The man I buried came back to me holding a glass of warm milk.

His face was calm, almost tender, like nothing had ever happened.

“Hey,” he said softly, crouching beside me. “Why are you on the floor again? Crying? Missing my brother that much?”

Half a month had passed since Toby Mercer’s death—since I’d watched flames consume his name, his future, our unborn child’s father. Half a month since I became the widow of a man who never lived long enough to see me in white.

Or so I thought.

Now, standing before me, was Leon Mercer, Toby’s twin. Or the man who wanted me to think he was.

I hid my shaking hands behind my back and forced a smile.

“I’m fine,” I whispered. “Just… dizzy.”

He exhaled, gentle, relieved. “Still stubborn, I see. Guess the baby takes after you. Wait till he’s born—Uncle Leon will have his hands full.”

Uncle.

The word slashed through me like a razor.

He nudged the glass toward me.

“Drink. You need to rest. Toby wouldn’t want to see you like this… wherever he is.”

Wherever he is.

My throat burned. Because I already knew exactly where he was—and whose bed he’d been in.

---

Two weeks earlier, I had watched them lower a coffin into the earth. The wind off Velbrunnia Bay carried the scent of salt and ash, and someone behind me whispered that the explosion had left no survivors. They’d found only fragments of Toby: a scorched cufflink, a melted phone, the kind of things grief clings to when there’s no body to hold.

I became a widow before I could become a bride.

And inside me, his child grew—a heartbeat that didn’t know its father had already vanished.

Days blurred into one another. The world became gray and soundless. People told me to stay strong, to live for the baby. But how do you keep breathing when the man who promised forever dies before you can even say “I do”?

Then he appeared at the funeral—alive.

They said he was Leon Mercer, Toby’s estranged brother. Missing for years, presumed dead. He came dressed in black, solemn beside his wife Marcelline, the woman everyone pitied for her failing health. The resemblance was uncanny. The same voice. The same hands. The same eyes that used to look at me like I was the only thing that mattered.

For a fleeting second, I thought I was losing my mind.

Until I overheard the conversation in my mother-in-law’s study.

---

“You faked your death, Toby,” she hissed. “Aria’s carrying your child. You let her think you died so you could run back to that woman who left you five years ago?”

My pulse stilled.

Then came the voice that still owned every corner of my heart.

“Marcelline’s dying, Mother. She doesn’t have long. She wanted one thing—to be my wife before she goes. I couldn’t say no. Once she’s gone, everything will return to normal. Aria will give birth, and we’ll be a family again.”

My knees nearly gave out.

He wasn’t dead. He chose to vanish—for her.

The man I mourned, the man whose name I whispered to my unborn child every night, had lied.

---

I went back to my room and called the only person who could help me disappear.

My brother, Gareth.

He worked in a division no one ever talked about—the kind that erased people quietly.

Me: Gareth, I need your help. I want to vanish. I want to give Toby what he gave me.

Me: But not yet. Let him think he’s safe. One week.

When he called back, his voice was clipped. “Aria, what’s happening? I thought Toby was dead.”

“He’s alive,” I said, shaking. “Pretending to be Leon. He married Marcelline. He’s here. Watching me mourn him every night.”

A pause. Then, cold and sure: “One week. No traces. No mistakes.”

I didn’t have to explain further. He understood.

---

Now, that same liar stood inches from me, his breath calm, his hands steady.

I studied every detail—the faint scar on his jaw, the eyes that once promised eternity.

Six days from now, he’d be standing over my coffin.

Let’s see how convincing his grief will be then.

My voice came out low, shaking but certain.

“Tell me the truth,” I said, meeting his gaze.

“Are you really not Toby?”

Toby went still for a heartbeat — just one — before forcing out a soft laugh. The same kind of easy, practiced laugh he used to win me over back in college.

He reached out, brushing his hand over my hair the way someone might comfort a restless child after a bad dream.

“You’re thinking too much again,” he murmured, his voice smooth, rehearsed, too steady to be real. “You need rest, Aria. How could I possibly be Toby? Drink your milk, calm down, and try to sleep, alright?”

He took a slow step backward, pretending to give me space, though every word he’d just said hit like shrapnel.

“That baby you’re carrying,” he added softly, “he’s the last living proof of Toby Mercer’s bloodline. I’ll make sure he comes into this world safe. That’s a promise I’ll keep.”

I said nothing.

My eyes stayed low.

If I looked at his face, I might break. That face — that lie wearing the skin I once kissed without hesitation.

“You should leave,” I whispered, the words nearly catching in my throat. “I just want to lie down. I’m tired.”

That’s when I heard her.

“Babe?”

The sound came from across the hall. I turned just in time to see her — Marcelline — standing at the door, draped in my ivory silk robe. The one Toby gave me on our anniversary. The one with the tiny embroidered D stitched near the hem.

She didn’t even bother to pretend.

“My head’s pounding,” she said, her voice frail, deliberate. “Will you come to bed? I need one of your massages… the kind that makes me forget I’m dying.”

The hallway went silent.

Toby froze between us — torn between two women, both carrying his ghosts. He turned, looking from her to me, something unreadable flickering behind those familiar gray eyes.

