Chapter 4 The Secret of Twin Heartbeats

# Chapter 4: The Secret of Twin Heartbeats

I awoke to the sound of arguing. My body felt hollow, wrung out, though the sharp pain had subsided to a dull ache. Through half-lidded eyes, I saw Victor and Seraphina standing over medical equipment, their voices low but intense.

"Heterozygous twins," Seraphina was saying, pointing to something on a monitor. "Fraternal, not identical. Two separate fertilizations."

Victor's face was a study in controlled rage. "Impossible unless someone tampered with my samples."

"Your paranoia is showing, Victor," she replied coldly. "Perhaps your bloodline isn't as pure as you believe."

I shifted, drawing their attention. Victor was at my side instantly, his cool hand brushing hair from my forehead in a gesture too tender for our circumstances.

"The bleeding has stopped," he said quietly. "Both heartbeats are strong."

"Both?" My voice was raw, my memories foggy. Then it all came flooding back—Dario, the Church, the twins. "Oh God."

"Indeed." Seraphina's smile was brittle as she turned the ultrasound monitor toward me. "Congratulations. You're carrying miracle babies."

On the screen, two distinct shapes pulsed with life. Something fierce and primal rose within me—a protective instinct I hadn't expected to feel.

"How?" I whispered.

"Superfetation," Victor explained clinically. "Two separate conceptions, likely days apart. Extremely rare but not impossible."

"And the DNA results?" I asked.

Victor's jaw tightened. "We're running comprehensive tests now."

Seraphina injected something into my IV. "Rest. Your body needs to stabilize."

As darkness pulled me under again, I heard Victor's voice, uncharacteristically vulnerable: "I can't lose them, Seraphina. Not again."

---

Days passed in a haze of medications and monitoring. My condition stabilized, but I remained confined to the medical suite. Victor rarely left my side, working from a makeshift desk beside my bed. Our strange détente continued—captor and captive united by the lives growing inside me.

On the fifth day, a technician brought in test results. I watched Victor's face as he read them, saw the moment disbelief shattered his composure.

"This can't be right," he muttered, scanning the pages again.

"What is it?" I struggled to sit up.

He handed me the report wordlessly. The first embryo—a girl—showed clear genetic markers from the Cosimo bloodline. The second—a boy—matched Dario's DNA profile, with significant markers from my own genetic code.

"Twins with different fathers," I whispered.

"And different destinies," came a new voice.

A tall, imposing man in cardinal's robes entered, flanked by armed nuns. Behind them came Seraphina, her expression triumphant.

"Cardinal Emilio." Victor's voice was ice. "You've overstepped."

"The Sacred Embryo Act gives the Church jurisdiction over all genetically significant pregnancies," the Cardinal replied smoothly. "And this"—he gestured to my stomach—"is unprecedented."

"She's under my protection."

"Protection?" The Cardinal smiled thinly. "Like the others before her?"

Victor moved between us. "You have no authority here."

"I have every authority." The Cardinal produced an official-looking document. "By decree of the International Medical Ethics Council, each child shall be placed with its appropriate guardian. The Cosimo heir remains with you; the other comes with us."

Horror washed over me. "You want to separate my babies?"

"They were never meant to be together," Seraphina said softly. "The Church has foreseen this moment for generations."

I looked desperately at Victor, whose expression had gone completely blank—his negotiation face.

"Leave us," he told the Cardinal. "I'll consider your proposal."

When we were alone again, I grabbed Victor's arm. "You can't let them take one of my babies."

"They're not just your babies," he said, but his voice lacked conviction.

"So that's it? You'll keep 'your' child and sacrifice the other?"

Something shifted in his eyes. "No. But I need time to outmaneuver them."

He sat beside me, taking my hand in a gesture that would have been unthinkable weeks ago. "Antonia, there's something you should know about the Cosimo curse."

"More superstitions?"

"Genetic reality," he corrected. "My family carries a congenital heart defect that manifests in the sixth month of gestation. For generations, we've tried to engineer it out through selective breeding."

"Like I'm a prized mare," I said bitterly.

"Like you're our last hope," he countered. "Your genetic profile shows natural immunity to the defect. That's why I chose you."

I pulled my hand away. "You could have asked."

"Would you have said yes?"

The question hung between us, honest in a way our interactions rarely were.

Before I could answer, the door burst open. The Cardinal returned, this time with Dario in tow.

"A compromise," the Cardinal announced. "Both fathers present their cases. The vessel chooses."

Dario looked worse for wear—bruised face, torn clothing—but his green eyes blazed with determination.

"Antonia," he began, "I know we barely know each other, but that night at the conference—"

"You drugged me," I interrupted coldly.

He had the grace to look ashamed. "Yes. But with purpose. The Cosimo bloodline must end. Their alliance with the Church has corrupted medicine for centuries."

Victor lunged at him, only to be restrained by the armed nuns. "You know nothing about my family!"

"I know your father murdered mine to keep the genetic program secret," Dario spat. "I know children die while Cosimo profits from experimental treatments."

The Cardinal raised his hand. "Enough. Miss Blackwood must decide without coercion."

All eyes turned to me. The weight of their expectations—Victor's desperation, Dario's righteousness, Seraphina's zealotry—pressed down like a physical force.

"I choose neither of you," I said finally. "These are my children. Mine."

The Cardinal's kindly mask slipped. "That is not an option."

Victor surprised everyone by dropping to his knees before the Cardinal—the proud Cosimo heir, kneeling.

"Take me instead," he said quietly. "My heart. My genetic material. Whatever you need for your experiments. Just let her and the babies go."

The room fell silent. I stared at Victor, unable to reconcile this sacrifice with the man who had threatened my brother, who had kept me prisoner.

The Cardinal considered him coldly. "An interesting proposition."

Victor turned to face me, and for the first time, I saw raw emotion in those ice-blue eyes. "Antonia, I—"

His words were cut short by my gasp. Beneath his partially unbuttoned shirt, I glimpsed an unhealed wound—exactly where I had pressed his gun that night. The wound that should have been impossible from an empty chamber.

"You loaded it," I whispered. "The gun was loaded when you gave it to me."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "I've never feared death, Antonia. Only failure."

Something shifted between us in that moment—not forgiveness, not yet, but understanding. This man, this monster who had upended my life, was willing to die for our child.

Our child. The thought came unbidden, possessive and fierce.

The standoff was interrupted by a commotion in the hallway. A hooded figure burst through the door, breathless.

"Antonia Blackwood?" the stranger asked, eyes finding mine.

"Who are you?" Victor demanded.

The figure pulled back their hood, revealing a face so similar to mine it was like looking in a mirror—if that mirror aged me fifteen years.

"My name is Elena Blackwood," she said. "And if you want to know where your brother's real chemo drugs are, you need to come with me now."