Delaney POV

I pulled my old suitcase off the closet shelf, the same bag I had brought with me three years ago. I didn't touch the designer dresses or the custom jewelry Raiden’s assistant had bought over the years. None of it belonged to me.

I packed only my plain cotton clothes, my sketchbooks, and a worn beige cardigan.

As I folded the cardigan, the bedroom door swung open.

Cynthia stepped inside, clicked the door shut behind her, and instantly dropped her fragile, limping facade. She stood tall, crossed her arms, and leaned against the frame with a cold, triumphant smirk.

"Packing already, Delaney?" Cynthia taunted, her voice devoid of any weak, breathy tremor. "I have to admit, watching you play the dutiful, silent wife for three years was almost entertaining."

I didn't pause my hands. I smoothed down the sweater, placed it in the bag, and met her gaze with an empty, steady stare.

"I don't need an audience anymore," Cynthia laughed softly, walking over to the bed. Her eyes landed on the cardigan, and her smirk widened. "Oh, look at that... the same sweater you wore the night you dragged Raiden out of the frozen lake."

She reached out and snatched the corner of the fabric, leaning in close.

"Did you really think a dead mother's promise would keep you in his bed forever?" Cynthia whispered viciously. "You bled on that ice while I hid in the warm cabin. But who gets the mansion? Who gets Raiden? Me. He thinks I'm his savior, Delaney, and he'll hate you for the rest of his life."

I didn't flinch. I reached out, grabbed her wrist with a tight, unyielding grip, and forced her fingers off my sweater.

"You can stop puffing your chest, Cynthia," I said, my voice dangerously calm as I stepped right into her space. "You didn't 'win' anything.

You scavenged a man who was handed to you because I stepped aside to honor a dead woman's promise—not because you were clever enough to take him."

Cynthia’s smile faltered, her jaw tightening as I held her wrist suspended in the air.

"A marriage built on a stolen rescue isn't a victory, it's a ticking clock," I continued, leaning down to whisper right in her ear. "You can have him. A man who is so blind he can't even recognize the hands that pulled him out of the ice isn't a prize. He's a blind fool, and you're welcome to spend the rest of your life terrified that he might open his eyes."

"Now get out of my room," I commanded, my voice dropping to a low whisper. "Unless you want me to march downstairs right now and ask Raiden why your 'paralyzed' legs are supporting your weight so effortlessly."

Cynthia’s face went completely pale. The triumphant smirk vanished, replaced by a flash of pure rage and panic. Her throat worked as she swallowed hard, her fingernails digging deep into her palms.

"You think you're so smart, Delaney," Cynthia hissed, her voice trembling with anger. "You're nothing! You hear me? Nothing!"

Unable to mask her fury for another second, Cynthia whirled around, slammed the bedroom door behind her with a deafening BANG, and stormed out into the hallway.

I didn't flinch at the slam. I stood alone in the quiet room, smoothed down my sweater, and calmly zipped my suitcase shut.

Few moments later, I carried my suitcase down the grand staircase.

Cynthia was already downstairs, lounging frail on the velvet couch while Raiden’s mother, Evelyn, hovered over her with a cup of tea. The moment my heels hit the marble foyer, Cynthia let out a tiny, breathless gasp, clutching her chest as if the mere sight of my suitcase exhausted her fragile frame.

"Oh, Delaney..." Cynthia whimpered softly, tears welling in her eyes as Raiden stepped to her side to support her. "Please don't leave like this... it breaks my heart..."

Evelyn glared at me with undisguised contempt. "Finally. Now we can get this place cleaned up. Cynthia moves into the master suite tonight."

I kept my chin high, offered an empty, polite smile, and made a straight line for the front exit. "You won't have to worry about me, Mrs. Vance."

"Stop right there."

Raiden’s commanding voice cut through the foyer. Heavy footsteps echoed on the marble behind me, and a strong grip clamped around my wrist, pulling me to a sudden halt.

