I knew it was wrong. Every fiber in my being screamed that it was. But what choice did I have?

I was carrying a child that was never wanted by the man who helped create it. A child whose existence meant nothing to him, and everything to me. A child whose life now sat at the crossroads of my own.

If Jameson wanted to be free, then I’d give him that freedom. I’d let him be happy with Rose, with his lies, with his grand dreams of inheritance soaked in betrayal.

So that morning, I forced myself to walk into the office of a divorce lawyer. The air was cold. Too cold.

“I want to file for divorce,” I said, voice flat.

The lawyer, an older man in a neat gray suit, pushed up his glasses and scanned the prenup. “Mrs. Diana, according to this clause… you cannot legally initiate a divorce unless one of the grandfathers—either yours or Mr. Jameson’s—provides written consent.”

“I’ll get my grandfather to sign it,” I said without hesitation. “File it.”

He gave me a strange look. A pitied one. But I didn’t have time for pity.

I left his office feeling lighter. A strange mix of dread and relief swirled in my chest.

When I got home, I didn’t notice the water on the marble floor near the entrance. My heel caught. My weight shifted.

And then—Pain. White-hot, blinding pain.

I screamed as I hit the ground, my knees buckling first, then my elbow slamming against the floor. A sharp crack ran through my leg. I tried to move—but something was wrong. I was wrong.

“Help!” I cried.

Footsteps thundered. Jameson appeared.

But instead of helping me, his face twisted in disgust. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

My mouth trembled. “I think—I think I broke something. I slipped—”

“Are you trying to harm the baby?” he barked. “You’re so goddamn clumsy. You always do this! If anything happens to my child—”

“I—I can’t move—”

“Then try harder. God, you’re pathetic. Do you know how important this child is to my family? To me?”

Before I could respond, she arrived. Rose. Hair perfectly curled. Face painted in innocence.

“Oh my God, Diana,” she gasped. “This is all my fault! I left the floor wet when I started cooking for you. I—I was just too excited and forgot to clean it. I didn’t mean for this to happen. We should bring her to the hospital. I mean, what about the baby?”

Jameson’s voice instantly softened. “It’s not your fault, baby. It’s her fault for not looking before walking. And, you shouldn’t be cooking anyway. She should be doing that. Where have you even been all day, Diana?”

I couldn’t speak. My whole body trembled from betrayal. All I could think about was the baby, and it seems like this was the last straw. I thought I could still find reason now to terminate this, but I will now.

“You should’ve cooked for us!” he yelled. “What’s the point of having a wife who does nothing?”

“I’ll clean it,” I whispered, trying to sit up, even as pain radiated through my body.

Rose knelt beside me. “Jameson, we should take her to the hospital—”

“No,” he said. “She’ll be fine. Let’s just go out. I know you’re starving.”

He kissed her right in front of me. Right above where I lay broken.

Before they left, Jameson threw a mop down beside me. “Clean it before Rose slips, too.”

Rose smiled. Bent down. “Don’t be too hard on her,” she said sweetly. “She’s your wife.”

Then, quieter—right into my ear—”Wife on paper. I’m the real one. So why don’t you disappear already?”

And just like that, they were gone.

I stayed on the floor, unable to move for what felt like hours. Eventually, I crawled to the bedroom, dragging my weight like a dying animal.

Once there, I vomited again. My body was rejecting everything. My hands trembled. I was cold and burning at the same time.

Then—darkness.

When I woke, the air smelled strange. Bitter. Smoky.

I sat up, and it hit me all at once. Smoke.

The house was on fire. I coughed violently, stumbling to my feet. The kitchen—there must have been something left on the stove. Rose’s cooking. Of course. She must have purposely done this to kill me.

“Help!” I screamed, covering my nose with my arm.

But the smoke was getting thicker. My legs buckled again. I reached for my phone. I called Jameson. No answer.

I called again. Nothing.

Tears fell freely as I opened my contacts. My last chance.

“Grandfather…” I whispered as it rang. “Please… help me… help…”

I collapsed before I could hear his voice.

When I opened my eyes again, I was in a white room. A hospital. The IV in my arm dripped slowly.

I could hear voices outside.

“You need to choose between her and the baby. The cancer is spreading too fast, and then it also affects her body due to the smoke filling her lungs.”

There was a pause. Then a new voice. Familiar. Deep. Strong.

“Terminate it,” he said. “Save Diana. No matter what.”

Wait, Jameson? No. Not him.

Could it be Killian? The man whose heart I broke years ago?

I woke up to the sterile scent of antiseptic and the soft hum of a heart monitor beside me. The room was dim, but morning light tried to press its way through the half-closed curtains. Something cold brushed gently across my arm.

