Lucas had told me he’d be leaving town for a quick business trip.

“Only two days,” he’d murmured, pressing a kiss to my forehead like the devoted husband he pretended to be. “I’ll miss you.”

I smiled, played along, and waved goodbye. The second his car disappeared down the driveway, I put my plan into motion.

For days, I had been memorizing his patterns, noting where he kept the things he guarded most. It didn’t take long to find the safe, hidden behind a framed painting in his office.

The passcode? Child’s play. Celeste Veyron’s birthday.

The lock gave way on my first try.

Inside was everything I had been looking for.

The first stack of documents stopped me cold: hospital contracts, organ donation approvals, surgical records—all confirming that Lucas had authorized my mother’s organ to be transplanted into Celeste’s sister.

Tears pricked my eyes, but I swallowed them back.

Next came the financial records. Wire transfers made out to Julian Sterling—my former fiancé. Officially, the paperwork listed them as business transactions. But I wasn’t naive anymore.

My hands shook as I dug deeper. Jewelry receipts, designer brands, luxury getaways. Each one labeled as “corporate expenses,” but every single item had been for Celeste.

Then I uncovered a second set of receipts—the ones meant for me. Necklaces, rings, dresses. I had once thought them extravagant, symbols of his affection. But compared to Celeste’s treasures, they were scraps.

The truth slammed into me like a blow. I had never been his choice. I was simply the stand-in. A convenient cover for his obsession.

I sank onto the office floor, surrounded by his lies. The tears finally fell—scalding, bitter. But only for a moment.

Then I clenched my fists. Enough.

I pulled out my phone and began documenting everything. The hospital files, the transactions, the receipts—I photographed every page.

At the very bottom of the safe lay a folder marked Future Assets. Inside were property deeds, insurance policies, investment portfolios. I copied those too.

When I was finished, I returned everything exactly as I had found it, shut the safe, and walked out.

No hesitation. No glance back.

My next stop: my lawyer’s office.

“Mrs. Rosenthal,” he said, startled as I stepped through the door without an appointment. “I wasn’t expecting—”

“I need divorce papers,” I cut him off, my tone calm and steady.

He blinked. “Does Mr. Rosenthal—”

“He doesn’t know,” I interrupted sharply. “And I’d like to keep it that way. For now.”

He hesitated, then nodded. “We already have a draft prepared. Just your signature is missing.”

He slid the documents toward me. I skimmed them quickly. Everything was in order.

With a steady hand, I signed at the bottom.

“Send them to him after I’m gone,” I instructed. “Not before.”

“Gone?” he echoed, puzzled.

I offered no explanation. I simply left.

The next place was hidden in a forgotten alley, its faded sign nearly illegible.

An underground agency. The kind that specialized in erasing people.

The air reeked of smoke and damp paper when I stepped inside. Behind the counter sat a man in a hood, his face shadowed.

“You lost?” he asked lazily.

“No,” I said, my voice firm. “I need your help.”

His eyes narrowed. “What kind of help?”

“I need to disappear. Completely.”

He leaned back, scrutinizing me. “You even know what that means?”

“Yes.”

A slow smirk tugged at his lips. “And why should I believe I can do that for you?”

I pulled a thick stack of crisp, unmarked cash from my bag and laid it on the counter.

His smirk widened. “Now we’re speaking the same language.”

He gestured for me to follow him into a back room humming with machinery, walls lined with glowing monitors.

“Here’s how it works,” he explained. “We’ll fake your death. Could be a car accident, a drowning, whatever fits. Once it’s done, you’ll get new papers, a new identity. No one will ever trace you.”

My resolve didn’t waver. I nodded.

“I want it staged as a suicide,” I said evenly. “Something believable. No unfinished threads.”

He handed me a clipboard. “Fill this out. We’ll take care of the rest.”

The headline flashed across my screen before I even processed the words.

“Lucas Rosenthal and Celeste Veyron spotted at elite auction—chemistry still undeniable after all these years.”

My chest constricted, the ache spreading like fire.

