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.

Later that night, just as I was trying to close my eyes and get some rest, the door burst open with a slam. Jameson stepped inside like he owned the air I breathed, tossing his designer suit and one of my old dresses onto the end of my hospital bed.

“I need these ironed,” he snapped. “Grandfather’s birthday is tomorrow. You’re coming with me.”

I didn’t respond.

He continued, voice sharp and cold, “You’ll explain what happened with the baby. You’ll tell him we’re going to try again. That we’ll give him a proper heir. He wants reassurance before he hands over the inheritance. So go there, smile, and fix what you broke.”

I looked at him, silent. Calm. A kind of numb I never used to be.

“Why not ask for a child from your precious Rose?” I said quietly.

Jameson’s jaw ticked. He turned slowly, eyes dark. “What now?” he barked. “Are you really bringing her up again? Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, Diana. We’re past this. She’s not the problem—you are.”

But I knew better. I wasn’t guessing anymore. I’d overheard them once—Jameson and Rose—talking late one night when they thought I was asleep. I had crept halfway down the stairs, only to freeze at Rose’s sharp whisper.

“I told you I can’t have children, Jameson. Your grandfather will never approve of me.”

And Jameson had sighed, frustration laced with defeat. “I know. That’s why I married Diana. I need the heir. Once that’s done... once I have the inheritance... we can do whatever the hell we want.”

That was the real reason I was chosen. Not for love. For lineage. For profit. I was nothing more than a womb to them. A placeholder. A pawn.

And now, even the one thing they needed from me was gone. And now it was all broken.

Jameson stormed out of the room, muttering curses under his breath. I stood there for a long moment, staring at the clothes he threw at me. Then I quietly walked to the table, plugged in the iron, and smoothed out the wrinkles. One last time. Not for him.

For closure. For myself.

I ironed the suit and my dress. Folded them neatly. Then I packed my things. I moved like someone preparing to disappear. Slowly. Carefully. Quietly.

The next morning, Jameson left early with Rose.

“She wants to stop by the salon,” he said, brushing past me. “We’ll meet you there.”

Rose gave me that smug little smirk as she walked behind him in designer heels she couldn’t afford without my name.

“Don’t be late,” Jameson muttered. “And make sure to bring something for Grandfather. He likes thoughtful gifts. Unlike you.”

The door slammed shut behind them.

And that was that.

I stood there for a moment, listening to the silence of the empty house. Then I picked up my suitcase.

The limousine was waiting just outside. A man in a black suit opened the door for me. I nodded silently and climbed in. I didn’t look back.

As the vehicle pulled away, my phone vibrated in my lap. A message lit up the screen.

Grandfather: “Come home now, my dear. Let’s start with your therapy as soon as possible. I would never want to lose you again. I’m proud of you—for walking away.”

Tears blurred my vision, but they didn’t fall.

At the airport, I kept my head down, mask on, hat low. My boarding pass trembled in my hand, but my heart did not. For once, I wasn’t scared. Just done.

As I sat in the lounge, waiting for the gate to open, my phone vibrated.

A message from Jameson’s grandfather.

Where are you, Diana? I had a necklace delivered to the house this morning for you to wear. Did you receive it?

I frowned.

Necklace? I never saw one.

Then another message came in, this time from Jameson.

If Grandpa asks about the necklace, say you lost it. Rose is wearing it. She said it matches her dress better. And where are you? I forgot my necktie. Bring it.

He didn’t even bother pretending anymore.

Another message, a minute later:

Jameson: Also, make sure he’ll be happy with the gift or I’ll hurt you again for being useless!

That was it. My thumb hovered over the keyboard. For a second, I considered deleting the text, blocking the number, and moving on without a word.

But then I smiled.

No. He needed one last message.

One last goodbye.

I typed slowly. Carefully.

I imagined the moment Jameson’s grandfather would open the gift. A sleek black box tied in blood-red ribbon.

Inside: the divorce papers, signed and sealed. My wedding ring—no longer warm from my skin, but cold and final. And photos. Dozens of them. Candid shots of Rose and Jameson—kissing, tangled in sheets, whispering things they thought no one else would hear. Proof of betrayal, packaged with elegance.

“Don’t worry, I already sent the gift to your grandfather. Something he’ll be thrilled about. And I won’t be coming today. Or ever again. Goodbye, Jameson.”

I hit send. Blocked the number. Turned off the phone.

As the boarding call echoed through the terminal, I picked up my bag, stood tall, and walked toward the gate… as I was finally free.