“You’re okay now, sweetheart,” the nurse whispered, her voice kind. She was tending to my skin—burned in patches, especially along my arms. Her hands moved gently, as though she knew the pain didn’t stop at the surface.

Pain pulsed through my ribs when I tried to shift. My lips parted.

“The baby…” I croaked. “Where’s my baby?”

The nurse paused. Her eyes softened with something I recognized all too well—pity.

She didn’t need to say it.

But she did anyway, her voice soft and apologetic.

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

It felt like my world stopped. Like the bed I lay on opened up and swallowed me whole. My hands trembled, slowly moving to my belly.

Flat. Too flat. Empty.

The sharpest pain didn’t come from the burns or the bruises. It came from the silence where a heartbeat should’ve been.

A sob broke out of me before I could stop it. And then another. Until I couldn’t breathe.

The nurse stayed close, gently placing a hand on my shoulder.

“You’re lucky,” she whispered after a moment. “Your husband was the one who insisted we save you. He wouldn’t leave your side. Said he didn’t care what it took, just save his wife. He was so worried. So devoted. You should’ve seen how he looked at you.”

I blinked through my tears. My chest stilled for a beat.

Jameson? Jameson saved me?

I tried to sit up, the confusion churning in my gut. I didn’t understand.

“Jameson?” I whispered.

She tilted her head. “Jameson? No… the man who brought you in… his name was Killian.”

The air rushed out of my lungs. My hands dropped from the blanket.

Of course. Of course, it wasn’t Jameson. Why would the man who wanted me dead try to keep me alive?

I reached for my phone with shaky fingers. My hands trembled as I opened my call log.

The last number I dialed—Killian.

I thought I’d called my grandfather in those last moments, but my fingers must have moved on instinct. They remembered the man who once loved me when my heart couldn’t.

Killian. My ex-boyfriend. My once-best friend. The man whose heart I broke when I told him I wanted to focus on my studies, on building a future—only to fall for Jameson and say yes when our families arranged a merger through marriage.

He was the one who came. Not Jameson.

I never expected Killian to still care. I hurt him. Walked away from him when he loved me most. And yet, he came back when I needed him most.

I was about to call him—to say thank you, to say I’m sorry—when the door slammed open.

Jameson stood in the doorway. Face red. Rage pouring off him like steam.

"You bitch!" he snarled.

Before I could even react, his hand came down hard across my cheek.

The sound cracked through the room.

My head snapped sideways. My skin burned. My lip split.

“What did you do to my child?!” he shouted.

Tears blurred my vision as I clutched the blanket.

“I didn’t—Jameson, I was in a fire. I was dying. I didn’t choose this—”

“You should’ve saved the baby!” he screamed. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?! I don’t care about your excuses! Someone should’ve died—and it should’ve been you!”

I gasped.

"You didn’t even come!" I cried. "I was begging for help—calling for you—and you were with her. With Rose!"

Another slap. This time across the other cheek. My neck stung. My skull throbbed.

“Now you’re blaming me?” he shouted. “Trying to make this about me? What now? Who helped you?! Who saved you? Tell me! Are you screwing him? Cheating on me while lying in a hospital bed?”

“I didn’t—”

“I swear to God,” he growled, fists clenched, “if I find out you’ve been with another man—”

I flinched as he raised his hand again, but before it could fall, his phone rang. He answered it with a furious grunt.

"What?" he barked.

His face paled slightly. Then twisted.

"My grandfather," he muttered, throwing a glare at me. “He’s asking about the baby.”

He paused. Then shouted into the phone again, pacing the room like a caged animal.

When he hung up, he turned to me with venom in his voice.

“You worthless, useless bitch,” he spat. “Do you know what you’ve done? You’ve ruined everything. My inheritance. My future. My name. I should’ve let you burn in that fire.”

And just like that, he stormed out.

Leaving me alone.

Broken.

Bleeding.

My chest heaved as I stared at the door.

He had never loved me. I thought I could endure it for the baby—for the peace of pretending—but now, there was nothing to hold on to.

Except myself. No more. No more slaps. No more threats. No more pretending.

I picked up the hospital phone and called the police.

“This is Diana Hartwell,” I said clearly. “I want to report a crime. Arson. I believe it was intentional.”

The woman on the other end asked questions, and I answered them as calmly as I could.

“Do you have a suspect?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. “Her name is Rose Smith.”

I hung up before the weight of the decision could sink in. I knew she wouldn’t go down easily. But I was done playing victim in a story I didn’t write.

Later that night, my phone rang.

The name that flashed across the screen made my eyes water.

“Grandpa,” I whispered.

I answered, and his voice filled the silence.

