"You told me before that you’d cover all my father’s medical expenses if I married you,” I said into the phone, my voice flat but trembling underneath. “Is the deal still on the table?”

Silence. A pause. Then a low, amused chuckle on the other end of the line.

“So you finally realized that Treston’s garbage,” he said. “And that I’m the one who actually cares for you?”

I closed my eyes.

“Yes,” I whispered. “I’ll divorce him. Come pick me up… in a week.”

And then I ended the call before I could hear his smug response. Before I could lose my nerve.

My hand dropped to my lap, the phone clattering softly against the sheets.

My whole body was shaking.

Marrying him—the man I once swore I’d never speak to again. My enemy in college. The same arrogant bastard who competed with me in every class, every competition, every breath. The one who once told me, with terrifying certainty, “One day, you’ll be mine whether you like it or not.”

And now… I was the one calling him.

But even marrying him felt like a better choice than staying here. In this five-year marriage to a man who shattered me without blinking.

Treston. My husband.

The man I gave everything to.

The man who cheated on me… with Summer. My best friend.

I found out months ago. By accident. Treston forgot to log out of our shared calendar. A hotel booking appeared—under both his name and Summer’s.

At first, I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. I asked. Calmly. Reasonably.

“She’s a client,” he said with that condescending smile. “You referred her to me, remember? You said she needed help setting up her brand. She’s your friend. Why are you acting like this?”

I wanted to believe him. I needed to believe him.

After all, Summer was my trusted friend. The one who held my hand at the wedding. The one who stayed up with me during my pregnancy scares. The one I used to call my sister. So, I turned a blind eye… and stayed.

Even when they started showing signs—subtle at first, then slowly no longer trying to hide it—I stayed quiet.

The way Summer’s hand lingered just a bit too long on his arm when they joked. The way they always exchanged glances during dinners, as if they shared some inside joke I wasn’t invited to. Late-night chats between them that lit up his phone screen long after I had fallen asleep. At first, I thought I was being paranoid. Overthinking. Hormonal.

But Summer began leaving little hints—cruel in their carelessness.

Once, she sent me a photo of them at a “client lunch,” and when I asked why she’d send that, she replied, “Oops, wrong chat. Sorry, babe! Total mistake lol.”

Another time, she messaged me: “If I were you, I’d start checking his phone more… men can be weak sometimes, right?”Followed by a wink emoji.

She even knew things she shouldn’t—details of my arguments with Treston, things I had only told him. And yet she’d bring them up, twisting them into jokes, into playful digs.

I saw it. I felt it.

But I still stayed.

Because I was pregnant.

And because I still wanted to believe they wouldn’t do that to me.

I was a fool.

But two days ago, everything crumbled.

I was seven months pregnant. Feeling dizzy. Cramping. Something didn’t feel right. I called Treston, asking him to take me to the hospital.

But it wasn’t Treston who answered.

It was Summer.

“Oh, hey. He’s busy right now,” she said, giggling between moans, and in a low teasing whisper said, “In between my thighs. Oh…”

I couldn’t even speak. I ended the call, hands shaking, and dragged myself down from the bed.

I walked alone. I remember the screech of tires before anything else. The smell of beer. The crash.

Then blackness.

When I opened my eyes, I was in a sterile hospital room. IV in my arm. Pain slicing through my abdomen.

The nurse stood beside me, her eyes too careful.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “The baby… couldn’t be saved.”

I froze, not knowing what to do. I reached for my phone and called the one person I still hoped would care. But instead of comfort, his voice was ice.

“Of course it’s your fault,” he snapped. “You can’t even protect your own baby. You’re useless. Honestly, it should’ve been you who died instead. But it’s better now, it’s not like I care. Just go to work once you’re done in the hospital, I have a lot of things you need to do.”

Right. I was no longer a wife but just his secretary now.

Then he hung up. That was it.

No hospital visit. No tears. No apology.

The next morning, I received a message.

From Summer. A series of photos—her, Treston, and a little boy. Around three years old. Treston’s eyes. Summer’s curls. They went on a trip out of the country while I was bleeding to death.

Don’t worry about the baby, He never cared anyway. He already has an heir. Why don’t you vanish? You’re the mistress in this story. You always were.

That was the last straw. I knew I had to leave.

My thoughts were interrupted when a nurse came into the room, clipboard in hand. “Mrs. Villarez, you’re cleared for discharge now.”

I nodded slowly. Dragged myself up.

Pain throbbed in my side, but I moved like a ghost—quiet, invisible, floating between walls that no longer held any meaning.

