The words had barely left Jessica's mouth when regret hit her—she clamped a hand over her lips, shocked. Aliya Ross felt the blood drain from her face.

Eight years ago, when Santana Gray had just been accepted back by his family after returning from Boston, he faced brutal payback from relatives. At a make-or-break moment, Aliya volunteered to lead the pursuers away, but they caught her instead. Those three days and nights still haunted her whenever she dared to remember.

Santana waited outside the ER for seventy-two hours straight—not even a coffee break. When he learned Aliya's kidney had ruptured and she needed a transplant, he didn't hesitate for a second before volunteering for compatibility tests. He saved her life, but the psychological scars cut deep. She'd lock herself in the bathroom, scrubbing her skin raw, flinching violently whenever anyone came close. In her frenzied state, she stabbed Santana more than once. She nearly cost him an eye; the scar at the corner still lingered to this day.

Even then, Santana held her tight. His usual cool, proud composure shattered as he wept through the night, tears mixing with blood that seared her palms. "You're not tainted. You're not at all. You are the purest soul in the world."

To shield her from more trauma, Santana pulled every string he could to bury the kidnapping, forbidding anyone from ever bringing it up. When a well-connected young man tried to spread the story as gossip, he was silenced fast—his parents didn't even dare to complain.

Yet now, after overhearing the whole exchange, Santana simply tucked Jessica protectively behind him, like he was bracing for Aliya's reaction.

"Jessica didn't mean it. Don't blame her. Besides—" Santana sighed. "She's not entirely wrong."

Those few words stabbed through Aliya's heart, shredding all the fierce love she'd cherished for years into ribbons.

"So you think I'm filthy?"

Santana looked away. "I'm a man too. It's hard to completely look past this."

Though it was scorching summer outside, Aliya felt like she'd been thrown into an icy wasteland. She grabbed whatever she could reach and hurled it. "Get out! Both of you!"

But Santana caught her wrist, his tall, imposing frame caging her in. "Jessica was like a daughter to your mother. If you throw her out now, what will people think?"

The place that had once been her safe haven now filled her with dread. "What do you want?"

"We'll stay here with you through Thanksgiving. In return, you'll attend my wedding to Jessica."

Santana's voice carried a hint of indulgence. "It's the only way to spare Jessica from being judged."

Just to protect Jessica from a little criticism? Aliya glared at the man in front of her, feeling the fury blaze in her chest. "And what about me?"

Santana sighed again. "I know you want to be recognized."

"I've found a country where polygamy is legal. Your status can be legally recognized too."

"You want me to be a second wife?"

Aliya couldn't believe she was hearing this proposal in this day and age. The shame and humiliation nearly swallowed her whole. "Absolutely not!"

"I'm leaving you. I'll never—"

"With your reputation, who else would take you?" Santana cut her off, cold and impatient, each word stinging. "Your only family is gone. I'm all that's left. Where else could you possibly go?"

"I've given you recognition. Enough of this drama."

Jessica chimed in, "Exactly, Aliya. It's such a blessing that I'm the one marrying Santana. Don't worry, I won't make things hard for you. We'll still be besties, just like before, okay?"

"If your mother were still alive, she'd want us all to get along."

Seeing Jessica reach for her hand, Aliya felt a surge of revulsion and snatched her hand away.

Jessica stumbled off balance and fell toward the table that held the urn.

Aliya rushed to catch her, but Santana shoved her aside just in time.

With a crash, the urn shattered, ashes scattering across the floor.

"No!" Aliya screamed, the sound pure despair.

Santana saw what had happened and frowned. "I was only trying to keep Jessica from getting hurt."

Before he could say anything else, Jessica started coughing violently.

"Jessica, what's wrong? Is it your asthma?"

Jessica struggled to shake her head. "It's all my fault. If it weren't for me, the ashes wouldn't have—cough, cough—go comfort Aliya. I'll be fine..."

She passed out before she could finish.

Santana's entire demeanor shifted. He scooped Jessica up urgently, shouting for the medical team.

As he hurried out, he shot Aliya a look of pure contempt. "If anything happens to Jessica, I'll never forgive you!"

