Chantelle’s POV

“You’re just in time. Sign this, it’s—”

Before I could finish, Lachlan snatched the documents from my hands.

“Forget it,” he replied, not even looking at me. “We agreed—no work at home. Your efficiency’s just too damn poor anyway.”

I froze mid-motion. The sting in my chest spread fast, bitter and cold.

Well… he wouldn’t have to worry about my work performance much longer.

Just as he was about to flip through the documents, his phone rang. He moved quickly to answer it, but not quick enough—I caught the caller ID.

[Kirsten]

Just like that, he dropped the papers without a second thought and rushed out the door.

I bent down to gather the scattered pages. Just as I was about to stand, he came storming back in—and kicked me, hard, right in the stomach.

Pain exploded through my abdomen like needles stabbing into my flesh; I had just suffered a miscarriage.

I swallowed the taste of blood rising in my throat and shot him a look in disbelief.

“Chantelle, you shouldn’t have done this,” he said calmly, but there was ice in his eyes. “You kidnapped my kids, just because I took them to an amusement park?”

A cold shiver ran down my spine at that accusation.

Before I knew it, he already grabbed me by the neck, his fingers digging in. I was like a wounded animal, barely breathing, completely at his mercy.

“Stop messing around. Where did you hide my twins?!” he demanded.

My vision swam with darkness as his grip tightened. I used what little strength I had left to croak out the words from my dry throat.

“I… I don’t know.”

The Lachlan I once knew—he would’ve scooped me up, panicked and worried.

No. The Lachlan I used to love wouldn’t have laid a hand on me in the first place.

I trembled violently, like someone already on the brink of death.

His eyes flickered with what looked like pity—but his grip didn’t ease.

“You’ve been bad, Chantelle,” he murmured. “And bad women need to be punished.”

Then he dragged me out of the house. I didn’t even have the strength to fight back.

Next thing I knew, we were on a helicopter, rising fast above the clouds.

Ten minutes later, the ground was nothing but a blur beneath us.

“Chantelle,” Lachlan said, his voice weirdly gentle, “you still have time. Just tell me the truth.”

He gave a soft, almost amused laugh, only to pull the cabin door open.

The wind roared, and my knees buckled.

“Lachlan!” I gasped. “Please! It wasn’t me! You know I’m terrified of heights!”

But he didn’t listen. Instead, he strapped a parachute tightly around me as he said in a coaxing voice, “You went too far this time,” he said. “Tell me where they are, and I’ll bring you down safely.”

He knew about my phobia. He’d seen me freeze on third-floor balconies. And now here we were—thousands of feet up, strapped in, terrified—because of Kirsten. And her children.

I was crying now, unable to stop shaking. “Lachlan… it wasn’t me. I swear. I’ll say it one last time.”

His eyes narrowed. And then came that cruel, icy laugh.

Without a word, he shoved me out of the helicopter.

And as I fell, as the air screamed around me, everything just… felt nothing.

At a moment I used to fear the most, ten years of love flashed through my mind.

‘How did we end up here?’

When I first became his secretary, I warned myself every day. “Don’t fall for him. Keep it professional.”

But Lachlan spent three years tearing my walls down, one sweet moment at a time.

On my birthday, he lit up the entire Las Vegas with fireworks just for me.

He even knelt and proposed ninety-nine times. Nine-nine! I was not exaggerating if I said the villa was full of his gifts—every room, every corner.

I tried to suppress my feelings until he said, “Don’t be afraid. I’ll fight against the world just to love you.”

It was that promise that made me say yes on his hundredth proposal.

And once we were married, he meant every word—at first.

Whatever I liked, he’d get it for me before I even asked.

He even agreed to keep our marriage a secret, just because I didn’t want public attention.

I thought what we had was different… until I heard Kirsten’s name.

She was the one who’d saved him once—his so-called first love.

But when Lachlan’s family went bankrupt, she ditched him and ran off to Berlin.

Four years ago, her own life tanked, and suddenly she was back in Nevada, clinging to what used to be.

Since then, she started inserting herself into every private moment I had with my husband.

All it took was a phone call, and he would leave me behind to run to her.

I fought with him so many times over it. And every time, he’d hold me close and gently explain, “It’s not like that. I just owe her for saving me back then. But she left me once, too, without thinking twice—how could I still have feelings for her? Besides, I have you now.”

Blinded by love, I chose to believe him. I played dumb—four years passed like that.

And now… their twins were already four.

When I woke up in the hospital, I stared at the ceiling in a daze.

“You’ve just suffered a miscarriage,” the doctor said quietly. “And your body endured heavy trauma. It might be hard for you to conceive again.”