“I heard what happened. Killian told me everything,” he said, voice trembling with fury and concern. “Don’t worry, my dear. Everything is being arranged. I’ll come pick you up in two days. Just hold on.”

My hand tightened around the phone.

“Two days…” I whispered.

Two days until I leave this life behind.

Not a single visit. Not a single text. Not a single word from Jameson.

I stayed in the hospital for the rest of the day, wrapped in silence and the faint scent of antiseptic. My body ached, my skin still tender from the burns, and my heart... I couldn’t even tell if it was still beating properly. Everything inside me felt quiet. Empty.

Until the lawyer’s message arrived.

“Your divorce has been finalized, Miss Hartwell. The paperwork is complete and will be mailed to both parties.”

I stared at the message for a long moment. My fingers trembled, but not from grief. From relief.

Finally.

Another message pinged moments later—this one from Jameson’s grandfather.

“I expect to see you at my birthday celebration tomorrow. Wear something elegant. I have something to discuss with you.”

I typed back quickly.

“I’ll be there.”

But I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t step into that house again—not with Rose parading around as the future Mrs. Hartwell. Not with Jameson pretending to still own pieces of me.

I had no intention of going. I would send a gift and vanish.

That was the plan.

When I was discharged from the hospital the next morning, I didn’t head straight to the hotel like I’d planned. Instead, I lingered in the hallway, waiting for the nurse to return my phone. As soon as I had it, I clutched my bag and turned toward the exit—

Only to be shoved back against the wall.

“Did you really file a case of arson against me?” Rose’s voice hissed close to my face, eyes wild. “You’re insane.”

I pushed her away, staggering. “You tried to kill me, Rose.”

She laughed. Laughed.

“Yeah? Well, too bad it didn’t work. Guess I’ll have to finish the job myself.”

She lunged at me again, grabbing my hair. I didn’t think—I reacted. I yanked hers back. We stumbled, locked in a pathetic fight that reeked of anger and years of buried pain.

“You stole everything from me!” I shouted. “My husband. My home. My future. But I’m not the same woman you thought you broke.”

Rose smirked through the pain. “He never loved you, Diana. He pitied you. You were just the key to the Hartwell fortune. And you still couldn’t give him what he wanted.”

“Because he doesn’t deserve it,” I spat.

That’s when the door slammed open.

“What the hell is going on?” Jameson barked.

Perfect timing.

Rose immediately burst into tears, throwing herself dramatically to the side. “She attacked me, Jameson! I came to say sorry. I just wanted to ask her to drop the case. But she... she wouldn’t even listen—”

“You liar!” I shouted, but Jameson had already made up his mind.

“Stop humiliating us!” he yelled at me. “Drop the damn case, Diana! You’re giving this family a bad name!”

“She tried to kill me!” I screamed, pointing at Rose.

Jameson scoffed. “It was an accident. You don’t even have proof. And now you’re turning into some paranoid lunatic? You should be thanking her for taking care of me when you were useless.”

I stared at him. Dead in the eyes.

I could’ve screamed again.

I could’ve argued.

But I didn’t.

What was the point? There was no love left here. Just ashes.

“Let’s go,” Jameson snapped, grabbing my wrist. “The house is still a mess and you’re going to clean it. Since you’re so good at destroying things, you can start by fixing that.”

“I’m not even fully healed,” I said quietly.

“I don’t care. You owe me. You owe me for our child.”

His grip was cruel, but I didn’t flinch.

On the way home, Rose sat beside him, stroking his arm and whispering things I couldn’t hear. Her eyes, however, never left me. She was gloating. She had won.

She could have it all.

Because I was leaving.

The house smelled like burnt plastic and damp wood. The fire hadn’t consumed it all—only my side of the master bedroom. The one they knew I used the most. How convenient.

He’d expected me to come back here and be their maid.

And I did.

Just for now.

I picked up a broom. Swept the floor. Scrubbed what I could. I did it with bleeding palms and broken pride. But my mind was already elsewhere. Already packing my bags.

Later, after cleaning, I took all the things Jameson had ever given me—the dresses, the perfume, the fake love letters, even our wedding album—and dumped them in the metal drum out back. I lit a match and watched it all go up in flames.

Rose appeared behind me, her arms folded. “Good. Burn it all. Burn the lies you wrapped yourself in.”

I didn’t respond.

She stepped closer, tilting her head.

“So? When are you going to leave? Or are you going to cling around here forever pretending to be a wife when you never were?”

I turned to her, smiling softly. “Don’t worry. You’ll never see me again.”

I leaned close to whisper in her ear.

“Enjoy being ‘Miss Hartwell.’ But remember… it was a title bought with ashes. I’ll make sure you’ll never be happy.”

And I walked back into the house for the last time.