The phone felt impossibly heavy in my hands, my grip tight enough to make the plastic creak. “Selene… your father has been looking for you. He’s hoping to speak with you soon,” the lawyer’s assistant said softly over the line.

I drew in a shaky breath, trying to steady the trembling in my chest. “Tell him…” I paused, forcing my tone to something resembling calm. “Tell him I’m leaving Rafael. If he truly wants to make up for the twenty years he ignored me, he can come get me in a week. Take me away from here.”

A quiet pause followed, and then the assistant cleared their throat. “You’re… divorcing Rafael? Are you sure, Ms. Mendoza?”

A humorless laugh slipped out of me. “Yes. I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life. Prepare the papers. I want them signed the moment I walk in the door.”

The call ended before a reply came. I let the phone drop to the coarse blanket draped over my bruised legs. My fingers shook as I rolled up the sleeve of my hospital gown, exposing the jagged, puckered scar that ran down my forearm—a harsh reminder of betrayal seared too deep to ever forget.

Only three days had passed since the fire. Bianca—the friend I had trusted most, the one I thought was family—had started it. That same woman Rafael had been carrying on with behind my back.

She had stormed into my boutique that afternoon, her eyes wild and voice laced with venom. “Selene, you need to let him go,” she had shouted, no longer pretending to be polite. I told her to leave, but before I could usher her out, her hands were everywhere—upending solvent cans, snatching a candle, tossing it into the shelves.

The flames spread instantly, devouring everything. Fabric, wood, every piece of my labor and pride went up in seconds. And Bianca? She didn’t scream or scramble—she just stood there, watching with that smug grin I had once thought charming. When she finally stumbled outside, she clutched her wrist, crying out as if she had been the one in danger.

By the time the firefighters pulled me out, unconscious and burned, everything I had built lay in ruins. Rafael didn’t even glance at me. Instead, he stood by Bianca, his arm draped possessively over her trembling shoulders.

“She’s four months pregnant,” the doctor said cautiously. “We need to act quickly—both she and the baby could be in serious danger—”

“I don’t care,” Rafael interrupted sharply. “Save her. I don’t care about the other one.”

The “other one.” That was what I had become. Not a wife, not the mother of his child—just an inconvenience, a shadow of the life I should have had.

When I finally awoke, wrapped in bandages, the hospital room felt surreal, almost cruel in its brightness. I whispered for my baby, my voice cracking, barely audible.

The nurse’s face told me everything before words could. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Mendoza. We did everything we could, but it was too late.”

The air left me in a rush. My child—gone.

The phone buzzed on the nightstand, dragging me back into the cruel reality of Rafael’s world. His name flashed on the cracked screen. I hesitated. Part of me wanted to ignore it, pretend I was still unconscious, let him hope I had died. But old instincts die hard. I answered.

“Where are you?” His voice was sharp, commanding, merciless. “Bianca wants caviar tonight. Get it.”

I swallowed. “I… I can’t. The doctor said I need rest—”

“Do you think I care?” he snapped, cutting me off. “Come home. Or did you forget whose hand is on your mother’s life support? One word, Selene, and she’s gone. Is that what you want?”

My throat tightened. I closed my eyes, holding back tears. “No… I’ll come.”

“Good girl,” he said, the cruel satisfaction lacing his tone before the line went dead.

I sat motionless, the phone slipping from my hands. Every muscle in my body begged me to stay put, hide beneath the sterile sheets, forget the world outside.

The door creaked, and a nurse stepped in, avoiding my eyes. “Mrs. Mendoza… your husband called. He said you need to leave now.”

“I can barely stand,” I whispered.

“He insisted,” she murmured, placing my bag on the bed. “He said you’d understand the consequences if you didn’t.”

I knew instantly. My mother. Her life hanging by the thread of his cruelty.

So I let the nurse help me up. Each step down the stark, white corridor felt heavier than the last. The pitying stares, the hushed whispers, I ignored them all.

Outside, the city lights blurred through the car window. Neon streaked across my skin, still healing, still raw. My hand went to my stomach, feeling the emptiness where life had been.

