interrupted by a slap, and his father hesitated, nearly punching him before controlling himself.

Mr. Romanov contained his anger, observing the frailty of his son, who insisted tirelessly on defending his mother, and left the room with his new wife.

Cedrick remained sitting on the floor, while his mother began picking up the shards of glass.

"I’ll help you," Cedrick said, picking up the pieces of glass.

"Why don’t you mind your own life?" she asked, her voice tired.

"I just want to protect you."

"Protect? I live in this hell because of you. I never wanted to have you. Why don’t you leave me alone? I never loved you. I live hiding the truth: you came from abuse, from a forced and humiliating union. He killed my family to keep me, tricked my sister until she committed suicide. He brought ruin to my family solely for his desire for power," she said with disdain, while Cedrick, shocked, listened, unable to hold back his tears.

"What are you saying?" he asked, his voice faltering, tears streaming down his face.

"You're a damn bastard born from abuse. Since the day you were born, I only wished you would die. Looking at you reminds me of everything I went through," she responded with disgust. "You will never be a son to me. So stop getting in the middle. Do you think I'd be sad if you died? Actually, just thinking about it makes me happy."

"Enough!" he screamed, clutching his head as the world seemed to crumble around him.

Desperate and shattered, Cedrick walked through the hall where his father waited, a pleased expression on his face.

"I don't want anything from you! I hate this family! I will never come back to this place!" Cedrick asserted, and when the guards tried to hold him back, his father signaled for them to let him go.

As he left the mansion, Cedrick had no idea of the danger of being alone. With his father being an influential and hated mafia boss, Cedrick had become an easy target. He walked aimlessly, lost in thought, until he realized he was being followed. In a deserted alley, he felt a searing pain in his back, and a terrifying amount of blood began to flow as an enraged voice growled:

"You bastard! Die!" the man snarled.

Immediately after, Cedrick heard a woman’s high-pitched scream, and the assailant abruptly pulled back, collapsing beside him. The last image he saw before everything went dark was the face of a young woman holding him and trying to keep him awake.

After being rescued and hovering between life and death, Cedrick woke up five days later, still in excruciating pain. The only vivid memory he had was of the woman’s face—the one who had saved him.

She never appeared again, and over the following ten years, he came to consider her an "angel" who had rescued him that night. Trying to move forward, he relegated the attack to the past, never understanding the reason for the violence or the fate of his assailant.

Meanwhile, the woman who had saved him was also grappling with the scars of that fateful day. In the years that followed, her life had become a rollercoaster of fortune and misfortune, but recently, the waves of bad luck seemed increasingly intense.

That night, in her apartment, she suddenly awoke on the floor, a sharp, excruciating pain tearing through her abdomen. The pain was so overwhelming that it left her nearly immobile. With effort, she extended a trembling hand toward the phone beside her, her only hope of calling for help.

"I need help…" she mumbled weakly, and the call was abruptly cut off.

Five torturous minutes passed—an eternity for her as she grew weaker and more desperate. Suddenly, the deafening sound of the door being broken down yanked her from her stupor. Within seconds, she saw figures entering her apartment and soon recognized them as firefighters. Relief washed over her, despite the worrying situation. She hadn’t noticed the pool of blood that had formed beneath her.

The blinding white of the hospital room contrasted with Lavínia's blurred vision. The constant beeping of the monitor reminded her of the desperate situation she had found herself in. Slowly, her consciousness returned, bringing back memories of the accident and the anguish of those moments. Her eyes met those of her friend, who watched her with concern.

"Are you okay?" her friend asked, her voice heavy with emotion. Lavínia tried to smile, but the pain prevented her.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" her friend asked reproachfully, turning away in agitation.

"What happened?" Lavínia questioned, confused, trying to understand the gravity of the situation.

"What happened? How can you ask that? Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant? I only found out when you were three months along! And worse yet—when you lost the baby?" her friend said bluntly, her voice cracking. Lavínia felt the ground give way beneath her. The world around her began to spin.

"You’re saying that…" she couldn’t finish the sentence. The pressure in her chest grew, and her eyes closed. Tears continued streaming down her face as she fainted again.

When she opened her eyes, darkness enveloped her like a heavy shroud. The pain throbbed in her temples, an insistent hammering. The memory of the previous night—fragmented and terrifying—gradually returned, bringing with it the bitterness of loss and the anguish of uncertainty. The news of losing her child hit her like a punch to the stomach. The physical pain was intense, but the emotional pain consumed her completely. She felt shattered, like a puzzle missing vital pieces.

[...]

"I have to go. My parents have been calling since yesterday; I need to know what’s happening," Lavínia said, her voice trembling with emotion. She knew she should rest—that her friend was right—but an inner force pushed her to leave.

"No way! They need to know what’s happening with you right now! Besides, you haven’t really told me what happened. I don’t believe you got hurt this badly just from a fall," her friend insisted, her eyes brimming with worry.

Lavínia stared at her, determination in her eyes. She knew her friend was right, but the need to confront her parents was stronger.

Taking a deep breath, she stood up from the bed, the pain in her ankle throbbing with every movement. She put on her overcoat, covering the marks on her arms, and left the room, ignoring her friend.

With each step, the pain intensified, but she ignored it. The cold night air wrapped around her like an icy embrace. She lowered her head, trying to hide her pale face and swollen eyes. Behind her dark sunglasses, no one could see the fragility consuming her. At that moment, she felt an overwhelming need to see her parents—like a desperate, lost child.

As soon as she entered the garden and approached them, the light in her eyes dimmed when she saw their faces. Her mother looked sullen, and her father wore a look of discouragement. She sighed heavily, stopping in front of them, trying to remain strong.

"What’s happening?" she asked, feeling her chest tighten, without the energy for yet another argument.