The soft light of late afternoon spilled through the tall windows of a townhouse in Savannah, Georgia. Lillian Carver, eight months pregnant, stood at the kitchen counter stirring a thick tomato stew. Her back ached and she winced as her baby kicked, but she pushed on, hoping tonight might finally bring a moment of calm with her husband.

The door opened, and Lillian froze. Her husband, Damian, walked in, followed by a striking young woman whose smile was smug and cold.

“Lillian,” Damian said flatly, “this is Serena. She’s the one I really care about.”

Lillian’s hands shook. “What… what are you saying?”

Serena’s smile widened. “I think it’s time you stepped aside.”

“You’re telling me this now? While I’m carrying your child?” Lillian’s voice trembled.

Damian’s jaw tightened. “You trapped me with this baby. I can’t stay here anymore.”

Before Lillian could react, he grabbed an old wooden cane, a family heirloom from her late father, and struck her arm. The sound echoed sharply. Lillian fell to her knees, clutching her stomach and gasping in pain.

“Give me the keys,” Damian ordered. “You don’t deserve this house.”

Serena crossed her arms, still smirking. “He said it. Leave before you make it worse.”

Suddenly, the front door swung open. Three men entered, tall and imposing, radiating controlled fury. Harrison, Malcolm, and Tobias Carver—Lillian’s older brothers—stood firm, their presence commanding attention.

Harrison’s voice was calm but deadly. “Damian. Put it down.”

Damian stammered. “I—I didn’t mean—”

Malcolm stepped closer, his gaze sharp. “You hit a pregnant woman. Do you understand what you’ve done?”

Serena opened her mouth, but Tobias’s glare silenced her instantly. “Say another word, and you’ll regret ever stepping foot in this city,” he warned.

Lillian’s tears fell freely, but seeing her brothers gave her strength. She realized Damian had gravely underestimated the Carvers.