The message came early in the morning.

“Just wait five days. Then everything will be fine. I’m sorry for everything Jarren has done to you. I’ll make him pay—him and his mistress.” —Aurora

My fingers trembled slightly as I read the text again. And again.

Aurora. Jarren’s grandmother. The only person in that wretched family who had ever treated me like I mattered. I never expected her to respond, let alone help me. I thought they had poisoned her too—with their lies, their versions of truth. I thought she had turned her back on me like everyone else.

But she didn’t.

After I’d called her, sobbing and desperate, she came to me quietly. Held me while I fell apart. Listened as I poured out everything—the abuse, the betrayal, the ten attempts on my life.

I expected doubt. Judgment. Maybe even silence.

But Aurora only said one thing:

“They’ll regret ever touching you.”

She told me she never believed Elisa’s story about the affair. She had hired her own people to look into everything. The drugged wine. The fake photos. The staged betrayal. She knew the truth now.

And she was ready to help me vanish.

Divorce, she said, wasn’t enough. Not for people like Jarren, who held chains tighter than rings. So we’d fake it.

We’d fake my death.

Let them think they won. Let them dance on my grave. And let that be the beginning of their end.

That same afternoon, I started cleaning my room like I was purging a ghost. I pulled every box from the closet. Every album. Every token of the life I had once called love.

There were photos—smiling, bright. Me and Jarren at the beach. Me in my wedding dress. His arms around me, both of us laughing like we believed in forever.

We were once so full of dreams. I remember lazy Sunday mornings, sunlight spilling through the curtains while he made pancakes in the kitchen, humming off-key. I used to sneak up behind him and wrap my arms around his waist, and he’d lean back into me like I was his home.

I remember road trips with no destination, just his hand on mine over the gearshift, our favorite songs echoing through the car speakers. Nights we stayed up talking about everything and nothing. How he’d lift me off my feet in the rain just to keep my shoes dry. The way he looked at me like I was magic.

I remember the first time he kissed me.

The first time he told me I was his world.

Lies.

I tossed the albums into the fireplace one by one.

Letters. Cards. His shirt that still smelled like him.

Burned. The flames danced, eating away at what little innocence I had left. Smoke filled the room. I didn’t flinch.

I was done. But just as I dropped the last photo in, the door creaked open behind me.

Elisa. She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, lips twisted in her usual smugness. “What are you still doing here, bitch?” she sneered. “Haven’t you died enough? Ten lives aren’t enough for you?”

I didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

“Elisa,” I said calmly, “Don’t worry. I’m leaving in days…”

I stepped past her.

“You’ll never see me again.”

But she grabbed my wrist, nails digging into my skin.

“You’d better mean that. You don’t deserve him. You never did. He’s mine—you were just the placeholder.”

I stared at her hand until she let go, then walked out without another word.

Five more days. Just five.

Later that evening, I was folding what little I planned to leave behind—just enough to sell the illusion that I was still here—when the bedroom door slammed open.

Jarren. His face was dark with suspicion.

“What did you do to my grandmother?”

I blinked up at him.

“She’s asking for both of us to come to dinner. And now she’s talking about not giving the inheritance yet when she told me I would have it.” He stepped closer, eyes narrowing. “Did you tell her something? Huh? Did you tell her about us?”

I swallowed. “No. I didn’t say anything.”

His jaw tightened. “If I find out that you ruined my chances, Hayley—if I learn you told her lies to sabotage me—you’ll be dead for real this time.”

And then he left, slamming the door behind him.

My breath caught, but I didn’t cry.

I was beyond that now. A soft ding vibrated from my phone. I turned it over.

“Fake death plan has been completed. Plane ticket confirmed. Five days.”

I stared at my reflection, not recognizing the woman in the mirror anymore.

Tonight was the family dinner. An extravagant display of wealth and power held at their ancestral house, where every chandelier glittered with secrets and every guest had blood-stained intentions hiding beneath velvet gowns and tailored suits.

They called it a celebration, but we all knew better. It was a battlefield dressed in finery. The only goal? Inheritance. Control. Favor from the matriarch seated on her throne of gold and manipulation.

And me?

I was just a placeholder. A living doll Jarren kept around to maintain the illusion of a perfect marriage. Especially for those relatives who still didn’t know—or pretended not to know—that Elisa, his mistress, was carrying his child.