When we arrived at the Mendoza estate, I told myself, one more week. One more week, and freedom would be mine.

Then it happened.

A sudden splash. Cold, muddy water drenched my face and hair, soaking through the thin coat I’d thrown over my hospital gown. I gasped, slipping on the slick stones, shivering from the chill.

“Oops!” a voice called mockingly from above.

I looked up. There she was—Bianca—leaning over the balcony, lips curved into a mockery of sympathy. “Oh dear, Selene,” she said, with that theatrical gasp, fingers pressed to her mouth. “I didn’t even notice you there. How unfortunate.”

The dirty water she’d just thrown drenched me from head to toe, seeping into my skin and the thin fabric of my gown. My hospital wristband still clung stubbornly to me—a reminder that I hadn’t even crossed the garden gate before humiliation found me again.

Bianca descended the marble staircase in a silk robe, her face painted with mock concern. “Oh my God, Selene, I’m so sorry!” she crooned sweetly. “I swear, I wasn’t aiming at you. I was just cleaning the balcony!”

She leaned closer until her perfume stung my nose, and in a low, venomous whisper, she hissed, “You got what you deserve. You’re filth, Selene. Utterly worthless. No wonder Rafael can’t stand the sight of you.”

Before I could form a reply, someone grabbed her arm and pulled her back. Rafael.

“What the hell are you doing near her?” he barked, brushing off her sleeve as if my presence had contaminated her. “You’ll ruin that robe if you stand too close to garbage. Keep your distance.”

Then his glare shifted to me, sharp and cold. “Why are you here looking like that? You think this is how a wife presents herself? You look like something that crawled out of a drain.”

I straightened as much as I could, my voice trembling. “It—it wasn’t me. Bianca threw—”

He cut me off, his voice rising. “So now it’s Bianca’s fault? Are you trying to get sympathy again? You never stop, do you? You already took away my child, and now you’re pretending to be the victim again? What do you even contribute to this household?”

His words burned deeper than any scar could.

He seized my wrist, his grip bruising, and dragged me toward the pool. “Since you’re already soaked,” he spat, “why don’t you clean the pool while you’re at it? I have guests coming. I don’t want them smelling your misery in my home.”

Then, without hesitation, he shoved me into the cold water.

I gasped, the shock knocking the breath from my lungs.

“I want dinner ready when they arrive,” Rafael ordered. “You’ll cook. You’ll serve. Understood?”

Bianca sauntered closer, her voice dripping with feigned worry. “Rafael, she’s barely recovered. Let me do it instead.”

He shot her a glare. “No. You stay with me. Let her prove she’s useful. She wanted to be my wife—then let her act like one.”

The icy water bit at my skin, each movement sending pain lancing through the half-healed burns. My clothes weighed me down, my scar tugging tight as I struggled to stay upright.

And just like that, the memories came flooding back.

Seven years earlier. The crash. The storm. Hannah’s scream echoing through the rain.

My twin sister, Hannah. The golden one. The one everyone adored—especially Rafael. They were the picture-perfect couple in college, inseparable, envied. But behind the smiles, I’d seen the cracks forming long before anyone else did.

That night, she’d been furious—wild with betrayal. I could still see her face as she snatched my car keys off the counter, her voice shaking with rage. She’d discovered Rafael’s affair—maybe even with Bianca—and she was determined to confront him.

“Stay here, Hannah. Please,” I had begged. “Don’t drive like this. Let’s talk.”

But she ignored me. I ran after her, jumping into the passenger seat as the storm raged. “Slow down!” I shouted, but she didn’t listen. The rain blurred everything, the wipers useless against the torrent.

Then came the blinding headlights. The screech of tires. The deafening crash.

When I woke up, the world smelled of metal and blood—and Hannah was gone. They said she died instantly.

Rafael never asked for details. Never asked what happened. To him, it was simple: I survived, and she didn’t. And that alone was enough reason to hate me.

Six months later, he proposed. I was too broken to question it. I thought maybe grief had softened him—that somehow, in losing her, he had found something in me worth loving.

But I was wrong.

