Before long, even the hospital staff began to notice.

One afternoon, while I was in the small pantry rinsing fruit for Evelyn, two nurses stood nearby, their voices lowered but not enough.

“Oh my god… that’s his wife? For real?”

“Yeah. They’ve been married for years, apparently. But it’s obvious he’s in love with the other woman.”

The younger nurse peeked toward the ward. “She’s so… composed. I don’t get how she does it.”

The older one let out a quiet sigh, the kind people make when they’re watching something painful they can’t stop. “You don’t understand. That’s love.”

“Huh?”

“She’s caring for the woman her husband loves. Not because she has to. Not because of pride. But because… somewhere inside, she still hopes he’ll turn around and see her. Even once.” Her voice softened. “That kind of love doesn’t scream. It just bleeds quietly. And it’s the most tragic kind there is.”

Outside the pantry, I heard footsteps slow near the nurses’ station.

Viktor.

I didn’t look back. I didn’t need to. I could feel his eyes on me like a weight pressed between my shoulders.

---

The day Evelyn was discharged, Viktor came home only briefly. He tossed his keys onto the counter and looked at me like I was something spoiled.

“I’m taking Evelyn out of town for a while,” he said bluntly. “Don’t contact me unless someone’s dead.”

I nodded. “Alright.”

He never waited for a response.

I watched from the doorway as he helped her into the car, his palm resting lightly at her lower back, his coat settling over her shoulders. The door shut, the engine started, and soon the car vanished down the road—taking their laughter with it.

The house fell silent.

The next morning, I began packing.

I folded my clothes carefully, one piece at a time. No rush. No tears. My hands didn’t shake. My chest felt oddly still, like something inside me had finally gone quiet.

Then my phone lit up.

Evelyn.

My body stiffened.

And then the photos came.

Not just a few. Dozens.

They flooded my screen one after another—carefully chosen, deliberately cruel.

Evelyn sitting on Viktor’s lap at a vineyard in Tuscany, laughing as he kissed the side of her neck.

Evelyn tangled in white silk sheets, her back arched, one of his shirts draped loosely over her bare legs.

Evelyn standing before a mirror, Viktor’s arm wrapped around her waist as they took a photo together—his phone in one hand, hers in the other.

Evelyn holding his hand as he fastened a bracelet around her wrist.

My bracelet.

The one Mrs. Volkov had given me.

The final image was a close-up: her lips pressed against his bare chest.

Underneath it, soft pink text appeared like a knife dressed in ribbons:

“See, Isadora? On paper, he may be your husband… but never in bed. You’re such a pathetic parasite.”

My thumb hovered over the screen.

I didn’t delete anything.

I simply let the images remain and smiled—a thin, bitter curve of the lips.

---

Then came the birthday banquet for the Volkov patriarch.

Viktor didn’t return. He didn’t even bother to send a word.

So I went alone.

I wore a simple black dress—high neckline, long sleeves. Enough coverage to hide bruises beneath layers of makeup and whispered prayers. I pulled my hair into a tight low bun and walked in as if I belonged there.

The ballroom shimmered with gold and crystal. Marble floors reflected chandeliers like constellations. Guests floated through the room wrapped in couture, antiques glittering at their throats, carrying the effortless arrogance of families who had never known want.

The whispers began the moment I stepped inside.

But the first person to truly see me was Grandmother Signe Volkov.

She sat at the head of the table, spine straight despite her age, eyes sharp behind diamond-rimmed glasses. The smile on her lips vanished the instant her gaze locked onto me.

“Where is Viktor?”

Her tone was even. Controlled. The kind that stripped men of their confidence and left them silent.

I lowered my head. “He had urgent matters overseas…”

She laughed once, sharp and humorless. “Urgent, is that what he called it?” She reached for her wine—

And then the butler rushed in, pale, trembling, interrupting the moment.

He said nothing. Just placed a tablet in her hands.

“Viktor Volkov and Evelyn Beaumont photographed kissing in Tuscany.”

