The Bigshot's Superstar Wife

Chapter 103: Why Him?

The child had no name.

From the moment he entered the world, he was unwanted, a sin that should have never been born.

His mother, a woman of faith, once served as a healer in the sacred halls of the Grand Solis Cathedral, where she dedicated her life to prayers, tending to the wounded, and offering comfort to the weary.

She was a kind soul, beloved by the people who came seeking solace.

But her fate was sealed the moment she caught the eye of a man who should have never set foot in such a holy place.

The King of Sinalta.

She was barely more than a girl when he took notice of her. At first, she thought it was a passing curiosity, something fleeting that would soon be forgotten.

But fate was cruel, and power was absolute. The king, ruthless in his desire, claimed what he wanted without hesitation.

She was taken from the sanctity of the church and forced into the cold, merciless palace, where she became nothing more than a hidden secret, a concubine in the shadows.

She bore his child in secret, locked away where no one would know.

But as much as she despised the way she had been used, she could never bring herself to hate the life growing inside her.

She loved her baby before he was even born. For nine months, she whispered prayers over her belly, hoping against all odds that the gods would grant her child a peaceful life.

She dreamed of running away, of raising him far from the twisted, venomous court where only blood and power mattered. She wanted him to have a name, an identity, a future.

But she was naive. The moment he took his first breath, he was stolen from her arms. She never even got to hold him.

The king had ordered it, his child would not be raised by a woman who had no noble blood. The moment the servants pried him from her weak, trembling hands, she knew she had lost.

She screamed, begged, and fought with everything she had left. But no one listened. She was a nobody. A fallen woman with no power.

She was thrown out of the palace, discarded like trash, as if her existence had never mattered.

The world turned its back on her, and she wandered the streets, searching for any trace of the child she had lost.

She never found him. And in her endless grief, she withered away.

She spent her last days in a broken chapel, staring at the ceiling, whispering the name she had wanted to give him, Noctis.

And yet, he never hated them.

He didn’t know how. Hate was something that required strength, and he had none.

His body was small, and fragile, his bones sharp beneath his thin skin. He was always cold, always hungry, always tired. But he never cried. Not anymore.

Crying changed nothing. Then one day, everything changed. A new order came from the king himself.

The boy was to be moved. Not to a better place, but to a worse one.

A place beneath the palace, where the walls dripped with moisture and the air smelled of damp stone.

He was chained.

Beaten.

Tested.

His blood was taken, over and over, because he was "special."

The boy did not understand. He only knew pain. And when they left him alone in the dark, he whispered to himself the only name he had ever known.

Noctis.

The name his mother had wanted to give him. Even though no one ever called him that, even though it was just a forgotten whisper, he held onto it.

Because if he did not have a name, then he truly would be nothing.

And he did not want to be nothing.

Even if no one ever loved him.

Even if he never saw the sun.

Even if he was destined to die in this darkness.

He wanted to be something.

Even if only in a memory that no one else would ever know.