The truth revealed itself quickly. The mistresses. The humiliation. He’d bring them home, flaunting them openly, ordering me to serve them drinks while they laughed in my face. Sometimes, he’d drag me into the room just to whisper Hannah’s name while he held another woman. Like a punishment. Like a ritual to remind me that I would never replace her.

Then came Bianca. My confidante. The last person I trusted. Until she turned into the sharpest weapon he ever used against me.

I didn’t know how long I floated in that pool, half-conscious and trembling. When I tried to climb out, my limbs gave out, and water filled my throat. I clawed weakly at the edge. “Help…”

From the balcony above, Rafael looked down, boredom in his eyes. “Quit the act. You can swim, Selene. Stop trying to get attention.”

And then he walked away.

The next thing I remembered was waking up by the pool’s edge, coughing and freezing. The garden lights were on now, glowing warmly over the laughter spilling from the terrace. The party had begun.

Through the haze, I saw them—Rafael and his friends, glasses raised, amusement flickering in their eyes as they talked.

“You really know how to keep her in line,” one of them laughed. “Aren’t you worried she’ll just leave you one day?”

Rafael smirked, swirling the liquor in his glass. “She won’t. That woman owes me. She killed Hannah. This is what she deserves. If she tries to leave, I’ll crush her. I bet you a million she won’t even last a day without crawling back.”

Their laughter blended with the music, each sound cutting through me like a blade.

But they were wrong.

Because in my pocket, my phone vibrated. A single message from my lawyer glowed on the cracked screen:

Your father confirmed. He’ll pick you up in five days. Your mother’s transfer is arranged. Everything is ready.

My chest tightened. I pressed the phone against my heart, gripping it like a lifeline.

Five more days. Just five.

Then I’d be gone.

Then I’d finally be free.

No amount of hot water could chase away the chill seeping through my bones. When I finally stepped out of the shower, skin still damp, I went straight to the small desk tucked behind my closet. From the hidden drawer, I pulled out a folder — crisp, freshly printed divorce papers, the scent of ink still clinging to the pages.

Downstairs, music pulsed through the mansion — loud, pretentious, expensive. Rafael’s favorite kind of spectacle. Laughter bubbled around clinking glasses and slurred gossip shared behind glossy lips and polished smiles. I’d walked through these parties for years, unseen, a ghost in my own home.

Clutching the folder to my chest, I slipped into the crowd. Perfume, liquor, and fake laughter clouded the air. I found Rafael by the bar, already several drinks deep. His hair was perfectly styled, but his eyes were glassy with alcohol. When he noticed me, his lips curled into that familiar smirk of disgust.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he sneered, loud enough for people nearby to hear. “You look like you crawled out of a drain. If you’re not here to help, get lost.”

I forced a faint smile, steadying my breathing. “It’s important, Rafael. The new house inventory forms — they need your signature tonight.”

He let out a mocking laugh. “Now? Are you out of your mind? I’m in the middle of something.”

“Please,” I murmured, keeping my voice calm. “It’ll only take a second.”

I could feel the stares, the whispered judgment burning into me. To them, I was the neglected wife interrupting the show. The embarrassment.

Rafael rolled his eyes and reached for the folder, but before he could flip it open, a shrill giggle cut through the air.

Bianca — dressed like she owned the place — staggered dramatically from the couch and collapsed to the floor in an exaggerated heap.

“Oh no,” she cooed, her tone syrupy sweet as her gaze locked on Rafael. “I tripped. Rafael, baby, help me.”

He brushed past me instantly, concern plastered across his face. But before he could reach her, I stepped into his path. My hands trembled, but I stood my ground.

“Sign it first,” I said quietly. “Please.”

His eyes flashed with irritation. “For fuck’s sake, Selene!” He snatched the pen from my hand, scribbled his name across the line without reading a word, and shoved the folder back into my chest. “There. You happy now?”

“Perfect,” I whispered, sliding the papers safely beneath my arm.

Bianca was already upright, slinking toward him, her arms winding around his neck like vines. “Baby,” she pouted, “she’s ruining your mood again. Come upstairs. You promised me a dance.”