My lips twitched as tears spilled uncontrollably down my face.

When I finally made it home, I didn’t even step inside before I heard her voice.

“Locke, you really want me and the kids to move in? What if Chantelle gets mad when she comes home? What if she hurts the kids again? I just… I don’t know what I’d do,” she sobbed.

Through the cracked door, I saw him. Lachlan. Pulling her into his arms like she was the one who needed saving.

“Don’t be scared,” he whispered. “I won’t let her touch you or the kids. If she tries… I’ll make sure she suffers even more.”

That made me scoff. ‘So, throwing someone with a fear of heights out of a helicopter wasn’t harsh enough?’

Just then, a gust of wind blew the slightly open door wide, and my eyes met Lachlan’s.

He quickly pulled away from Kirsten, guilt flashing in his face.

I said nothing. Just walked past them, heading upstairs.

“Chantelle, wait,” he said calmly.

I turned around, only to see him frowning like I had done something wrong. “Aren’t you going to ask why they’re here?”

Right on cue, the twins ran over and timidly hugged his leg.

Pain flickered in his eyes.

His eyes darkened with pain. “Because of you, they still cry at night. Kirsten’s anxiety attacks are worse. Don’t you feel any guilt?”

Before I could respond, Kirsten tugged gently at his sleeve. “Let it go, Locke. I’m sure Chantelle didn’t mean it.”

That deserved a cold laugh.

But then, out of nowhere, she shrieked and flung herself into his arms.

“Locke, I’m scared…”

And he wrapped her up like some damsel and kissed her cheek. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here. She won’t hurt you.”

I watched them. The act. The melodrama.

And I turned, heading upstairs without a word.

But before I made it far, Lachlan grabbed my hand.

“Chantelle,” he muttered, his eyes full of accusations, “this time you really crossed the line. You’ve seen what you’ve done to Kirsten and the kids. You should make it up to them.”

I tried to pull free, but he held on. I could steady myself and look him in the eye.

He hesitated, then continued. “Give me the amethyst pendant I gave you.”

I froze in place, staring at him in disbelief.

He added, “They just need it for a few days. I’ll return it when they’re better.”

My chest ached as if my heart had been ripped in two.

That pendant—he made it for me himself seven years ago.

Back in school, when I was barely keeping it together after all the bullying—and wouldn’t go near a therapist or meds—he disappeared for a week.

Turns out, he’d spent days teaching himself how to solder and shape amethyst, just to make that pendant from scratch. Said if I wouldn’t take meds, maybe I’d wear something made with love instead. Something to hold onto when things got bad.

And now, because of a baseless accusation, he wanted to take it back—from me—for the very person who used to make my life hell.

How could I say yes to that?

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kirsten’s gaze flicking to me, her lashes lowering just enough to hide the shift in her expression.

She took a slow step forward, and with a sweet voice I knew she was just faking, she said, “If you don’t want to, that’s fine, Chantelle. The kids and I will just tough it out.”

Her fingers brushed my arm. Then, without warning, she dug in and twisted—right where the old injury still flared up on bad days.

She looked me in the eye, her fake sweetness slipping for half a second—long enough for me to see the smirk hiding underneath.

And that was it.

No warning. No words.

I shoved her.

Hard.

Chantelle’s POV

“Ah!”

Kirsten let out a shriek as she stumbled back—straight into Lachlan’s arms.

He caught her instantly, his eyes burning when they snapped to me.

“Damn it, Chantelle!” His voice cut through the air like a whip. “You still haven’t learned your lesson, have you? You laid a hand on Kirsten again?! Falling from ten thousand feet clearly wasn’t enough to knock sense into you, huh?”

I stood my ground, though my voice wavered. “She was the one who bullied me. Back then… in school.”

For a second, something flickered in his eyes. Doubt? Memory? But it vanished almost immediately.

“I… I don’t know what she’s talking about,” Kirsten whispered, her voice trembling.

“Why would I ever do something like that?” In his arms, she looked up at him with wet eyes. “I… I really don’t know how else to prove myself, Locke.”

Her sobs grew louder, as if on cue. A heartbeat later, the twins started crying too, clinging to her legs and wailing.

Lachlan looked torn for only a heartbeat—then wrapped them all in his arms like some kind of savior.

“I know,” he murmured gently. “I know you’re not like that.”

When he glanced at me, his voice sharpened. “Chantelle’s clearly lost it. I should’ve taught her a harsher lesson the first time.”

The way he looked at me—it was frighteningly cold.

Before I could move, two bodyguards stepped forward. I barely had time to flinch before they grabbed me by the arms and dragged me down the hallway.

