The smell of roasted chicken filled the kitchen, mixing with the sound of children's laughter echoing through the house. Alessandro Moretti—32, exhausted, but undeniably in love with his little family—was standing at the stove, stirring the pasta sauce.

Luca, 12, was in charge of the chaos happening in the living room, but let's be real, "in charge" was a joke. Adrian, 10, was yelling about how Dante, 7, cheated in their stupid card game. And Nico, 4, was laughing at them both while running around with a toy truck like a menace.

"Papà! Dante's a cheater!" Adrian whined.

"I am not!" Dante shot back. "You're just mad because I won."

Alessandro rolled his eyes with a smirk. "If you're gonna cheat, at least be smart enough not to get caught."

"See!" Dante grinned. "Even Papà agrees with me."

"That's not what I said, idiota," Alessandro muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

This was his life. A loud, messy, beautiful disaster.

And it was perfect.

Except Isabella—his wife, the woman he swore to love forever—was late. Again.

He checked the clock. 9:46 PM. Where the hell was she?

Sighing, he wiped his hands on a towel and grabbed his phone, expecting a message saying, Sorry, got held up or Be home soon. But when he saw an actual text from her, his stomach twisted.

Isabella: I can't do this anymore. I fucked up, Ale. I'm so sorry. I cheated. I'm pregnant. I... I'm leaving. Please take care of the boys.

Alessandro just... stood there. Staring.

The words didn't make sense. His brain refused to process them.

She what?

The front door slammed open, and four sets of little feet came running in.

"Papà, dinner ready yet?" Luca asked, oblivious to the fact that their entire world had just shattered.

Alessandro clenched his jaw, shoving his phone into his pocket. His grip on the counter was white-knuckled, but his voice was steady.

"Yeah," he said, forcing a smile. "Wash your hands. Let's eat."

Because fuck her.
Fuck her for doing this to them.
For doing this to him. He was hurt- to an extent that he now didn't care about anyone except his sons.

She didn't deserve their love. But they did. His boys deserved everything.

And he would make sure they never felt abandoned.

Time Skip – Eight Months and 2 weeks Later

The hospital room smelled like antiseptic and death.

Isabella was dying. And Alessandro wasn't there.

Instead, Daniel Carter—the man she threw everything away for—was the one pacing outside her room, looking like he was about to vomit. The bastard had his hands buried in his hair, muttering to himself.

"Shit, shit, shit—what the hell am I supposed to do?"

The doctor came out, face grim.

"Mr. Carter?"

Daniel's head snapped up. "Is she—?"

"She didn't make it."

For a second, everything was silent.

Then a wail—sharp, piercing, alive—broke through the air.

Daniel turned, staring at the nurse holding a tiny, pink, crying mess.

His daughter.

He swallowed hard. "What... what about the baby?"

"Healthy." The nurse shifted uncomfortably. "Mr. Carter, you're the only listed guardian. The child is yours to take."

Daniel blinked. "Mine?"

His mind raced. He wasn't ready for this. He wasn't supposed to be a father. But then an idea hit him, so insane yet so perfect he could barely believe it.

Olivia.

His wife. The woman who had been trying for years to have a baby. Who cried every time a pregnancy test came back negative. Who begged him to consider adoption.

He looked back at the baby—squirming, helpless—and made his choice.

He wasn't going to tell Olivia the truth.

No.

Instead, he was going to give her the one thing she always wanted.

A baby. A family. A daughter.

He forced the panic down, cleared his throat, and looked at the nurse. "Give me the paperwork. I'm taking her home."

And just like that, a little girl got a name.

Serena Carter.

And a lie that would change everything.

Author's Note:

And that's how Serena became a Carter instead of a Moretti. A stolen identity. A hidden past. A lie built on betrayal.

But secrets never stay buried forever.