He gave me one last glare before disappearing with her into the blur of laughter and champagne.

I slipped away unnoticed, my hands trembling as I climbed the stairs. When I reached my room, I shut the door, locked it, and collapsed to my knees, clutching the folder against my heart. One signature. One step closer to the life he swore I’d never escape.

From the back of my closet, I dragged out the duffel bag I’d packed months ago — in secret, in silence, over countless sleepless nights. Inside were a few changes of clothes, a small stash of cash, and my mother’s medical documents. I emptied the jewelry box on my dresser, tossing away everything Rafael had ever bought me. Each piece glittered like a curse.

Except for one thing — the delicate silver necklace my mother had left behind. I found it nestled in the back of a drawer, still untangled, still pure. I clasped it around my neck, feeling its weight settle against my skin like a quiet reminder that someone once loved me without condition.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand, shattering the stillness. I snatched it up, expecting a message from my lawyer confirming the pickup.

But the name flashing on the screen froze me. Lemuel.

Rafael’s long-time rival — the man who had hovered around our marriage like a hawk circling something wounded.

I hesitated before answering. “Lemuel?”

“Selene,” he drawled, voice smooth as silk, carrying a hint of amusement. “Your father told me everything. What that bastard did to you… you never deserved any of it.”

I laughed shakily, bitterness spilling through the sound. “That’s an awfully nice way to put it.”

He chuckled lowly. “You want out, don’t you? Let me help you. Marry me. It’ll be fun — scandalous, even. Rafael won’t know what hit him.”

For a second, I just stared at the wall, a wild mix of disbelief and relief bubbling in my chest. Was it insane? Absolutely. But sanity hadn’t saved me before.

“Fine,” I said, my voice trembling with something close to freedom. “You want me? You can have me. I’ll be waiting.”

“Good girl,” he murmured. “Don’t back out.”

“I won’t.” I hung up, adrenaline flooding my veins.

The doorknob rattled. My pulse stopped.

Rafael burst in, his silhouette dark against the hallway light. His eyes were bloodshot, face flushed with liquor and rage.

“Who the hell were you talking to?” he snapped, crossing the room in two strides. “And why are you packing your things?”

He grabbed the phone from my hand before I could react. “Password.”

I tilted my head, meeting his glare with a faint smirk. “Our anniversary.”

He typed it in — February 18th. The screen flashed red. Incorrect.

His confusion hardened into anger. “The hell? That’s our date!”

I met his eyes. “No, Rafael. That’s you and Hannah. You forgot ours a long time ago.”

Color drained from his face before fury took over. “Tell me who you were talking to.”

“No one,” I lied smoothly. “I just need a few days with Mom. She’s not doing well.”

He laughed, the sound cold and sharp. “Did I say you could leave? You didn’t even lift a finger for the party, and now you’re playing the devoted daughter?”

He grabbed my arms, fingers digging in until I bit back a cry. Then he threw my phone against the dresser. It shattered, splintering the silence.

“Rafael?” Bianca’s voice floated in from the hallway, dripping with fake sweetness. “Everything okay, baby? Oh—are you two fighting about me again? Maybe it’s about me staying here?”

My stomach twisted. She was living here?

Rafael’s grin was cruel. “Nothing to worry about, sweetheart. She just thinks she can walk out on me.”

Bianca sauntered in, all perfume and smugness. “Well,” she purred, looping her arm through his, “when we go to Tokyo, maybe she can stay with her little coma mommy. Keep her company.”

He smirked, glancing at me like I was nothing. “Sounds perfect. Clean up this mess, Selene.”

They turned to leave. But Bianca paused at the doorway, her lips curving into a venomous smile. She leaned close enough that her whisper brushed my ear.

“You should be grateful I’m even letting you stay. Maybe you and your half-dead mother can rot together. You’ve always been nothing, Selene. Still are.”

Before I could react, her gaze flicked down to my chest. Her grin widened.

“Oh, this?” She yanked the necklace from my throat with a vicious tug, the chain snapping against my skin. “Pretty. I’ll take it.”