“Take her to the storage room,” Lachlan ordered. “And bring in nine hundred and ninety-nine jasmine flowers.”

He didn’t even glance my way. His voice left no room for mercy.

“You hurt Kirsten and the children, and now you’re trying to pin the bullying on her? Looks like you deserved it back then.”

With that, the door slammed shut behind me with a heavy thud.

Within seconds, the scent hit me—thick and suffocating. My throat closed up almost instantly, panic rising fast.

I staggered back, coughing hard, my lungs refusing to work. My eyes burned. My skin prickled.

Jasmine.

The one thing I couldn’t be around. My allergy—my worst episodes—started because of the flowers Kirsten used to stuff in my locker every single day in high school.

Back then, the doctors called it stress-induced. Lachlan had called it cruelty when he found out. He banned jasmine from the estate and the company after we got married. Even patterns on curtains weren’t allowed.

Now he’d locked me in with nearly a thousand of them.

Because of her.

My eyes swelled shut. I couldn’t even cry.

Whatever part of me had still been holding onto hope for Lachlan…

It broke.

I woke up in a hospital bed, throat raw, eyes swollen. My chest ached like it had been scrubbed raw.

Lachlan sat at my side, typing something on his laptop. Business as usual.

When he noticed I was awake, a flicker of something soft passed through his eyes.

He set the laptop aside and picked up a bowl of soup.

He brought it to my lips, but I turned my head away.

His hand froze mid-air. That brief flicker of warmth in his eyes? Snuffed out in an instant.

“You went too far this time,” he said quietly, the edge returning to his voice. “I’ve already been more than tolerant.”

I didn’t answer. Just kept my gaze on the ceiling, refusing so much as to glance at him.

The silence must’ve gotten under his skin, because the next moment, he yanked the pendant from around my neck.

His tone turned cutting, bitter. “You seem perfectly fine to me. From now on, this pendant belongs to Kirsten. You’re not getting it back.”

He stared at me, like he was waiting—daring me—to protest. To react.

I didn’t give him the satisfaction. Just met his gaze and nodded once.

For a split second, something shifted in his eyes. Panic? Guilt? Whatever it was, it vanished almost instantly, replaced by rising fury.

“Chantelle! How long are you planning to keep this up? I’ve already humbled myself enough, and you’re still acting like some victim—still playing hard to get?”

I didn’t answer. Just pointed at his phone on the nightstand.

The screen was lit up.

Kirsten was calling.

His expression changed immediately. He snatched up the phone and walked out without another word, voice soft and coaxing as he answered her call.

It never even crossed his mind that I wasn’t talking because I physically couldn’t.

Back then, he would’ve noticed the moment something felt off—would’ve dropped everything to ask what was wrong.

Now? Even if I died right in front of him, I wasn’t sure he’d flinch.

Before he returned, I checked myself out of the hospital.

Back at the estate, I moved on instinct.

Seven years of memories with Lachlan—all of them packed into drawers, boxes, albums. I dragged them out one by one.

Photos of us laughing at the beach.

Ninety-nine love letters, all in his handwriting.

The journals I’d filled every single day we were married—tracking the highs, the lows, the quiet mornings where I thought we’d grow old together.

I stood by the fireplace and fed them in, page by page, memory by memory. Watched it all curl and blacken into ash.

I was tossing in the last journal when the front door slammed open.

“Chantelle!”

I turned, just as Lachlan walked in with Kirsten and the twins behind him.

His eyes landed on the fire—and what was burning inside.

“What are you doing?!”

Chantelle’s POV

I kept my face blank as I casually dropped the journal into the fireplace. But my voice came out hoarse, betraying me.

“Just burning something.”

Lachlan frowned, clearly unsettled. He looked like he wanted to say something, but Kirsten tugged at his sleeve.

After a moment, he finally spoke, his tone stiff.

“The twins will be staying here for a while. We’ll let them use the nursery we set up.”

My body went still, only my fingernails moving, digging into my palm.

“That nursery was meant for our child.”

His expression didn’t change. “They’re my children too.”

A bitter smile tugged at my lips at that announcement. I could only rest a hand over my belly, a habit I hadn’t quite shaken.

Seeing I didn’t reply, he softened his tone like he was trying to be kind.

“They can be your children too, you know.”

I looked him in the eye. “They’ll never be mine.”

And with that, I turned and headed upstairs, ignoring the fake whine of Kirsten’s voice drifting behind me.

Back in my room, my phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.

Every notification was from her.

[That necklace he gave you after your miscarriage? Just a freebie I didn’t want.]

[Every time he told you he was on a business trip, he was actually with me. You didn’t know? He’s already introduced me to his friends, business partners, even clients. In their eyes, I’m his wife. You? You’re just the secretary he married in secret!]