I froze, staring at my phone as though it had betrayed me. There they were—Lucas and Celeste, picture-perfect, glowing as if the world revolved around them. Their closeness, the way they smiled at each other—it was intimate, far too intimate.

Every photo showed the same thing: Celeste’s hand brushing his arm, his gaze lingering on her like she was his entire universe. They looked like a dream couple, the kind plastered on glossy magazine covers, exuding elegance and charm.

And yet, he had told me he was on a business trip.

This wasn’t business. This was a date.

My hands trembled as I scrolled through the article, each sentence sRosenthal than a blade. The writer gushed over their “spark,” their “unbreakable bond.” Every word sliced me open.

The phone slipped from my grip and landed on the couch. My vision blurred. My chest tightened so hard I couldn’t breathe. The betrayal I had been too afraid to acknowledge was no longer deniable—it was right there in front of me.

But then my hand instinctively went to my stomach.

The baby.

I closed my eyes, breathing slowly as I rested my palm over the small swell. This innocent life didn’t deserve my anguish. No matter how shattered I was, my child was a gift, a light. I had to be strong—not for me, but for us.

That’s why I went to the hospital.

The sterile scent didn’t calm me, but the doctor’s gentle voice did. As the ultrasound wand moved across my stomach, the rhythmic flicker of a heartbeat appeared on the screen.

“Everything looks perfect,” she said warmly. “You’re carrying a healthy baby.”

Tears filled my eyes, but this time they weren’t born of pain. Relief spread through me, washing away the heaviness, if only for a moment. For the first time in weeks, I felt something other than despair.

I felt hope.

Leaving the clinic, I knew what I needed to do next.

Rosenthal Enterprises.

The towering glass building that once felt like home now looked foreign, unwelcoming. Inside, the polished lobby hummed with activity. I clutched my resignation letter tightly as I approached a staff member.

“Is Mr. Rosenthal in his office?” I asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” she replied, shifting uneasily. “But you can’t go in right now.”

“Why not? I’m his wife.”

Her hesitation was obvious. “He… has an important visitor. He asked not to be disturbed.”

Shock froze me. He hadn’t even mentioned he was back. “Visitor? Who?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I can’t say.”

My jaw tightened, anger bubbling beneath the surface. “I am his wife,” I repeated firmly.

She only shook her head. “Mr. Rosenthal left strict instructions.”

I forced myself to stay composed. “Fine,” I clipped, before walking away.

But I didn’t leave.

Quietly, I made my way down the hall toward his office. The door was ajar. My pulse hammered as I paused—part of me screaming not to look, not to confirm what I already feared.

And yet I peeked inside.

The sight ripped the air from my lungs.

Lucas stood by his desk with Celeste in his arms. Their faces were too close. Then his lips touched hers.

My heart stopped. The world collapsed.

They kissed like no one else existed. His hand rested on her waist, her smile melted into him—it was intimate, tender, devastating.

I wanted to barge in, to scream, to tear apart the illusion they had built for themselves.

But instead, I pulled out my phone. My hands shook, but I snapped a photo—capturing Celeste’s smug smile mid-kiss, proof of everything.

Perfect.

I left my resignation letter neatly on his table and walked out. Back in my car, I stared at the image, the betrayal seared into my mind. Then I created a fake social media account and sent the photo directly to Julian—Celeste’s husband.

Back home, I packed everything Lucas had ever given me. Every piece of jewelry, every dress, every reminder of his lies. I carried the boxes downstairs, lit a fire, and tossed them in. Flames devoured them, smoke curling into the night.

That’s when Celeste appeared.

She kicked the burning boxes suddenly, scattering embers and charred photos. Sparks danced against her skin, but she only smiled.

My eyes widened. “Celeste, what the hell are you doing?”

She tilted her head, feigning innocence. “Oops! My mistake. I slipped. I didn’t mean to.” Then she glanced at the burning photos. “Wait… are these pictures of you and Lucas? Why would you destroy them? Oh—I see. You finally realized you’re worthless to him.”

My brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”

Her smile widened cruelly. “I’m just saying… you couldn’t even save your mother back then. She died, and you—useless as always—did nothing.”

The words ignited me. Without thinking, my hand flew.

