Days passed. And every time I opened a door or turned a hallway, there they were—Jerwin and Yvette, tending to each other like a storybook couple. I never saw him cry for me. Never saw him care.

But for her? I passed by the guest room one evening and paused.

The door wasn’t fully shut.

Through the small gap, I saw Jerwin sitting by Yvette’s bedside, gently wiping her tears.

“I’m sorry,” Jerwin whispered, his hand ghosting over her bruised skin. “You were never supposed to get hurt. I swear, Yvette… anyone who lays a hand on you will be punished.”

He leaned in.

Pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

I didn’t flinch.

Didn’t feel anything anymore.

Another time, I passed the room again. Yvette was asleep. Jerwin tucked the blanket over her shoulders, then leaned down and kissed her gently on the lips.

“I love you,” he murmured, brushing his thumb against her cheek. “I love you so much…”

I stood there a moment longer, but there was no ache this time.

Just… emptiness.

Later that week, I went to the bridal boutique alone.

No one offered to come.

Not my father.

Not Yvette.

Not even Jerwin.

The wedding dress fit perfectly. It was a clean white gown with silver embroidery along the bodice, cascading into layers of soft tulle. I looked like a stranger in the mirror. A beautiful bride no one wanted.

When I stepped out of the shop, the sky had already folded into night.

The street was nearly empty, only the faint glow of the boutique’s lights behind me and the dim flicker of a broken streetlamp ahead. I was walking toward the car when a hand clamped over my mouth.

A sharp, bitter scent invaded my nostrils—chemical, suffocating.

I kicked. Scratched. Fought with everything I had.

But it was useless.

Everything went black.

When I came to, I was already soaking wet.

I gasped, coughing violently, spitting out water as my lungs fought to remember how to breathe. My arms were bound behind my back, wrists aching from the tight restraints. My hair clung to my face, tangled and heavy.

I was outside somewhere—cold concrete beneath me, the air thick with moisture and the scent of moss and rusted iron.

A warehouse. Or the back of one. Somewhere forgotten.

And then, hands gripped my shoulders.

Without warning, I was dragged forward—toward a trough filled with ice-cold water. I had only a second to understand what was happening.

Then they shoved me under.

Water rushed up my nose, into my mouth. I thrashed, panicked. My lungs screamed for air as the pressure closed in.

And just as I was about to lose consciousness, they yanked me up.

I choked, spluttering, coughing violently.

Then—

They pushed me down again.

The second time was worse. I knew what was coming, and still I couldn’t fight it. My body bucked against the hands pinning me. My mind screamed for oxygen. For mercy. For escape.

But there was none.

They pulled me up again—long enough to breathe, barely.

And then it happened a third time.

Over. And over. And over again.

Each breath between drownings was like a curse—never enough to recover, just enough to survive the next.

Finally, when they stopped, I was gasping like a dying fish, crumpled on the concrete, soaked and shivering.

A voice broke the silence.

“You’re being punished… for what you did to the woman our master loves.”

I blinked, my vision blurry. My ears rang.

“What…?” I rasped.

“The young master doesn't want her hurt,” the man continued. “You pushed her into the pool. You made her suffer. So now, you suffer.”

And that’s when it hit me.

Jerwin. The man who once promised to protect me had ordered this for Yvette.

I let out a sound—half sob, half laugh. It echoed in the empty space around us like something feral.

So that was it. He would protect Yvette. Even if it meant breaking me.

When they dumped me outside the city, I was half-conscious. Shivering. Skin raw and scraped. I crawled until I found the edge of the road. Then I stood—barely—and walked. And walked.

I don’t know how I reached the hospital. I just remember the bright lights and the way the nurses looked at me like I was something broken beyond repair.

No one came to see me. Not even after three days.

I didn’t bother calling anyone.

Why would I? I knew better now.

I wasn’t the precious one. I wasn’t the girl who got saved. I was the one who got punished for existing.

And all I had to do now… was make it to the wedding.

So once discharged, I went home. Packed quietly. I decided to stay in a hotel until the ceremony. That way, I wouldn’t have to see their faces, or live in the same house as the people who forgot I existed.

I was almost out the door when Father’s voice echoed from behind me.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

I turned slowly. “To the hotel. I’ll return for the wedding.”

He frowned. “No. It’s Yvette’s birthday tomorrow. She wants you there. She wants your help organizing the celebration.”

I said nothing.

He scowled. “Why are you always so difficult with your sister? She’s trying to build a relationship with you!”