One photo after another followed—her with Lachlan.

The most recent one was from last night.

While I was trapped in a dusty storage room, struggling to breathe through a cloud of allergens…

He was with her. In bed.

Time and again, at my worst moments, he had been with her.

The realization hit hard, but the pain didn’t linger.

It faded fast, swallowed by numbness.

By the time Lachlan returned, it was already midnight.

He smelled faintly of jasmine. Red marks were still fresh on his neck.

When he saw me sitting in silence, he pulled a crooked smile.

“Hey, I know what happened today was a bit much. But think of this as me atoning on your behalf. Look, Kirsten has already agreed to forgive you—just apologize tomorrow, and it’ll all be over.”

I let out a soundless laugh.

He hadn’t even asked what really happened.

Didn’t need to, I guess—he’d already made up his mind.

‘So this is how he sees me now—a malicious woman through and through.’

But I’d stand my ground. “I’m not apologizing for something I didn’t do.”

His jaw tightened, but before he could shoot back anything, his phone lit up.

Through the glare of the screen, I saw a photo—her in a sheer, lacy nightgown, barely covering anything.

Something flickered in his eyes—lust. And just like that, he shut the phone and moved straight for the door.

“Stop making this harder than it needs to be. Think of your mom’s medical bills. Just apologize and it all goes away.”

He didn’t wait for a response. The door slammed behind him.

Ten minutes later, I got a video from Kirsten.

In it, Lachlan’s eyes were filled with hunger as he ran his hands over her body.

I turned off my phone and shut my eyes tight.

The next morning, just as I came downstairs, Lachlan grabbed my arm.

“Like we talked about—just apologize, and it’s over.”

I couldn’t shake him off. He was forceful enough to drag me in front of Kirsten.

He pressed a bowl of steaming soup into my hands, his voice soft but edged with warning.

“Think of your mom. Say sorry and give this to Kirsten, and I’ll keep covering your mom’s medical bills.”

The heat from the bowl stung my palms, but it was nothing compared to the cold settling in my chest.

Swallowing the last of my pride, I stepped forward and held the bowl out to her—but no apology left my lips.

Kirsten smiled, a flicker of triumph in her eyes. “I’ll make sure you’re out of the picture for good,” I heard her mumble.

The next second, she suddenly knocked the bowl from my hands, sending a scalding soup splash across my front. Before I could react, she let out a sharp scream—as if she’d been the one burned.

Lachlan turned on me instantly.

“Damn it, Chantelle!” he shouted, shoving me to the ground. “I told you to apologize—and now you’re attacking her again?!”

The pain hit fast, stealing my breath. I could only curl in on myself, trembling.

Kirsten clung to his sleeve, tears flowing freely.

“Forget it, Locke… I don’t need her apology anymore. I’ll take the twins and leave. I’m pregnant now. I… I don’t feel safe.”

His expression shifted in an instant—fear, anger, protectiveness—all for her.

After making sure she was settled, he came back.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t hesitate.

He just yanked me up by the hair and dragged me into the kitchen.

Then he forced my hands into a bowl of boiling soup!

The agony stole my voice—I couldn’t even scream.

He looked at me—eyes full of cold judgment, with the faintest trace of pity that meant nothing at all.

Only when I was on the verge of passing out did he finally let go.

“From now on,” he warned, “whatever you do to Kirsten, I’ll make sure you pay it tenfold.”

He then kicked me aside like trash and rushed Kirsten—perfectly unharmed—to the hospital.

I made my way there alone, half-stumbling, half-limping, looking more like a madwoman than a patient.

Once they finished treating my burns, I didn’t go home.

I went straight to the office, resignation papers in my hand.

When I saw Lachlan, I tried to hand them over. He didn’t even look at me; he just stepped around me like I wasn’t there.

An assistant glanced over awkwardly.

“Secretary Segerblom… President Gurfinchel said if you have something to say, please wait until after the meeting.”

I numbly nodded and stood off to the side.

Midway through the meeting, the projector flickered—and suddenly, photos of me and Lachlan appeared. Some of them… far too intimate.

Under everyone’s stares, I shook with humiliation, rushing to shut it off.

“So it’s true… the secretary really is sleeping with the CEO.”

“Didn’t see that coming…”

Lachlan turned toward me, frowning—like I was the one responsible.

The slideshow kept going behind me, each photo more damning than the last.

Suddenly, the door burst open—Kirsten walked in, holding the twins by the hand.

The boy and the girl broke into smiles the moment they saw the familiar face of Lochlan in the room.

They ran straight to him.

“Daddy!”