For the past five days, I had been confined to a hospital bed, my body wracked with fever as severe dengue slowly drained the strength out of me. My platelet count had dropped dangerously low, and every joint in my body felt as though it was being pulled apart from the inside. Yet even that physical agony was nothing compared to the way my husband, Nathaniel, treated me during those days.

I called him over and over again—sometimes in tears, sometimes barely able to speak—but each time, my calls went unanswered. When he finally did respond, it was always through brief, detached messages that felt copied from the same excuse: he was occupied with the merger, overwhelmed with investors, and would come when he was free.

But he never came.

So, the moment I was discharged, I didn’t go home. I told the driver to take me straight to his office instead.

When I arrived at the building, I went up to the top floor and stopped outside his office. The door was slightly open, just enough for voices to slip through. And that was when I heard everything that shattered what was left of my trust.

“Your wife’s been calling nonstop, Nathaniel. Aren’t you going to see her at the hospital?” a woman’s voice asked.

I immediately recognized it. Raven—his secretary.

I moved closer, my pulse pounding so loudly I could barely hear anything else.

“She’s still not well,” Raven continued, her tone falsely gentle, almost performative. “The dengue hasn’t improved. And… I should probably admit something. It’s my fault.”

There was a brief silence, followed by the faint rustle of papers.

“I placed a plant in her room,” she added with a soft, uneasy laugh, as if she were telling a harmless joke. “The kind that attracts mosquitoes. I didn’t think it would lead to anything serious… I’m sorry. It wasn’t intentional, I just thought it looked nice.”

In that instant, every drop of blood in my body turned ice-cold.

Then Nathaniel laughed.

Not the laugh I once knew—the one that used to feel warm and familiar—but something sharper, detached, almost contemptuous.

“You handled it well,” he said casually. “Honestly, it would’ve been better if she hadn’t survived. I should’ve interfered when the hospital gave her blood transfusion, but I still need her for the merger. Once I get control of her shares, I’ll divorce her. After that, we can finally stop hiding.”

My hand flew to my mouth to keep myself from making a sound.

Raven’s voice softened into something almost pleased. “So you really are going to leave her for me?”

“Just be patient,” Nathaniel replied. “Not yet. I need a little more time until everything is finalized.”

“All right,” she murmured, almost sulking. “Then at least come here.”

What followed was the sound of a kiss—slow, intimate, unmistakable.

I stood there frozen, not because my body was weak from illness, but because something far deeper inside me was collapsing. A rage so sharp and silent began spreading through my chest that it almost felt like I was breathing fire instead of air.

My trembling hands reached for my phone.

Where are you?

I typed the message and pressed send.

Inside the office, I watched Nathaniel pull away from Raven. He checked his phone with visible irritation, then quickly typed a reply.

My phone buzzed almost immediately.

I’m in an important meeting. Don’t disturb me.

My eyes lifted from the screen to the scene in front of me.

Meeting, I typed back, or are you busy entertaining your secretary?

The moment the message was sent, I saw his entire body go rigid.

Slowly, he looked up from his phone. His gaze moved toward the door.

And then he saw me.

I pushed the door open and walked inside.

Raven startled, stepping back as if she had been caught in something shameful. Almost instantly, she rearranged her expression into one of polished concern and rushed toward me.

“Mrs. Amara!” she said brightly, forcing a smile. “You’re back already? We were just so overwhelmed with work because of the merger, Mr. Nathaniel has been—”

“You’re fired,” I said evenly.

The words were quiet, but they carried a weight that silenced the entire room.

Raven froze. “W-what?”

“I don’t want you working here anymore,” I repeated, meeting her eyes without hesitation. “Gather your things. Leave.”

Her face paled before she quickly turned toward Nathaniel, desperation creeping into her voice. “Sir, I’ve been your secretary for two years. I’ve handled everything—please tell her—”

“I am his wife,” I cut in sharply, stepping closer until she instinctively backed away. Despite my weakened state, my presence didn’t waver. “And I own the largest share of this company. When I say you’re gone, you’re gone.”

Nathaniel’s chair scraped loudly against the floor as he stood. “This is ridiculous!” he snapped, striding toward us. “She’s my secretary, Amara. You don’t get to barge in here and dismiss people like that!”

He grabbed my wrist tightly.

“Why are you even here causing a scene?” he demanded. “Is this about the hospital? I told you I was busy with the merger. Everything I’ve been doing was for us, and you’re acting like this over nothing while I was handling your responsibilities.”

I stared at him—at the man I had once built my entire world around.

And for the first time, I saw him clearly.

I pulled my arm free from his grip without effort.

The shock on his face was immediate.

But my clarity wasn’t sudden. It had been building quietly for a long time.

For months, I had been swallowing suspicions, convincing myself I was imagining things, that I was just an insecure wife unable to understand his ambition.

