The Billionaire Mafia Boss Fired His Maid Over One Shattered Glass, but the Twins Beneath Her Heart Exposed the Fiancée Who Had Already Chosen His Grave

The following afternoon, a black Lincoln Navigator sat idling curbside outside the diner precisely at eleven-fifty. Two men in dark suits stepped out, walking directly into the establishment. They didn't threaten or yell; their sheer, imposing presence was enough to convince the diner owner to let Layla leave her shift early.

By twelve-thirty, Layla found herself standing once again in the private elevator of the Gallow Tower, watching the digital floor numbers tick upward with nauseating speed.

When the doors slid open, she stepped out onto the top-floor penthouse.

It was as breathtaking and intimidating as she remembered: floor-to-ceiling glass windows framing the gray expanse of Chicago, polished Italian marble reflecting the harsh winter light, and priceless art pieces hanging silently on the walls.

But things had changed.

As she walked across the foyer, a soft sound of footsteps made her pause. A woman stepped out from the private sitting room, dressed in a tailored Chanel dress that cost more than Layla earned in a year.

Victoria Vance.

Victoria was thirty-two, stunning, impeccably groomed, and officially engaged to Dominic Gallow. The wedding was slated for the spring—a grand union of two real estate dynasties designed to cement the Gallow family’s dominance across the Midwest.

Victoria stopped, her emerald-green eyes sweeping over Layla from head to toe, taking in the cheap maternity dress, the worn boots, and the unmistakable, rounded silhouette of her pregnant belly.

A slow, venomous smile curved Victoria’s lips.

“Well, well,” Victoria said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “So you’re the little cleaning girl Dominic couldn't stop talking about last night. I wondered what kind of pest managed to crawl back into his office after being thrown out.”

Layla kept her chin high, refusing to shrink under Victoria’s condescending gaze. “I didn't ask to come here. Dominic—Mr. Gallow—ordered me to be brought up.”

“Oh, I know,” Victoria purred, stepping closer, her heels clicking sharply against the marble. She lowered her voice, dropping the sweet facade entirely as her eyes flashed with cold malice. “And do you know what else I know, little bird? I know that Dominic Gallow is a man of ambition. He is marrying me because our families own half of Illinois. He is not going to let some low-class maid ruin his corporate empire with a pair of bastard twins.”

Layla felt a chill run down her spine that had nothing to do with the winter weather outside. “If you have a problem with Dominic, take it up with him. I want nothing to do with his money or his empire.”

“Oh, you’ll take whatever we give you,” Victoria whispered, stepping so close Layla could smell her expensive French perfume. “Or you won't live long enough to see those babies draw their first breath. Do you honestly think a billionaire mafia boss cares about a stray cat? Dominic only cares about control. And right now, you are a loose end. And I am very, very good at tying up loose ends.”