The headline screamed words like “romantic escape,” “secret affair,” “Volkov heir in love,” “future bride?”

The image beneath was worse.

Viktor wasn’t merely kissing her. He looked reverent—his palm cradling her face, eyes closed, foreheads pressed together like a still from some grand love story.

Signe’s wine glass shattered against the marble floor.

“Isadora,” she said tightly. “Come with me. Now.”

She stood, turned, and walked toward the west corridor without another glance. I followed, aware of every silent eye at the table watching us go.

She didn’t speak until we entered the ancestral chamber.

Dark wood. Faded oil portraits. Old lamps that always smelled faintly of iron and age.

She shut the door.

Locked it.

Then she turned and struck me across the face with enough force to snap my head sideways.

“Have you no dignity?” she spat. “Look at you—humiliated, ridiculed. You attend my husband’s birthday alone like a cast-off mistress while your so-called husband is off licking champagne from another woman’s skin.”

I said nothing.

“Do you understand what this looks like?” she continued furiously. “The Thorn name was meant to fortify us. Instead, we’re a joke. If your family had an ounce of pride, they’d throw you into a well and be done with it.”

I swallowed blood and replied quietly, “I didn’t release the article.”

She sneered. “Don’t insult me.” Her eyes narrowed. “Call Viktor right now and order him back—or face the consequences.”

I already knew.

He wouldn’t come. Not for me. Not if I begged. Not even if I broke.

“I’ll accept it,” I said.

Her brows lifted sharply. “What did you just say?”

“I’ll take whatever punishment you decide.”

She smiled—and it was the kind of smile that made your skin crawl. Slowly, deliberately, she walked to the far wall and pressed a hidden wooden panel. It slid open silently, revealing a cabinet I had glimpsed only once before. Inside, a thick, polished cane lay resting, alongside a drawer filled with incense, ropes, and a cattle prod.

The old instruments of control.

The Volkovs didn’t simply construct an empire—they built a dynasty of obedience. She lifted the cane, running her fingers along its smooth shaft as if it were a cherished possession.

The first strike landed without warning, slicing across my back hard enough to knock the air from my lungs.

The second ripped skin.

The third cracked bone.

By the fifth, I was flat on the cold stone floor, my cheek pressed against the tiles, trembling in agony so sharp that sound blurred around me, and I lost consciousness halfway through her relentless fury.

---

When I awoke, I was in a hospital bed, my mouth tasting like iron and regret. And then I saw him.

Viktor.

“You let my grandmother treat you like that,” he said, voice tight. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I… didn’t want to interrupt your date with Evelyn,” I muttered, and his eyes blinked once, sharp, unreadable.

I turned toward the window, letting silence pour over me like thick smoke. Suffocating, heavy, suffocating.

And then he stayed. For days. Sitting in the room, saying nothing, pretending to be the man I thought I had married. I told him he didn’t need to. That I was fine. But he never left.

Not until his phone rang.

“Business emergency,” he muttered, standing. I saw the caller ID before he spoke: Evelyn. “You’ll go home alone,” he added.

I nodded. “Sure.”

I dressed slowly, each movement raw and deliberate, as if every motion peeled open a fresh wound. The gauze tugged with every breath. My coat smelled faintly of antiseptic and burnt fabric. Yet I forced one foot in front of the other, moving down the hospital stairs.

I didn’t see him coming until a man rounded the corner, Starbucks venti cup in hand—and collided with me.

Coffee spilled instantly, scalding my arm and chest, burning through the thin fabric. I gasped sharply, stinging searing across my skin.

The man glared down at his ruined designer blazer. “Are you blind or just stupid?!” he barked, swiping at the liquid like I was dirt. “Do you even know how much this jacket costs? Or are you so used to charity hospitals that you don’t care?”

“I—I’m sorry,” I stammered, bending over to wipe at the soaked coat, struggling to catch my breath. “It was my fault—”

“You damn well better believe it was,” he snapped, stepping closer. “Pay for it. Now.”

Before I could speak again, a low, lethal voice cut through the air behind him.

“Touch her again, and I’ll break your jaw.”