I stared at him. “And I said no.”

He stepped forward, lowering his voice into a threat. “If you don’t go, I’ll freeze your cards. You won’t access a single cent.”

I didn’t even blink.

Then sighed.

“Fine.”

I turned to leave again, but before I reached the stairs, he spoke once more.

“Oh, and Fatima—give your mother’s necklace to Yvette. She wants to wear it for the party.”

My body went rigid.

I turned, disbelief flashing through me. “No.”

His eyes narrowed. “She just needs something to match her gown. She’ll return it.”

“No!” I snapped, louder this time. “That necklace is the only thing I have left from my mother. I won’t give it to her.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just a piece of jewelry.”

I took a step back. But he was faster.

He walked up and unclasped the necklace from behind my neck. I reached to stop him, but his grip was firm—unyielding.

He pulled it off and walked away, tossing it to a maid. “Give this to Yvette.”

I stood there—motionless.

My chest felt like it was being hollowed out. It wasn’t about the necklace. It was about the last piece of someone who loved me being ripped away.

I collapsed on the couch, shoulders shaking. But I didn’t scream. Didn’t beg.

I just lay there… silent.

Tears slid down my face. I didn’t wipe them.

Because crying wouldn’t change anything.

Because in this house—No one cared.

I didn’t want to be there. But I had no choice.

My father had made it clear—if I didn’t attend Yvette’s birthday celebration, he would cancel all my cards and cut off my finances until the wedding. He didn’t say it like a threat. He said it like a favor. Like he was giving me a push in the right direction.

I wore a muted emerald gown. Floor-length velvet with long sleeves that covered my still-healing shoulder. I didn’t bother with makeup. Didn’t care to impress anyone.

The party was hosted in the glass garden of the estate—a room bathed in warm chandelier light and fragrant with imported roses. The guests had already arrived, sipping champagne, dressed in couture. I stood at the entrance for a moment, invisible and unwanted.

And then I saw her.

Yvette.

She stood in the center of it all, wearing a delicate pink dress like a doll brought to life. Her hair was curled into soft waves. Her cheeks blushed from excitement. And around her neck—gleaming, bold, familiar—was my mother’s necklace.

The same one Father had yanked off me.

I clenched my fists.

She wore it like it belonged to her.

As if it hadn’t once rested on the woman who gave birth to me, raised me, and died betrayed.

But I said nothing.

I didn’t want to cause a scene—not here. Not now. I swallowed the fury and retreated to a corner, where I watched like a ghost.

The guests surrounded Yvette with gifts—Tiffany boxes, limited edition Hermès bags, the key to a new Porsche. Their praises echoed: “She’s so sweet,” “so elegant,” “the perfect daughter.”

And then, Father stepped forward.

He raised a glass. “Thank you all for being here. Tonight, we celebrate my precious daughter Yvette—who has been sweet, kind, and sensible since she was a child.”

Everyone clapped.

He didn’t mention me.

Not even once.

I wasn’t surprised.

Just... tired.

I remembered the way he used to look at me when I was a child—before Yvette, before the lies. He’d hold me high, call me his little star. My mother would smile softly beside him, her hands resting on my shoulders like wings.

That memory didn’t exist anymore.

Now, there was only Yvette.

And in the family photo they took that night, I wasn’t even in the frame.

Later, as the party wore on, the doors opened. A line of men in black entered, each holding a velvet box. One stepped forward. “Young Master Andersen sends these birthday gifts to Miss Yvette.”

The crowd gasped.

Even I froze for a moment.

Of course. Jerwin. He wasn’t just present—he was flaunting it now, even with his hidden identity.

Yvette lit up, hands to her mouth in mock shock. “Oh my God, I can’t believe this!”

The boxes were opened one by one—sapphire earrings, diamond bracelets, a rose gold watch engraved with her initials.

Someone whispered, “That’s the heir to the Andersen family, right? He must love her even though they haven’t met in person.”

And Yvette? She turned toward me.

Smiling. As if she had won. As if I had lost.

The guests clapped again, crowding around her, taking photos, showering her with more compliments than anyone could deserve.

It felt like the room was shrinking. The air too thick.

I needed to breathe.

But then, more guests gathered around Yvette. One of her friends leaned in, whispering loud enough for all to hear, “There are so many young men here today, Yvette. Is your father arranging a blind date for you? Didn’t you used to be engaged to that guy from the Hale family?”

Yvette smiled coyly, but her eyes flicked to me. “Oh, that’s been over for a long time.”