Aliya Ross heard nothing else. She lay on the freezing ground, painstakingly gathering her mother’s ashes with trembling fingers. Each movement smeared crimson streaks across the rough surface, but she didn’t dare pause, not even for a second.

Time seemed to stretch forever, and just as she was about to finish, the door crashed open. Several burly men stormed in, yanking her arms behind her back and forcing her to the ground. She recognized them—Santana Gray’s thugs.

"What do you want?" she demanded, her voice desperate.

A gust of wind blasted through the open door, scattering the ashes she’d so carefully collected. "No!" Aliya’s cry was raw with agony.

"Why are you doing this?" she screamed, fighting wildly, only to be pinned down harder. "After the chaos you’ve caused, you still have the nerve to ask why?" one of the men sneered. "You’ve got some nerve."

And so, Aliya could only watch, helpless, as her mother’s remains were blown away like dust. Then she was bound and tossed into a cramped, dark cell like a piece of trash. For three days, they gave her no food, no water. Whenever sleep tried to claim her, someone would blast a blinding light in her eyes and beat her again and again with a thick metal rod.

When she was finally released, Santana stood at the top of the stairs, looking down on her. "Have you learned your lesson?"

But his expression shifted the moment he saw her face, swollen and raw. "What the hell happened? Who did this to you?"

Jessica stepped out of the car, her eyes going wide with horror at the sight of Aliya. She wheeled on Santana, pounding his chest in fury. "I told you, even if Aliya was the one who leaked what happened at the church and embarrassed me in public, it was my own fault. I owe her. How could you lock her up without telling me?"

"Don’t you get how much she means to me?" Jessica’s voice broke, choked with tears, and Santana froze.

And from their exchange, Aliya finally understood why she’d been punished.

But she’d never reported or leaked anything.

The most absurd part? Her fiancé, the man who once swore he’d trust her no matter what, had condemned her without even asking.

How ridiculous.

Watching them, so wrapped up in their own world, Aliya couldn’t help but laugh, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Santana frowned, then sighed. "Fine. I’ll let it slide this time."

"But your jealousy needs to be reined in, and you need to be taught a lesson."

"I’ve already made the arrangements. After Jessica and I are married, you’ll be sent abroad immediately. Someone there will... guide you."

Before Aliya could protest, Jessica chimed in, "That’s not right."

"I’ve heard that in that country, a concubine’s status is lower than a servant’s, and they’re treated cruelly. I’m afraid Aliya won’t make it."

"Let me talk to her properly. Or if she really doesn’t want to change, that’s okay. After all, I also endured such hardships."

Santana’s eyes softened with deep affection. "You’re too kind. You always let her walk all over you. That’s why she thought she could get away with going against you. She needs to be taught a lesson."

Their exchange felt like they were discussing something trivial, like the weather. Rage boiled over inside Aliya, and she screamed hoarsely, "I won’t go! I’d rather die than become your concubine!"

Her words lit a fire in Santana. "Who the hell else would take you? With your reputation in the gutter, you think there’s anyone out there who’d want you?"

His words hung in the air, and Aliya just stared, stunned into silence. Frustrated, he raked a hand through his hair and turned away. "I’ve made up my mind. You’ll go whether you like it or not!"

The Jeep’s door slammed shut, and it pulled away, like an invisible slap across Aliya’s face—one she never saw coming and couldn’t hit back against.

A wave of nausea hit her, and she collapsed, retching violently. She wasn’t sure how long it lasted, but when the heaving finally stopped, she spotted a phone booth not far away.

Crawling to it, Aliya fumbled for her last coins and dialed a number she knew by heart. The moment the line connected, her tears fell uncontrollably. "Grandpa..."

Years ago, her parents had eloped, cutting ties with her mother’s family. Guilt-ridden, her mother never dared to contact them. It wasn’t until her dying moments that she scribbled a phone number on Aliya’s palm.

After a heavy silence, an authoritative yet kind voice came through the line. "Child, you’ve been through so much."

It seemed her grandfather already knew everything.

Aliya’s voice choked with emotion. "Grandpa, they’ve taken all my travel documents. Can you save me?"

"In three days, I’ll have all your documents reissued. Then I’ll come personally to take you home," her grandfather promised.