The man froze. Viktor was there.

And in an instant, five men in black appeared behind him like shadows, moving faster than humanly possible.

“Take him,” Viktor ordered.

Without hesitation, they grabbed the man, dragging him away as he kicked and cursed, shouting threats no one cared to hear.

Silence fell.

Viktor turned to me, his gaze scanning my clothes—cheap, wrinkled, faintly bloodstained and now streaked with coffee.

“You didn’t get any money from the Thorns or Volkovs? Why the hell are you dressed like this?”

The Thorns never gave me a cent. Only hospital bills for my grandmother. The Volkovs had a black card, yes, but I was never the real Mrs. Volkov. That card stayed in my wallet, mocking me silently.

“The hell are you sulking about?” he barked, grabbing my wrist and pulling me into his black SUV. “Come on. You look like death. We’re getting you new clothes.”

I said nothing.

---

At the mall, he selected designer outfits with precision, like picking weapons—sharp, cold, expensive.

I stood motionless as assistants zipped me in and out of garments, like I was a mannequin on display. Finally, we stepped into the sunlight-lit atrium, shopping bags in hand, the scent of luxury clinging to my skin. I thought it was over.

Then—

“Benny?”

I froze.

Evelyn.

Heels too high for an ordinary afternoon, sunglasses perched atop her head, phone in one hand, a staff member trailing behind with a cart stacked with glossy black-and-gold boxes—Chanel, Cartier, Valentino. All items dripping wealth. From his other black card, the one he didn’t think I knew about.

Her lips parted slightly when she saw me, the smile dying midair. “Oh… I didn’t realize you were out.” Her eyes darted from my face to the shopping bags, then back to Viktor. “You said you were in Singapore.”

“Evelyn—”

“You told me not to text because of meetings all day,” she whispered, trembling. “I should’ve known… I should’ve known.”

She looked at me again, like a ghost haunting a life she tried to steal. Then she turned and ran.

“Evelyn!” he shouted, already sprinting after her.

I remained rooted, watching him disappear.

Then—Bang!

The sound was deafening. I whipped my head around just in time to see a sheet of glass plummet from the upper mall floor, striking Evelyn before she could even scream.

Blood sprayed. Fast, bright. She collapsed instantly, her body crumpling to the ground.

Viktor’s roar shattered the air, echoing off every wall and surface. He dashed to her, scooping her into his arms like she was the axis on which his entire world turned. I stood frozen for a moment, my fingers twitching with helpless rage, before I forced myself to follow.

At the hospital, the sterile whiteness, the constant hum of machines, and the biting cold seemed to strip everything down to its raw essence. He paced outside the operating room, still in his bloodstained suit, the untouchable, untamable Viktor Volkov reduced to a man clutching fear with all the strength in his fists.

Then the doors swung open abruptly. A doctor emerged, breathless. “Severe blood loss. She’s RH-negative. The blood bank doesn’t have her type.”

“I’m RH-negative,” I said, standing before him. “Use mine.”

He turned toward me, eyes wide as if I’d struck him.

“She needs it. Do it,” he said finally.

After all, I was leaving soon anyway…

A nurse guided me to the cot. The needle pierced my arm, blood siphoning slowly into the bag. I watched it drip, drop by drop, while Viktor remained outside, pacing in jagged lines.

“She’ll survive,” I whispered.

“Why are you still here?” he asked, tension sharp in his voice.

I looked away, voice low. “She misunderstood. I want to explain when she wakes.”

He stepped closer, studying me. “You really care about me that much, huh?”

Before I could answer, the doors opened again. The surgeon removed his gloves. “She’s stable. She’ll wake soon.”

Viktor exhaled, the tension sliding off him like water. I sank back against the wall, swallowed by silence once more.

---

When Evelyn awoke, I was at her side.

She opened her eyes, and tears sprang immediately. “So… you brought her too?” she said to Viktor, voice trembling. “You want me to pretend we’re all happy now, right?”