Finally, he exhaled and gave me a small nod.

“Get some rest,” he said gently, before walking to her and slipping an arm around her shoulders.

She leaned into him, naturally, like that space was always meant for her. And together, they disappeared into the dim hallway, leaving me alone in the doorway — staring after them long after the light faded.

Not because I was shocked.

But because I wasn’t.

---

I first met Toby Mercer seven years ago in Milan, at a private art auction hosted by one of Italy’s oldest crime families. I wasn’t supposed to be there. I didn’t belong in that room — not among men who dealt in blood and beauty.

But then he looked at me.

One glance — sharp, assessing, coldly amused — and everything in me shifted.

He didn’t ask for my name.

He asked who owned me.

When I told him no one did, his lips curled into that dangerous half-smile — the kind that said he’d just found something worth stealing.

From that night, he pursued me like an unsolved crime. Relentless. Possessive. Mercilessly precise.

And God help me, I let him in.

Every piece of him. Every sin.

Two years later, he proposed on the rooftop of the Museo Mercer. It was midnight. The city stretched below us, alive but silent. No audience, no cameras — just him, the stars, and the ghost of something sacred.

He pulled out a velvet box and revealed a ring — an heirloom of the Mercer bloodline, glinting with the weight of generations.

“Aria,” he’d said quietly, “if the world burns, I want to burn beside you.”

And I said yes.

Later, with his hand on my stomach and his mouth against my temple, he told me, “This baby came at the right time. He’s proof of us. Our beginning. I’ve never been happier, amore mio.”

Now that same man had vanished from my wedding in a storm of fire and metal — only to reappear in another woman’s arms, under another name.

For a woman with only months left to live.

I didn’t even know when he started slipping away from me. All I know is that the man who once swore I was his home now feeds me warm milk and calls it kindness.

---

The next morning, a knock came at my door.

“Aria,” his voice called softly. “It’s time for your check-up. You ready?”

I was bent over, tying my shoes, when the sound of footsteps paused outside.

Then came her voice — thin, trembling, fragile.

“Leon…”

Marcelline.

She sounded like a dying actress delivering her last line. I froze. Her steps echoed faintly, unsteady, until a soft thud made my heart lurch.

“I—I don’t feel good…” she breathed. “Something’s… wrong…”

Then her knees buckled.

“Marcelline!”

Toby — no, Leon — rushed to her, catching her before she hit the ground. “Damn it,” he muttered, his tone filled with panic, “you didn’t take your meds again, did you? You can’t just wander around like this.”

He gathered her into his arms with delicate care, lowering her onto the couch as if she were something holy. His hands trembled slightly as he brushed the hair from her face.

“You can’t scare me like that again, babe,” he whispered, voice breaking at the edges.

From behind the cracked door, I watched — silent, invisible.

Then his head turned sharply. He saw me. For a second, something flashed in his eyes — guilt, maybe. Then he straightened and masked it with calm efficiency.

“Sorry, Aria,” he said, his tone professional now. “Marcelline’s not doing well. I can’t leave her alone today.”

He pulled out his phone. “Claudio and Renzo will take you to your appointment. The car’s ready outside, and your doctor’s expecting you.”

His every move was measured. Perfect. Untouchable.

Behind him, Marcelline tilted her head slightly and smiled — a faint, smug curve of the lips that told me she knew exactly what she’d won.

My hand instinctively went to my belly. My chest burned. But the tears came anyway — soundless, hot, relentless.

---

Later, I sat alone on a metal bench in the corner of the Mercer private hospital, the cold biting through my coat. The ultrasound photo trembled between my fingers — a small blur of life glowing faintly on black and white paper.

The doctor had smiled earlier, pointing at it proudly. “That’s your baby,” he’d said.

I had smiled back, barely. Then wiped my tears away hard enough to hurt. Because I couldn’t fall apart here — not in this place where the Mercers saw and heard everything.

This was their ground. Their walls. Their cameras. Their power.

I stood, exhaling slowly, and made a decision.

Pulling out my phone, I called the two men assigned to guard me. “I feel a bit dizzy,” I lied. “I want to walk a little before heading back. You can go on ahead.”

They hesitated, but obedience was carved into their bones. They left.

As the sleek black car rolled out of the gate, I stepped out from behind the marble column and flagged down a passing taxi.

“Another hospital,” I told the driver quietly. “A private one. Away from here.”

Somewhere the Mercers couldn’t reach. Somewhere I could finally disappear — if I chose to.

Just moments before the nurses wheeled me into pre-op, my phone buzzed on the tray beside me. One new notification. A message. No text, no greeting—just a single video file from Marcelline.

I should’ve ignored it. Deleted it without a glance. But curiosity, or maybe pain, got the better of me.

My trembling fingers tapped on the screen, and suddenly, the image flickered to life—Toby and Marcelline.

She was straddling his lap, his mouth buried against her neck, whispering something low and rough that made her laugh breathlessly. Her nails scraped down his chest with the confidence of someone who had done it countless times before—someone who knew every way to make him fall apart.