As I stepped into the hallway, I pulled out my phone again and called my lawyer.

“I want a divorce,” I said coldly. “Immediately.”

“Amber, are you sure? What about your father? If you leave him, Treston will cut off the funding for his treatment. And you… you have nowhere else to go.”

That was the truth.

Aside from the baby, that was always the reason I couldn’t walk away.

My father. He was the only one who stayed with me when my mother died. He raised me, taught me how to dream big, how to carry myself with pride even in a room full of people who wanted to tear me down. We used to belong to something powerful—a legacy built over generations.

I was once an heir to a billionaire family name. My father's company was one of the most powerful in the tech and medical industries. Until everything crumbled.

One by one, his trusted board members betrayed him. Investors pulled out. Partnerships collapsed. The news said it was poor leadership.

But it wasn’t. He was scammed.

And before the lawsuits even began, my father was in a car accident—one that left him in a coma and clinging to life. Some whispered that it wasn’t really an accident. I believed that.

And that’s when he came into the picture.

Treston Villarez. The so-called "savior" of our family's legacy.

He stepped in with a proposition.

Marry him, and he’d acquire and "revive" our company. In return, he’d pay for all my father’s medical treatments and hospital care indefinitely. At the time, it felt like the only choice I had.

I became his secretary… and his wife.

Silently. Secretly.

He didn’t want anyone to know. He said it was for “business reasons,” that a CEO married to the daughter of a collapsed company would raise eyebrows. And I… I stayed quiet, sacrificing myself to the shadows for the sake of my father’s life.

But now? Now, there was no child. No love. No point.

So I gripped the phone tighter and said to the lawyer, “I don’t need him anymore. Finalize the divorce.”

The next morning, I went to the office. Not as his wife. Just his secretary. The same way I had lived for the last five years.

I walked straight to HR and requested they start hiring a replacement. “I’ll train whoever you hire,” I told them. “I’m resigning by the end of the week.”

They looked surprised. But no one argued. I returned to my desk and began scanning the old files, organizing what I could. I didn’t expect him to notice immediately.

But of course, he did.

Treston stormed into the main office without knocking.

“What’s going on?” he snapped. “Why did HR notify me about a hiring request?”

I stood, calmly. “I’m resigning. I’d like to take some time off… rest.”

His eyes narrowed. “Rest? Are you insane? Have you forgotten about your father? I’m the only reason he’s still breathing. You are my secretary and I don’t want anyone!”

I looked at him and said quietly, “I’m also your wife.”

“Shut up!” he hissed, looking over his shoulder. “Someone might hear you. You know we agreed to keep that a secret. What the hell are you thinking, blabbing that out here? We'll talk at home—when you’re sober.”

Then, without warning, he grabbed a stack of files and threw them onto my desk, scattering papers everywhere.

“Fix this. Organize the files. Reschedule my meetings. And also—book a flight for me.”

“Where to?” I asked, swallowing the shake in my voice.

He smiled cruelly. “With Summer. We have business in London.”

I froze. “Why Summer?”

“She’s a client,” he said flatly. “She needs my guidance. Why do we keep talking about this? Did you become stupid after losing a baby?”

I gritted my teeth. “What kind of client needs her CEO to accompany her across the country?”

That was when he slapped me.

Hard. My head turned with the force, my cheek stinging with heat and shame. My chest tightened—but I didn’t let myself cry.

“What kind of secretary questions what her boss tells her to do?” he snapped.

Before I could speak, Summer walked in, heels clacking like daggers on marble.

“Oh, don’t be so harsh on Amber,” she cooed. “She just got out of the hospital. Let me help her.”

She bent down, picked up the scattered papers, and handed them to me with a fake smile. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”

But as she leaned in closer, her lips brushed my ear. “You really have the audacity to show up after everything,” she whispered. “He doesn’t want you, Amber. He never did.”

I didn’t flinch. I wouldn’t give her that satisfaction.

Treston waved her over. “That’s enough. Let her do her work. Come on, Summer—we need to finalize your brand rollout.”

She clung to his arm like she belonged there, and together, they walked into his office.

As they disappeared, I heard the whispers.

From the hallway. Two employees talking by the water cooler.

“They look good together, don’t they? Treston and Summer?”

“Yeah, I always thought it was her. Maybe she’s the secret wife people talk about.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. Hard.

I didn’t say a word. I just kept working.

Fixing the files. Booking the flights. Finishing the reports like nothing had happened.

I was on my way out, finally ready to leave for the day, when I passed by his office again.

The lights were still on.

I thought they were gone.

But then I heard his voice through the slightly cracked door.

