“I made a decision already,” I said, holding the phone to my ear. “For the sake of your illegitimate daughter, I’m going to marry that vegetative guy from the Hale family.”

“Yes! That’s the right choice!” my father said with pride thick in his voice. “You’re a good sister, Freya. And surely Ivy will be so happy to hear about it. I’ll get the wedding dress ready for you.”

I nodded, not really caring about it. I just wanted to leave the house as soon as possible.

He added, “I will also give you a private estate outside the city. Large, modern. Peaceful. A perfect start to your new life, and a twenty-million.”

My throat tightened. “Why are you suddenly so generous?”

“Because you’re doing this for your sister, and I want to reward you for that. I’m so proud of you.”

He sounded so proud of me for saving the daughter of the woman he betrayed my mother with. How ironic. All those years, no matter how many achievements I racked up, he never once told me he was proud.

“And one more thing,” he added. “You’ll have to give up Jaxon. I’ll assign him to Ivy from now on. You won’t need a butler once you marry into the Hale family. You’ll have more assistants than you’ll ever need in that house. But Ivy… she’s delicate. And she trusts him. He’s good for her.”

“No,” I said immediately, my voice cracking for the first time tonight. “Jaxon is my personal butler. He’s the only person I have.”

There was a short pause. Then my father’s voice turned cold. “Not anymore. Ivy needs him more. She’s fragile. You understand, right?”

I bit down hard on my lower lip until I tasted blood. As I stood there frozen, memories crashed into me.

My mother used to be the brightest woman I knew until the day she learned about the mistress of my father, and their child Ivy. A three-month-younger illegitimate daughter my father shamelessly brought into our home.

My mother was also pregnant with my supposed to be baby brother, but overwhelmed by grief, she went into labor too early. The baby didn't make it and neither did she.

After that, loneliness became my shadow. I stopped studying. I stopped smiling. Night after night, I snuck out to the clubs—dancing recklessly, drinking until I couldn't remember my name, trying to drown the ache.

That’s when I first saw Jaxon. He wasn’t like the other guys at the bar. He was just charming, and I fell in love at first sight.

I tried to get his attention. I laughed a little too loudly at jokes near him, leaned in when I spoke to other men just to see if he’d glance my way, wore dresses a little shorter and heels a little higher, accidentally brushed my fingers against his arm when reaching for a drink, let my perfume linger in the air around him, asked him for help tying the strap of my dress just to feel his fingers graze my skin, pretended to twist my ankle so he would have to catch me, sent him playful winks across the room, and once even drunkenly rested my head on his shoulder, but no matter what I did, he never once looked at me the way I desperately wanted him to.

I should have forgotten him. Until later, when the old butler assigned to me fell gravely ill, we needed a replacement.

Jaxon showed up again but this time, he was introduced as the butler’s son I wasn’t even aware of.

I thought fate had finally given me a piece of kindness. I thought finally, we would be close. But reality came crashing down again because lies always have a way of finding daylight.

One night, coming back from a late event, I overheard him on the phone in the garden.

"Jaxon, come home already," the caller had said. "Stop playing the butler’s son. You're the son of the Smith family."

"I can't," Jaxon had replied. "Ivy’s here. I want to be with her. You know I fell for her at first sight... I can’t let go. She's so fragile. I don’t want to scare her. She’s had a hard life. I want to protect her. Earn her trust. Then I’ll tell her everything. About who I really am."

"And Freya?" the voice asked.

His laugh still haunted me.

"Oh, that bitch? She’s just a stepping stone. Convenient. Nothing more."

That was the moment something inside me shattered, so I agreed to the marriage. And then now I agreed for Jaxon to be with Ivy because even if I fought for it, he would never look at me the same way he looked at her.

By the time I dragged myself back to my room, my stomach was twisting painfully. I hadn’t eaten since morning, and the untouched tray of food was now cold and congealed. I wandered down the hall toward Jaxon’s room.

"I’m hungry," I said flatly. "Can you get me something to eat?"

He blinked, almost bored. "I’m off duty now."

My brows pulled together. "So?"

"So it’s not my responsibility anymore," he replied, stepping out and brushing past me like I was no one.

I stood there, stunned, feeling smaller than I ever had in my life. And then, because fate enjoyed cruelty, it got worse.

"I’m not feeling well…" Ivy said.

I turned my head just in time to see her leaning against the doorframe, one hand daintily pressed to her forehead.

"I think I have a fever," she whispered. "And I’m craving that soup you made before… my stomach hurts. Could you… maybe…?"

Without hesitation, Jaxon turned back.

"I’ll get it," he said warmly. "Stay inside. I’ll be right back."

I turned and walked stiffly back to my room before the tears could humiliate me further. I wrapped my arms around myself. How could a human body feel so empty, and yet so unbearably heavy?