Then he kissed her.

Slow. Possessive. Too familiar. The kind of kiss that used to silence the world for me.

But it wasn’t the kiss that killed me. It was what I noticed next. When he leaned back, his shirt slipped off his shoulder, revealing a mark—a small, red, spade-shaped birthmark just below his collarbone.

That was when I knew.

Toby.

Not Leon. Not anyone else. Him.

A bitter smile curved my lips, the kind that belongs to someone who just found their own grave. There it was—the final confirmation. Yet, somehow, my heart still refused to let go. It kept reaching for one last illusion. One last miracle.

So I did the one thing I promised myself I wouldn’t. I called him.

If he answered… if he heard my voice… if he still chose me, I would let everything go—the betrayal, the lies, the fake death, the other woman. I would forgive it all for our child. For the love that refused to die no matter how much it bled.

The phone rang once. Twice. Then a click.

“Aria…” His voice came through, deep, tired, familiar. “I’ve got something to take care of. Let the driver take you home. We’ll talk when I’m back.”

Then came a sound that froze my veins—

A moan. Soft at first, then louder. A woman’s moan.

Marcelline’s.

There was no mistaking her. No hesitation. She didn’t even try to muffle it. Another sound followed—her voice trembling, breathless, calling his name.

“Toby…”

The line went dead. A dull beep… beep… beep… filled the silence.

I didn’t cry this time. My tears were gone. My soul was dry.

I looked at the nurse beside me, my voice hollow, steady.

“It’s fine,” I whispered. “Go ahead with the procedure.”

And as the lights above blurred into white, I swore to myself—

The next time he hears my voice… will be the last time he ever breathes in peace.

---

By the time I returned home, darkness had already swallowed the sky.

The marble floors gleamed cold beneath my shoes as I stepped into the house—and there he was.

Toby. Still wearing Leon’s mask, still pretending to be the noble twin, the grieving man who had lost his brother.

“The driver said you went shopping after your appointment,” he said lightly, smiling like nothing was wrong. “You didn’t buy anything?”

His tone was casual, teasing. Normal. As if I hadn’t just buried the only part of him he didn’t even know existed.

Halfway through, his smile faded. His gaze locked on mine. He noticed—the redness in my eyes, the swollen lids, the dry tracks of salt on my cheeks.

“Aria… what’s wrong? Did something happen?” His voice softened. “Did you… see something at the hospital? Did you miss Toby again?”

He moved closer, pretending concern. His hand hovered near my arm.

“It’s alright,” he murmured gently. “That baby inside you—that’s Toby’s legacy. That’s what keeps him alive. Hold on to that.”

I stared back at him. Those eyes—gray, smoke-soft, full of that familiar flicker that used to melt every part of me. The same eyes I once trusted with my entire being.

And now, they were the same ones I saw in that video, looking up at Marcelline while she moved over him like I was already dead.

I turned away without a word and walked straight to my room.

---

The moment I hit the bed, exhaustion claimed me. For the first time since his “death,” I slept without tears, without nightmares.

In my dream, he was eighteen again—nervous, flushed, his hands sweating as he confessed under a fading sunset.

“Aria… I really like you. Will you be my girlfriend? I swear I’ll treat you right.”

And I believed him. Maybe because the sky was gold that day. Maybe because his eyes carried a kind of light I would never see again after the lies.

I said yes. And that one yes destroyed me forever.

---

When I woke, morning light was spilling through the curtains, too bright, too cruel. I was still sitting in bed, lost in nothingness, when the door creaked open.

Marcelline walked in.

The woman who ruined everything. The one he gave me up for.

But she didn’t look like someone dying. Her skin glowed. Her cheeks were flushed. Her lips painted. And she was wearing my silk robe—the ivory one trimmed with lace.

The same one Toby used to say made me look like “heaven wearing sin.”

And worse, I could smell it—the faint trace of my perfume. The one I wore the night he proposed.

Marcelline stopped at the foot of my bed, arms crossed, lips curling into a smile that was all venom and vanity.

“You know why I sent you that video?” she asked, voice honey-sweet but sharp as glass. “You honestly thought he was Leon? You believed I was your sweet sister-in-law?”

She laughed softly, stepping closer, her tone darkening.

“Wake up, darling. I’ve been sharing your husband’s bed all this time.”

The words hit like shards.

Her laughter rang through the room—rich, cruel, mocking. She spun once, the robe swirling around her legs.

“Poor Aria,” she said with a sigh of fake pity. “You really thought I was dying? God, no. I just needed space… and a reason for people not to question why he was always with me.”

She turned, eyes glinting like a knife.

“I had Toby the moment I came back. He was easy to win. Tell me, do you honestly think a man like him would ever choose someone as fragile as you over me?”

Her voice dropped to a deadly whisper.

“Oh, and before I forget—” she leaned in, smiling wider, “I’m the legal wife. Paper signed. Seal stamped. You were just the warm-up act.”

She laughed again, a victorious, echoing sound that filled the room like poison.

“Toby Mercer may have loved you once, Aria,” she said, voice soft but cruel. “But he’s mine. Always has been. Always will be.”