Laughter rippled through the girls.

“Well, lucky you,” the friend continued. “That guy is practically a vegetable now. Who’d want to marry into a grave?”

My chest twisted. Well, I did, just to get away from this family.

Later on, the girls asked her about her ideal man, with Jerwin around listening carefully as if he’d been willing to trade anything for whatever Yvette would say.

The girls squealed.

And I remembered.

That night, long ago—when I thought Jerwin didn’t know I was watching. He took off his shirt, and there it was.

Yvette. Tattooed over his heart.

I froze then. Pretended I didn’t see. Lied to myself. But standing here, hearing her speak those exact words—while he stood in the crowd, silent, watching her with soft eyes—

It hit me. They were always meant to be. I was the villain.

“I also want someone who would dive into the sea to find me the most precious pearl—and turn it into a necklace.”

I couldn’t take it anymore.

The music, the laughter, the way Yvette’s voice danced through the glass walls like she owned the entire world—it all clawed at me.

So I slipped out quietly, past the crowd of perfectly dressed strangers who didn’t know my name, and walked toward the garden. It was dark outside. Quiet. Just the faint hum of crickets and the wind moving through the hedges.

I sat on the bench beneath the old tree where I used to hide as a child. Back when things were simple. Back when I thought I was loved.

The cold night air wrapped around me. It was the first real thing I’d felt all day.

But peace never lasted long.

Yvette found me.

Her heels clicked softly against the stone path as she approached, fake concern in her voice.

“What are you doing out here all alone?” she asked, folding her arms like she was genuinely puzzled.

I didn’t look at her. “None of your business.”

She tilted her head. “You know... it kind of looks like you’re jealous.”

That made me laugh—dry, humorless. “Jealous?”

“Yeah,” she said, shrugging. “I mean, I got the party, the guests, the attention... and, let’s not forget, the favor of the Andersen family. Meanwhile, you get to marry the guy in a coma.” She grinned. “Just like Dad said. I guess it all worked out. You’re always so cold and useless.”

I turned to her, my voice low. “Be careful what you say.”

But she wasn’t done.

“And your mother?” she added, lips curling. “She was weak. She deserved what she got. Couldn’t handle the truth. Couldn’t handle the fact that Father loved someone else.”

Something snapped.

I stood. “Take it off.”

“What?”

“The necklace,” I said through clenched teeth. “It was my mother’s. Give it back.”

“Oh please, it’s just jewelry.” She rolled her eyes, grabbed it, and tugged.

The chain broke.

Pearls scattered across the stone floor like tears frozen mid-fall.

Then she slapped her. The sound cracked through the garden like thunder.

She gasped, stumbled back a step, then whimpered dramatically. “You... you hit me over a necklace?”

“I didn’t mean to!” she cried louder, more desperate, as if an audience would appear. “She hit me because I was wearing her mom’s necklace! I didn’t mean to break it!”

Footsteps thundered behind us.

Our father appeared, face red with fury. “Fatima! What the hell is going on?”

“She slapped me!” Yvette cried, running into his arms like some wounded dove. “I didn’t do anything wrong! She just went crazy!”

My father turned to me. “You slapped your sister? On her birthday?”

“She broke my mother’s necklace,” I said, still trembling. “She said—horrible things about her. About me, but I didn’t slap her! She did it herself!”

He scowled. “It was an accident. And for a necklace? You had to hit her? You’re ruining everything!”

And then—Jerwin.

His voice was quiet but sharp, cutting into me like a knife.

“Why would you hurt her, Fatima? You have everything. And you're still jealous of her?”

“Everything?” I repeated, almost laughing. “She took everything from me. My father. My personal butler and protector. My place. She wore my mother’s necklace and shattered it like it meant nothing.”

My voice cracked. “And then you—you—defend her.”

My father threw his hands up. “You’ve made a scene. You’ve embarrassed me. You’ve ruined Yvette’s birthday.”

I let out a slow breath. “So, you would really choose her over me?”

He didn’t answer but they left. All of them. I knelt on the cold stone, my dress dragging across the ground, and began picking up the beads one by one. My fingers were shaking, my throat tight.

“Mom...” I whispered. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t protect it.”

Tears slipped down my cheeks.

“I’m gonna marry that man,” I whispered. “The one they’ve all thrown at me. The one in a hospital bed.”

A pause.

“At least if I do... I’ll finally be gone from here.”

I gathered the last pearl in my hand and held it tightly to my chest.