But now, every memory came rushing back all at once.

All the times I had been left waiting—like an afterthought in my own marRavenge.

Our anniversary dinner where I sat alone for hours while he claimed he was dealing with a crisis with her.

The weekend trip he cancelled because Raven was “emotionally overwhelmed” and needed his attention.

The nights he came home late, carrying the faint trace of a sweet, unfamiliar perfume that I forced myself to ignore.

I had kept excusing everything. I had kept choosing denial over truth.

Until now.

The illness hadn’t broken me. But this moment did something worse—it stripped away the version of me that still defended him.

Everything inside me went quiet, then steady.

“Fine,” I said at last.

I turned my gaze from Raven to Nathaniel.

“If you refuse to let her go,” I said calmly, “then let’s end this properly. Divorce me.”

“If you refuse to let her go, then let’s just end this with a divorce.”

The moment those words left my mouth, the room seemed to tighten around us, like even the air had gone still.

Nathaniel stared at me in silence for a beat, then blinked repeatedly as if he was trying to confirm he had heard me correctly. A short, disbelieving laugh slipped out of him soon after, sharp with mockery.

“You’re not serious,” he said, shaking his head with an almost amused disbelief, like I had said something ridiculous. “Divorce? Over this? Because you’re jealous? Amara, take a good look at yourself. You’re unwell right now. You’re emotional and exhausted, and you’re letting insecurity destroy everything we’ve worked for.”

Raven immediately stepped closer, folding her hands in front of her as though she had been rehearsing the gesture. Her eyes widened dramatically, glistening with tears that never quite fell.

“Mrs. Amara… please,” she said in a trembling voice. “Is this because of me? I swear I never wanted to ruin anything between you and Mr. Nathaniel. I was only trying to help him because he’s been so stressed. I would never try to come between a married couple. Please don’t decide something so serious because of me.”

She turned toward Nathaniel after that, her expression softening into practiced fragility, as if she were the one being wronged.

“It isn’t his fault,” she added gently. “He works so hard for you… for the family. We’re not—”

“I don’t care anymore,” I interrupted.

My voice came out flat, stripped of feeling. “If you want him that badly, you can have him. I’m divorcing him.”

All color drained from Nathaniel’s face. “Amara, enough. You’re going too far—”

“What is going on here?”

The voice cut through the tension like a sudden strike of thunder.

We all turned.

At the doorway stood Julian, Nathaniel’s grandfather, holding onto his cane yet still commanding the entire room with his presence. His expression alone made it clear he had heard enough.

“Why am I hearing talk about divorce from my favorite daughter-in-law?” he demanded sharply.

Nathaniel straightened immediately, the arrogance that had filled him moments earlier vanishing in an instant, replaced by something closer to panic.

“Grandfather,” he said quickly. “It’s not what it sounds like. Amara isn’t feeling well—she’s had dengue fever. She’s confused.”

“Confused?” Julian stepped forward, his gaze landing on me at once. He reached out and held my hand, his touch surprisingly gentle as he studied my face. “Nathaniel, she looks like she can barely stand. Why isn’t she resting in bed? Why is she here? And why are you speaking to her like this instead of taking care of your wife?”

“I am taking care of her,” Nathaniel insisted too quickly. “I was just—”

“He’s been busy,” I said, cutting across him without looking his way. My eyes stayed on Julian instead. “Too busy, Grandpa. Five days in the hospital and he never once came. He didn’t even answer my calls.”

“That’s not true,” Nathaniel snapped, panic slipping into his tone as sweat formed along his temple. “I was working. The merger is critical, Grandfather. I was handling everything for the family, for all of us. I was planning to visit her today.”

He stepped closer to me, suddenly switching his tone into something softer, performative.

“Amara, baby, tell him,” he urged. “I told you I’d make it up to you. I’ll take care of you properly now. I’ll fix everything—just don’t say things like that.”

Julian struck his cane hard against the floor, the sound echoing sharply.

“Fix it?” the old man said grimly. “You should already be fixing your responsibilities. I will not tolerate divorce in this family. Do you understand me? Now stop this nonsense. We’re having dinner. We need to discuss the company, and clearly you’ve lost your sense of direction.”

Nathaniel nodded immediately. “Yes, Grandfather. Of course. Dinner.”

He motioned for me to follow him out.

I didn’t move.

Behind him, Raven shifted nervously, then quickly composed herself and tried to fall into step as they walked.

“Why are you following?” I asked suddenly.

She hesitated. “I always attend these dinners,” she answered softly. “I take notes, assist with discussions… it’s part of my role.”

“That won’t be necessary,” I said. “He doesn’t need assistance. He needs his wife there.”

“But the merger documents—” she began weakly. “Mr. Nathaniel might need—”

“I said no.”