“No,” I said quickly. “You’ve misunderstood. He really had a meeting that day. The clothes, he just brought me along. Nothing else happened.”

Viktor added, flatly, “She’s nothing to me. Just a wife on paper. That’s it.”

Evelyn’s tearful eyes flicked between us. “Prove it, Benny!”

“What do you want me to do?” he asked, frowning.

She turned to the window. Lightning ripped across the stormy sky, rain thrashing the courtyard, thunder rolling like cannon fire. “Make her kneel out there,” Evelyn whispered. “No coat, no umbrella. Let her stay until she passes out.”

Viktor blinked. “Evelyn, she—”

“She’s afraid of storms,” Evelyn said, voice quivering. “You told me her hands shake, her breathing stops. Show me I matter more.”

Silence stretched, heavy as iron. I prayed he would refuse, just once. But he didn’t. He stepped back and said softly, “Take her.”

The guards moved.

I didn’t resist. Why bother?

They shoved me into the storm. Cold rain lashed my skin, each drop like a sting. Thunder cracked too close, and my legs buckled. I collapsed to my knees, shivering, arms quivering, soaked to the bone. The guards locked the door behind me.

Alone.

Wind whipped my drenched hair across my face. Each boom of thunder tightened my chest. Another crack, and I bit down hard, tasting blood. Then everything went black.

---

I awoke three days later at the Volkov estate. Not the hospital—Evelyn had insisted I not be there, claiming I was faking it. But my body had truly shut down, surviving only through stillness and sleep for three long days.

“Benny,” Evelyn purred from the doorway, voice laced with amusement. “When are we interrogating that traitor from Marseille? I want front-row seats.”

Her eyes shifted to me. “Oh, Miss Thorn. You’re awake?” she said, smiling like a debutante. “I didn’t mean for him to actually send you into the storm. I was just angry. He took it literally.”

I didn’t answer.

She perched gracefully on Viktor’s lap. “I heard you donated blood to me. How romantic,” she cooed. “You bled for me. So, as a reward, you’ll join us tonight. Volkov’s sealing a deal with the Russians. Private dinner. No press. Just family.”

I opened my mouth to refuse, but she was faster. She grabbed my hand before I could form the first word.

“Don’t say no.”

Viktor said nothing, but his cold, charged stare drilled into me: Don’t make a scene.

I swallowed hard, then nodded.

---

Dinner took place on Volkov’s private yacht.

Three security checks. Twelve guards with semi-automatics. Surveillance cameras in every room.

Yet the interior screamed opulence—white leather chairs, crystal goblets, a chandelier likely worth more than my life. The ocean stretched around us, calm but treacherous, much like the people seated at the table.

Evelyn curled against Viktor as if she belonged, laughing too loudly, whispering, pretending to flinch at the mention of weapons deals. I sat near the edge, silent, invisible. Watching.

When Viktor stepped away to take a secure call, she leaned toward me.

“I don’t get you sometimes,” Evelyn murmured, the diamond around her neck catching the dim light.

I faced her slowly, calm, expression flat.

“They say you love him,” she said, sipping wine as if it were poison. “That you’d take a bullet for him. But I’ve never seen a woman in love act like you.”

Her voice darkened. “I framed you, made you crawl, made you beg. And when he obeyed me and left you in that storm, you didn’t scream. Didn’t flinch. And now I sit in his lap, licking honey from his fingers—and you still don’t move.”

Her smile widened. “So, Miss Thorn… do you truly love him, or are you just pathetic?”

I opened my mouth, debating a reply.

Then—

Boom.

A wave of thunder slammed against the yacht.

“Ah!” she screamed.

We were both thrown overboard.

The sea swallowed us instantly. A sharp sting ripped into my side. Blood mingled with seawater—my blood.

“Two overboard! We’ve got two in the water!”

“One of them’s bleeding! Sharks will smell it!”

“Where are they?”

“They fell on opposite sides; we can only reach one!”

Then Viktor’s scream pierced the chaos: “Save Evelyn!”

His words hit harder than the waves.

I sank. My blood trailed behind me.

And then… nothing.