As I pulled the delicate chain of my father’s heirloom necklace around my throat, the bedroom door flew open without warning.

Jarren stormed in like a gust of cold wind, eyes sharp, jaw tight.

"Take that off," he said.

I blinked. "What?"

He didn’t explain. He just reached forward, and before I could stop him, his hand yanked the necklace from my neck. The clasp snapped. I gasped, my fingers automatically flying to my now bare skin.

“That was my father’s,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “It’s mine. You can’t just—”

“Elisa wants it,” he interrupted flatly, already turning toward the door. “It matches her dress.”

I laughed bitterly. “You’re giving my heirloom to your mistress?”

He looked over his shoulder, annoyed. “Don’t stress her. It’s not good for the baby. Just wear another necklace.”

“The baby?” I choked. “You’re more worried about the baby she’s carrying than the wife you humiliate every day?”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink.

“I’m going ahead with her,” he said, as if this conversation wasn’t even happening. “You’ll follow with the driver.”

“And tonight?” I asked, my voice low. “What am I supposed to be? The smiling wife, pretending we’re in love?”

His gaze met mine, hollow and cruel. “Exactly. Smile. Behave. Pretend. But don’t get too close, and don’t lift your chin too high.”

His words hit like stones.

“I don’t love you anymore, Hayley,” he said. “You’re nothing to me now.”

And then, he walked out. Just like that.

I stood there, stunned, staring at the door long after it shut behind him. My hands trembled as I touched the spot where the necklace had been. My father’s last gift. A reminder of home, of a time before this mess. Gone. Just like my dignity.

I turned slowly back to the mirror, meeting the hollow-eyed woman again. And I waited. Waited until I heard the sound of his car leaving the estate, until I was sure they were both gone.

Then, I moved. I grabbed my small black bag from the corner drawer. I stepped outside and walked briskly toward the awaiting limousine. The driver opened the door with a bow. We pulled away from the mansion gates, the grand estate growing smaller behind us. I stared out the window as the trees blurred past, my heart strangely still.

Then, without hesitation, I pulled my phone out. Removed the SIM card. Rolled down the tinted window. And tossed it out.

I inhaled deeply, letting the cold air rush into my lungs like a cleansing wave.

A private plane waited for me at a discreet airstrip just outside the city.

A new country. A new identity. A second chance.

I leaned back in the seat, letting the silence settle around me.

This was it.

I was finally leaving.

Leaving Jarren. Leaving the pain. Leaving the woman in the mirror who had forgotten how to dream.

And I didn’t look back.

Third person’s POV

The ancestral hall gleamed with chandeliers. Jarren walked in, arm-in-arm with Elisa. Her dress clung to her like a second skin, crimson and calculated. Eyes followed them—some curious, some judgmental—but no one dared speak. They all knew who Elisa was. They just pretended not to.

At the head of the hall, Grandmother Aurora sat like a queen surveying her court, eyes sharp despite her age. As soon as she spotted them, she raised her hand.

“Jarren,” she called. “Where is Hayley?”

“She’s on her way,” he replied with a forced smile, masking irritation. “Grandma, this is Elisa—”

“I don’t care who she is,” Aurora cut him off coldly. “If you fail to take care of Hayley—if I even sense betrayal—you’ll get nothing. No inheritance. No title.”

Jarren’s jaw tensed. He stepped away, pulling out his phone. Call after call—voicemail. Her phone was off.

“Elisa,” he barked at a nearby servant, “tell the butler to find Hayley now.”

Beside him, Elisa crossed her arms. “Why are you acting like this? I’m the one carrying your child. Just let her be. We don't need her.”

“I have to play by her rules,” he muttered. “You heard my grandmother.”

Just then, the butler approached, his face pale and drawn. “Sir… we’ve received a report.”

Jarren’s heart skipped a beat. “What is it?”

“Miss Hayley’s car was struck by a 12-wheeler. The vehicle is completely destroyed.”

Jarren’s voice caught. “Where is she? Is she—”

The butler hesitated, lowering his gaze. “For the eleventh time of almost dying… Miss Hayley didn’t survive. She’s dead.”

Jarren’s fingers trembled, the wine slipping and staining his hand, but he remained frozen in place, unable to move as the weight of the words crushed him.

His vision blurred as another butler added, “Sir… here are the divorce papers. They’ve been finalized, as her dying wish.”