“I think I just have to kill her father,” Treston said, his tone disturbingly casual. “Then I can finally dispose of her.”

“I think I just have to kill her father,” Treston said, his tone disturbingly casual. “Then I can finally dispose of her.”

My body turned to ice.

I stood frozen just outside his office door, every breath caught in my throat. I didn’t move. I couldn’t. My fingers clutched my bag so tightly I thought the straps would snap.

He wasn’t joking. He wasn’t angry.

He meant every word.

I thought that was the end of it—his cruelty. His audacity. But then he laughed again, voice thick with arrogance.

“She’s so damn stupid. Imagine thinking I was her savior. Me,” he scoffed. “The truth is, I’ve always been the villain. I’m the reason her family lost everything.”

My knees weakened. I had to press against the wall to stay upright.

He continued, voice lowering with pride, “Our companies were rivals, remember? And then when that merger was being discussed, everyone thought it was a win-win. But she wasn’t paying attention—too busy living in her little world, ignoring board meetings, pretending business didn’t concern her.”

I remembered that. I remembered hearing whispers about a partnership between our companies. I met Treston once during a corporate charity gala, and even then, something about him felt… dangerous. But I didn’t care about corporate politics. I left it to my father. He always said he’d protect me from that world.

Until he couldn’t anymore.

“Her father never saw it coming,” Treston said with a cruel chuckle. “I orchestrated the scam. The investor collapse. Everything. And when the crash came and the old man landed in that coma, all I had to do was act like a hero.”

Summer giggled. “And now she thinks you’re her only lifeline.”

“She was,” Treston said. “But now? I don’t need her anymore. I own everything. Their name. Their legacy. Her father’s treatment is just leverage until I’m done securing these final investors.”

Summer’s voice lowered. “What if she finds out the truth?”

Treston scoffed. “Even if she does, it’s too late. I already won. The company is mine. Her father is practically mine. What can she do?”

“And what about me?” Summer asked, sounding suddenly annoyed. “Why not divorce her already and marry me? Our son’s getting older. Don’t you want people to know he has a father?”

Treston kissed her. “Relax, babe. Just wait a little longer. Once I close this investor deal, I’ll get rid of her. I still need her name—for now. These investors still believe in her and her father. They’re the only ones who defended him after the scandal. But once they sign…”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

He didn’t have to.

They laughed together.

And that was it.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t even feel anger. I felt emptiness.

The five years I gave him. The loyalty. The silence. The sacrifices. The marriage. It was never love. Never real. I was just part of his long con. A pawn.

I walked away from the door, heart hollow. I refused to cry again.

Later that afternoon, I visited my father.

I sat beside his hospital bed, gently holding his hand, and whispered, “I’m sorry, Papa… I should’ve listened to those board meetings. I should’ve asked you more questions. Maybe if I had, you wouldn’t be here. Maybe I could’ve stopped all of this before it happened.”

His chest rose and fell rhythmically, peacefully.

“I’m going to make things right,” I promised. “Even if I have to destroy everything to do it.”

As if on cue, my phone buzzed.

A message from Niccolo.

Everything is ready for you and your father. See you in three days. You’re finally mine now, Amber. There’s no way I’m letting go.

Niccolo. My sworn rival back in college. Ruthless. Brilliant. Obsessively interested in me. And the man I had called one week ago in desperation.

The man who had always told me that someday, I would need him. And now… I did.

I went home, still feeling like I was sleepwalking through a nightmare. But the nightmare wasn’t done with me yet.

Because there, in the living room, was Summer. And a child. A little boy, barely three. Running around the house like it was his own. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen him. Summer once brought him over, casually saying, “He’s my friend’s son. I need to babysit him for a few days.”

And Treston… he’d started asking me to buy baby gifts a year ago.

“For a client,” he’d said. “I need to make a good impression on her son.”

I believed him. God, I was such a fool.

Summer had disappeared abroad three years ago—right after our wedding. When she returned a year later, she never talked about where she’d been. I never asked. I trusted her.

Now I knew. She had been carrying his child. And I had been buying gifts for their son.

My thoughts were spinning when the little boy ran through the hallway, knocking into the altar at the center of the living room.

The urn fell.

My mother’s urn.

Shattered.

My scream echoed through the house. “What the hell did you just do?!”

The child stared at me, confused, then started crying.

He ran—toward the stairs.

“Wait—no!”

Before I could catch him, his foot slipped. He tumbled, fast, his small body bouncing down the wooden steps with a sickening thud.

Everything went still. My breath caught. And all I could do was stare at the broken urn… and the child on the floor.