The slap wasn’t even hard, but she stumbled straight into the fire.

I blinked, startled. I hadn’t seen it coming. Before I could react, someone shoved me hard from behind, knocking me to the ground—only for Celeste to be scooped into strong, protective arms.

My chest ached as though it might split in two, and then came the final blow—Lucas turned to me, his eyes filled not with love but with anger.

“What the hell, Liora? Celeste came here just to greet you, and you lashed out at her without warning?”

His glare cut through me. In that moment, I was no longer his wife in his eyes—just someone to blame.

I swallowed hard and met his stare with one of my own. “She insulted my mother. She called me useless. Do you really think I’d stay quiet about that? Especially when you never explained what happened back then? You told me the surgery failed… and that was it.”

For a split second, I caught it—the flicker of panic in his eyes. But just as quickly, he masked it with cold indifference.

“Explained?” he scoffed. “We already talked about this. Your mother’s condition was critical—there was nothing more anyone could do. Why are you acting like I hid something from you?”

He was hiding something. I knew it. But now wasn’t the time to reveal what I’d discovered. My revenge needed patience.

“Regardless,” he went on sharply, “that doesn’t justify you hurting Celeste when she was only being kind. I want you to apologize to her. Now.”

Before I could respond, Celeste interjected, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “It’s fine, Lucas. She must still resent me for when Julian broke off their engagement and married me instead. Maybe I earned that slap. Don’t blame her. Think of this as me making amends.”

I clenched my fists as the two of them turned their backs on me.

Halfway down the hall, I overheard Celeste murmur, “If she despises me this much, maybe we should stop seeing each other. I wouldn’t want to cause problems for you.”

That was it. My final straw. Lucas was nothing to me now.

I returned to the fire, continuing to burn five years’ worth of lies disguised as love.

A little while later, my phone buzzed. It was a message from Lucas:

I’m sorry, love. I know I hurt you by asking you to apologize, but Celeste is leading the Sterling project. I didn’t want the company to suffer. Once everything’s settled, I’ll make it up to you. Remember I promised you a gift? Please don’t be upset.

I didn’t bother replying. He loved Celeste. I was nothing more than her shadow.

Upstairs, I grabbed the bag I had packed earlier and left the house. The hotel room I checked into was cold and empty, but solitude was exactly what I needed.

I had barely settled in when my phone rang. It was a staff member from the company.

“Ma’am, where are you? Did you forget about the investor meeting today?”

But the voice I heard in the background froze me. Lucas—ordering his staff to gather specialists immediately to treat Celeste.

A bitter laugh escaped me. A scratch—that’s all she had. Yet he was ready to throw millions into her care.

I hung up and told the secretary I wouldn’t be attending.

Not long after, Lucas himself began calling. I answered, but he didn’t realize I was on the line right away—he was too busy instructing his secretary.

“Sir, are you certain you want to revise the contract? If we proceed, the company could lose tens of millions.”

“Do it,” Lucas snapped. “I promised Celeste. What she wants, she gets.”

My grip tightened on the phone.

Once the secretary left, he finally remembered me. “Hey, love. They told me you skipped the investor meeting. Are you okay? That was important—”

“I’m not feeling well,” I lied.

“Oh. Then I’ll cancel the rest of the meetings. Just rest. I’ll be back soon.”

But he never came home that night.

Instead, as I scrolled through social media, I stumbled across a livestream from a popular boutique. At first, I didn’t care—until I saw them in the background.

Lucas and Celeste. Together. He was busy helping her choose a dress.

That was my breaking point. I called my lawyer and instructed him to deliver the divorce papers to Lucas' staff immediately. Then I contacted the agency to confirm the final step of my plan.

Later, in his office, I could almost picture it: his secretary rushing in, pale and shaken, shoving a tablet into his hands.

“Sir… we have a problem. It seems Madam Liora discovered what happened to her mother five years ago—and she’s demanding a divorce.”

Shock would have registered on his face, only to be interrupted by another staff member bursting in.

“Sir! Bad news—someone just called. Madam Liora… she’s dead. She killed herself. She couldn’t live with what you did to her mother.”