I lay in bed, not sleeping. Staring up at the ceiling as the minutes dragged into hours, feeling the hunger gnaw at my gut. Eventually, I got up, grabbed my wallet, tied my hair back, and slipped out of my room. I'd get my own food. Like I always should have.

But as I passed Ivy’s door, I slowed. The door was slightly ajar, a sliver of warm lamplight spilling into the hallway.

And there he was. Jaxon, seated at the edge of her bed, his jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up.

He watched Ivy sleep, his posture tense but his gaze impossibly gentle like she was something rare and precious. Ivy lay curled up beneath the covers, her breathing slow, a soft flush on her cheeks.

And then, as if pulled by something deep and undeniable, Jaxon reached out.

He brushed a strand of hair from her face then kissed her lips.

Ivy stirred faintly, letting out a small sound, and Jaxon whispered against her skin: You’re mine, Ivy. Always mine. I’ll do anything for you... even if it means disregarding Freya soon to make you happy.

Then he slid into bed beside her, pulling her small frame against his chest.

When I woke up, my body felt heavy.

My head throbbed slightly, and my stomach churned with emptiness. I hadn't eaten since yesterday, and I could still feel the weight of that last conversation lingering in my chest like a bruise.

I dragged myself up from the bed slowly, the morning light pouring in through the curtains in soft slants. My throat felt dry, but worse than that—my heart ached.

Not because I was hungry.

But because of what I heard through the hallway.

“I’m really okay now,” Ivy’s voice floated gently from the other room, followed by a soft laugh. “Thank you for staying with me last night.”

“I just wanted to make sure you were alright,” Jaxon replied, his voice low and calm. “You were burning up. I couldn’t leave.”

“You’re always here for me,” she whispered. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

My fingers clenched the edge of the mattress.

So he stayed in her room all night.

Even after I stood there—hungry, humiliated—he chose her. Again.

I reminded myself of the original deal. Jaxon had been hired to protect me. Not Ivy. Me.

That was the agreement.

At first, he did exactly that. He was everywhere I went—quiet, dependable, strong. For a while, I had let myself believe that maybe he cared.

But now? Now the illusion was gone.

I fixed my face in the mirror—no tears, no cracks. Only stillness. Then I changed and stepped out of my room.

Jaxon was standing by the hallway, waiting. As soon as he saw me, he asked, “Did you eat the food I left in your room?”

I didn’t even blink. “No. I threw it away.”

He frowned. “Why are you being dramatic?”

I arched a brow.

“Is this about last night?” he added. “Because if it is—look, I was off duty. I have the right to do what I want. And your sister was sick. You were just hungry. You couldn’t even cook something yourself?”

His words stung more than I wanted to admit.

But I didn’t argue.

I didn’t defend myself.

I just stared at him for a long, painful second—long enough for the silence between us to become unbearable.

Then I turned and started walking away.

“Where are you going?” he called after me.

I paused but didn’t look back. “Why are you asking? When you don’t care at all.”

And I walked out the front door.

The wind was crisp. The air a little cool against my skin. I started jogging—not to exercise, not to stay fit, but to escape. To run away from thoughts that clung to me like thorns.

Just as I found a rhythm, I heard a voice behind me.

“Freya!”

Ivy.

I didn’t stop.

“Can we jog together?” she asked, jogging up beside me with that effortless cheer in her tone.

I didn’t reply.

She fell into step beside me anyway.

Then, not even a minute later, she slowed and turned to Jaxon, who had caught up behind her. “Why does she hate me?” she pouted. “I just want to be close with her. She’s my sister…”

I heard Jaxon’s voice behind me. “Don’t worry about it. If she doesn’t like you, I’m here. I’ll never leave you.”

That was enough.

I sped up, leaving them behind—pretending like I hadn’t heard a thing.

But they followed.

We looped through the back roads until we ended up near the unfinished construction on the estate—an expansion my father had ordered months ago.

The area was quiet, surrounded by skeletons of beams and scattered materials. I slowed to a walk, letting my thoughts spiral.

I didn’t notice the loose debris on the ground until it was too late. I felt the sharp shift of weight beneath my foot—the metal plank tilting.

“Freya!” someone shouted.

But it was already falling. My foot caught against something—metal, unstable. The world tilted.

The sharp screech of steel against stone pierced the air as the plank gave way beneath me. My balance faltered. For a split second, time seemed to stretch, pulling everything into a slow, surreal blur.

I felt the shift in my body—the helpless sway as gravity took hold. Pain shot through me as the edge of the debris slammed against my side, dragging me down with it. The sky spun. The air rushed out of my lungs.

And just before the darkness swallowed everything, my eyes caught movement.

Jaxon.

He was running.

But not toward me.

Not to catch me.

Not to shield me.

He was running to her.

To Ivy.