Then I turned to Nathaniel. “Do you want her there?”

The question hung between us, deliberate and sharp.

He froze.

His eyes flicked from Raven, to his grandfather watching closely, then back to me. After a long, heavy pause that revealed more than any answer could, he exhaled.

“No, Raven,” he finally said, avoiding her gaze. “Go home. I’ll handle this.”

Raven’s face tightened as though she had been struck. She looked at him in disbelief, then at me with quiet fury, but there was nothing left for her to do.

“Yes… sir,” she muttered.

A faint smile curved on my lips.

Dinner at the Voss estate felt suffocating in its own quiet way. The long table stretched between us like a barrier, the only sounds coming from cutlery against porcelain and Julian’s steady questioning about business performance.

Nathaniel barely sat still. His attention kept slipping away, his leg shifting repeatedly under the table.

His phone was vibrating.

I could see the faint glow beneath the tablecloth each time it lit up.

Raven.

She was likely flooding him with messages—anger, pleading, maybe even tears. The thought barely surprised me anymore.

“Nathaniel!”

Julian’s voice snapped through the room.

Nathaniel jolted so suddenly his wine glass almost tipped over. “Yes, Grandfather?”

“I asked about the Singapore expansion logistics,” Julian said firmly. “You weren’t listening. What exactly is so important under the table?”

“Nothing,” Nathaniel answered quickly, sliding his phone deeper into his pocket. “Just investor emails.”

Julian exhaled in frustration. “All this talk about business, yet you can’t even focus. What about the heir?”

The words dropped heavily into the room.

My hand paused mid-air, fork suspended.

“You’ve been married for five years,” Julian continued, unaware of the tension tightening around me. “I am not getting any younger. This empire needs continuity.”

Nathaniel cleared his throat and suddenly placed his hand over mine, his palm damp.

“We’re working on it,” he said with a forced smile. “We’ll try again soon, right, honey? When Amara is ready.”

Try again.

The phrase echoed in my mind like something broken repeating itself.

As if he hadn’t destroyed me the year before, when I lost our baby alone while he claimed he was at a conference—only for me to later learn Raven had been there too. As if that pain was something disposable, something he could casually retry.

He wasn’t asking for a child.

He was asking for inheritance.

I looked at him then, really looked, and what I saw wasn’t love or concern—only calculation.

Still, I smiled.

It was effortless, almost frightening how easily it came.

“Of course,” I said softly. “We can try again, Grandpa. For the heir.”

Julian nodded with approval. “Good. You should. The trust requires a direct heir before thirty. Time is not on your side.”

Nathaniel squeezed my hand under the table, firm and warning.

“We won’t fail you,” he said smoothly. “We’ll give you good news by our sixth anniversary.”

But I already knew there would be no sixth anniversary.

Because in five days, I would be gone.

That night, when I returned to our bedroom, the atmosphere felt heavy in a way that words couldn’t quite explain, as if even the silence between us had turned sharp. Nathaniel had been restless for a while, pacing back and forth like a man trying to control his own thoughts. I had noticed earlier how he kept checking his phone, and from the way his expression darkened afterward, I already knew it was Raven who had reached him again. Whatever she had said had clearly unsettled him, but he was careful—careful not to show it in front of me.

Not tonight. Not when he still needed something from me.

He needed me compliant. He needed me to give him what he wanted most.

I was seated at the vanity brushing through my hair when he finally approached. His footsteps were quiet at first, then deliberate, as though he had already decided how this moment should unfold.

“Amara,” he said softly, his voice lowered into something almost intimate. He came up behind me and rested his hands on my shoulders, leaning down just enough for his breath to brush my skin before his lips followed along the side of my neck.

“I really am sorry about everything earlier,” he murmured. “Let me make it right. We can put all of that aside… and start trying. Right now.”

His hands began to move lower along my arms, and I felt a wave of discomfort crawl under my skin, instinctively tightening my body.

I stood up quickly, breaking away from him before he could pull me back in.

“I’m exhausted, Nathaniel,” I said, already moving toward the bed. I pulled the blanket up, holding it close like a shield. “The doctor already told me I need to rest. I’m still weak from the dengue.”

A flicker of irritation crossed his face, subtle but unmistakable. It was gone almost immediately, but I saw it—the brief crack in his patience.

“Alright,” he said curtly, forcing a breath out as he ran a hand through his hair. “Fine. Rest then. I’ll wait.”

He grabbed his phone from the nightstand, his movements sharper than before.

“I’ll head to the study. Just need to go through a few emails.”

“Okay,” I replied quietly, closing my eyes as if I were already slipping into sleep.

I stayed still until I heard the door click shut. I counted his footsteps as they faded down the hallway, each one confirming what I already suspected—he wasn’t going to any study. He was either calling her or already on his way to her.