His arms wrapped around her as they fell behind a beam, his body shielding hers from the spray of rubble that followed. His face—etched with panic—was turned only to her.

Even as I fell.

Even as the world shattered beneath me.

I was the one bleeding, broken, forgotten.

And he had already chosen who mattered.

Pain exploded through me—hot and sharp—before the world blinked out.

And then… there was only silence.

Only darkness.

Pain met me first.

My entire body felt like it had been dragged across pavement. My limbs were stiff. My ribs burned when I tried to breathe too deeply. And still, it wasn't the physical pain that hurt most.

“Miss Whitmore,” a soft voice called out.

A nurse stood beside me, clipboard in hand, lips curved into a professional smile. Her eyes darted to the monitor before she looked down at me. “You’re awake. That’s good.”

I swallowed, throat dry. “Where’s… Jaxon?”

She blinked, then nodded. “He left earlier this morning. He hired our team to watch over you. He’s currently attending to Miss Ivy. She sustained some injuries as well during the incident.”

There was a silence.

Then I almost laughed—but there was no humor in it. Just this raw, hollow sound that scraped at my throat.

I was the one who fell. The one who passed out from pain. But she—she was the one he ran to.

And now he had left someone else to take care of me while he sat beside her bed, probably holding her hand and whispering sweet reassurances.

It was ridiculous.

I let my head fall back against the pillow and exhaled slowly through my nose. A part of me wanted to lie still, pretend I cared enough to let this hurt break me.

But I didn’t.

Even with my body screaming in protest, I pushed the covers off and swung my legs over the bed. The nurse rushed forward. “Miss Whitmore, please—”

“I’m fine,” I said, cold and firm. “I don’t need help.”

That was the first lie of the day.

I stepped into the hallway, one hand pressed against the wall for balance. The corridor was dimly lit, lined with muted green doors and flowers in too-perfect vases.

I didn’t mean to stop.

But I did.

Right outside the room next to mine.

The door was cracked open. Voices spilled into the hallway.

“It’s my fault,” Ivy whispered, her voice trembling just enough to sound pitiful. “You got hurt because of me.”

“No,” Jaxon said, his voice too soft. Too gentle. “It’s okay. I’d do it again. I don’t mind getting hurt if it means keeping you safe.”

My nails dug into my palm.

“But what about my sister?” she asked, like it was a line rehearsed. “You’re her personal butler… and also the one to protect her.”

“She’s fine now,” he replied, and I could picture the look on his face—calm, unwavering, loyal. “Freya’s strong. She doesn’t need me the way you do.”

I felt something twist in my chest.

Strong.

That word again.

They all used it when they wanted an excuse not to care. Freya’s strong. She can handle it. She doesn’t cry. She’ll be fine.

But no one ever asked if I wanted to be strong.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sudden shuffle of movement. I peeked further.

Several men in black suits walked into Ivy’s room, each one carrying a velvet-wrapped gift.

“Who are they?” Ivy asked.

One of them stepped forward and bowed. “Miss Ivy, these are gifts from Young Master Smith. He heard about what happened and wanted to send these to make you smile.”

Ivy’s mouth dropped open in awe. “Wait—what? I don’t even know him personally!”

The man smiled. “But he’s been watching from afar. Admiring you.”

“Do you think I deserve this?” she asked, looking at Jaxon with wide, gleaming eyes.

“Of course,” he said without hesitation.

“And… do you think he likes me?” she added with a giggle.

Jaxon nodded. “Surely.”

I didn’t need confirmation.

I already knew.

Young Master Smith… was Jaxon. Hiding behind a title, crafting an illusion, so he could shower her with gifts under a different name.

I turned away.

But before I could disappear down the hall, her voice stopped me.

“Oh my gosh—Freya!” Ivy gasped. “Sister, look! Young Master Smith sent all these for me. I’m so lucky, don’t you think?”

I didn’t say a word. I just kept walking.

But Ivy wasn’t done. She caught up to me in the hall, her heels clicking frantically behind me.

“Wait! Are you mad? Is it because you’re jealous?”

I stopped.

Turned.

“I would never be jealous of you,” I said, every word like ice. “Let. Go. Of. Me.”

She reached for my arm again and I shoved her away.

Not hard.

But enough.

“Careful!” Jaxon called out as he appeared behind us. He rushed to Ivy’s side. “She’s not well yet. You should apologize.”

Apologize?

I stared at him for a long, hollow second.

And then… I did.

“Sorry,” I said, flatly.

For what—I didn’t even know. But I was tired. Too tired to fight anymore.

I turned and walked away, past the nurses, past the flowers, past the walls painted in colors meant to soothe.

Behind me, I heard him mutter, “Let her go… she’s probably just being dramatic.”

“I’m still worried,” Ivy’s voice chimed in sweetly. “Let’s follow her.”