Once the silence settled, I opened my eyes.

From inside the pillowcase, I retrieved a second phone—an old burner I had hidden away long ago. My fingers tightened around it as I dialed a number I had never thought I would use again.

A deep voice answered after one ring.

“Hello?”

“It’s Amara,” I said in a low whisper. “I need you to do something for me. Something important.”

The man on the other end was the head butler of the estate, the one person who had been more of a guardian to me than anyone else in my family. He had seen things no one else had noticed, heard things no one else was ever meant to hear.

“Anything you need, Miss Amara,” he replied without hesitation.

“Follow Nathaniel,” I instructed, my tone firming into something colder. “He’s leaving the house. I want every movement documented. Where he goes, who he meets, everything he says. Photos, recordings, videos—everything.”

“Understood,” he said immediately. “I’ll handle it.”

I ended the call and leaned back against the pillows, staring blankly at the ceiling.

I wasn’t simply walking away from my marRavenge anymore.

I was preparing to dismantle it completely.

By morning, sunlight filtered gently through the curtains, soft and almost mocking in contrast to how heavy everything felt inside me. Nathaniel’s side of the bed was empty and cold, untouched in a way that confirmed he had not returned at all during the night.

I sat on the edge of the mattress with the burner phone pressed to my ear once more.

“I want everything handled quietly,” I said in a controlled voice. “No leaks. No rumors. Not a single word reaches the press or the family until I’m gone.”

On the other end was Carter, the family’s long-serving lawyer, someone who had been with both the Vosss and the Morgans for decades. He let out a slow breath, the kind that carried years of experience and concern.

“Amara,” he said carefully, “are you certain about this? A divorce of this scale… it will not be simple. The families won’t approve it easily. The merger is tied to your marRavenge. You’ve always been seen as the perfect match.”

Perfect match.

The words left a bitter taste in my mouth.

My thoughts drifted without permission.

I was twelve again, standing inside the grand library, my shoes too tight as I was pushed forward by expectation I didn’t understand yet.

“This is Nathaniel,” my grandfather had said proudly, placing him beside me like a declaration of fate. “He will be your future husband.”

Even then, I had disliked him immediately. He had tugged at my hair and called me a doll like I was something decorative rather than real.

But there had been someone else before that version of my life took shape.

A boy with quiet eyes and rough hands, the kind that carried warmth instead of arrogance. He had shown me how to skip stones across the lake behind the estate, laughing softly each time I missed. I had been told later that he was “not suitable,” not important enough, not worthy of the family’s world.

So I let him go.

I had cried over it for a long time, more than I admitted to anyone. And eventually, I stopped crying at all. I looked at Nathaniel instead—the charming, reckless heir—and convinced myself I could shape him into something better. Something I could live with.

I believed I could fix him.

I had been wrong.

“Amara?” Carter’s voice brought me back. “Are you still there?”

“Yes,” I answered quietly, grounding myself in the present. The emptiness of the room felt sharper now. “Forget the merger. Forget what the families want. I don’t care about any of it anymore.”

I exhaled slowly.

“I’ve already sent you everything—the evidence, the messages, the recordings from last night. Use it. Make the infidelity clause enforceable. The prenup should collapse completely.”

There was a long pause on the line, heavy with understanding.

“Understood,” Carter finally said, his tone shifting into something more professional. “If the evidence holds, then we can proceed accordingly.”

“Good,” I replied. “Send the finalized papers in four days. Not earlier. Not later.”

“Alright.”

The call ended.

My hands trembled slightly, not from fear, but from the rush of certainty settling into place. Everything was finally moving.

There was still one more call I needed to make.

One number I had never deleted. One I had memorized so deeply it never left me, even after a decade of silence.

My thumb hovered above the screen.

If I pressed call, there would be no turning back. Everything I had known—every tie, every obligation—would burn with it.

Still, I pressed it.

It rang once. Then twice.

“Hello?”

The voice was different now, deeper, rougher, shaped by years I hadn’t witnessed. But underneath it was still the same calm softness that once made everything feel safe.

“Van?” I whispered.

A pause followed.

“Amara?” he said finally, disbelief threading through every syllable. “Is it really you?”

My throat tightened instantly. Just hearing him made something inside me crack open, something I thought had long been buried.

“It’s me,” I managed, my voice breaking slightly.

“Are you alright?” he asked quickly. “Why are you calling now? What happened—”

“Do you still love me?” I cut in before I could lose my resolve.

The question hung between us, fragile and raw.

There was silence on the other end—long enough to feel like an answer in itself.

Then, softly, without hesitation:

“I never stopped,” Van said. “Not once.”

A quiet sob slipped out before I could stop it.

I wiped at my face, steadying myself through shaking breaths.

“Then…” I whispered, forcing the words through, “can you come for me in five days? And… marry me?”