My sleeve pulled back under his force, exposing the scars running down my wrist—the permanent marks left by sharp, broken ice three years ago. Raiden’s eyes flicked down to my arm, his dark brows drawing together in a brief, subtle pause before his cold composure returned.

"Let go, Raiden," I said flatly. "We're done."

"You don't walk out until I say so," Raiden said, his voice hard and uncompromising. "You played the submissive wife for three years, Delaney. Don't ruin your performance at the finish line."

​"The family is holding a welcome dinner for Cynthia tonight," he continued coldly. "The board and the press don't know about our divorce yet.

"And if I walk out that door right now?"

"Then I will pull every supply contract your father's business relies on by tomorrow morning," Raiden threatened without missing a beat.

I stared at him, my pulse thumping in my ears.

If I fled into the night like a disgraced dog, they would spend the rest of their lives framing me as the bitter, jealous villain.

I yanked my wrist out of his grip. "Fine. I'll stay for dinner."

An hour later, the long dining table was dressed in crystal and fine china.

I sat at the far end, completely isolated, while Cynthia sat at Raiden’s right hand, bathed in the family's undivided attention. Throughout the meal, Evelyn showered her with praise, calling her a miracle for surviving her recovery and coming back to her rightful place.

I quietly ate my food, setting my silver fork down with measured, effortless composure while ignoring the sharp, hostile glances sent my way.

As the wine was served, Raiden’s uncle raised his glass. "To Cynthia—for bringing our Raiden back from the brink three years ago."

Glasses clinked. Cynthia smiled modestly, leaning her head onto Raiden’s shoulder.

Then, Raiden stood up from the head of the table.

He didn't pick up his glass. His dark eyes locked onto me at the far end of the long board, his face carved of absolute stone.

The dining room went dead quiet. Every eye at the table turned from Raiden to me.

"Before you walk out of this house and leave this family tonight, Delaney, there is one last thing you need to do," Raiden said, his deep voice carrying over the silent table.

He gestured toward Cynthia, his tone cold, demanding, and merciless.

"Stand up, look your sister in the eye, and apologize to her for stealing three years of her life."

Delaney POV

The silver fork in my hand felt heavy, freezing against my numb fingers.

Across the long table, Raiden sat with his dark eyes locked onto mine. Beside him, Cynthia lowered her head, resting her hand over his sleeve while Evelyn watched me, her lips pulled into a tight, expectant smirk.

"Raiden, please... don't force her," Cynthia whispered, her voice soft and trembling. She patted his arm, looking up at him through thick lashes. "It's fine. I know Delaney didn't mean to hurt my feelings. Let’s not fight on my first night home..."

Raiden’s jaw flexed. He laid his palm flat on the table and turned to me, his brow furrowed into deep lines.

"No, Cynthia. You’ve been far too patient," Raiden said, his tone flat and unyielding. "She owes you an apology, Delaney. You will apologize to your sister before you leave this table."

I looked at his face—at the dark eyes I had spent three years trying to soften, at the firm mouth that had never once smiled at me. I carefully set the silver fork down beside my china plate.

I pushed my chair back. The wood scraped sharply against the polished floor.

"Apologize?" My voice barely rose above a whisper, but it froze the room. I stood up, smoothing the cotton fabric of my skirt over my knees. "I spent three years playing the silent wife while you treated me like an intruder in my own home. I will never apologize for surviving in a house built on lies."

I turned my eyes straight onto Cynthia. My sister's small, fragile smile twitched, her fingers tightening around Raiden’s sleeve.

"Keep playing the victim, Cynthia," I said softly, locking eyes with her. "But stolen things never stay in your hands forever."

Raiden stood up so fast his chair rocked backward. "Delaney! What the hell is that supposed to mean—"

​"Ah... Raiden..."

​A weak, breathy gasp cut him off. Cynthia suddenly clutched her chest, her face contorting in sharp pain as she leaned heavily against the table, accidentally knocking her glass over.

​Raiden’s attention snapped to her instantly.

"Cynthia!"

Without another thought for me, Raiden abandoned his demand and wrapped his arm around Cynthia’s waist, pulling her close while Evelyn panicked beside them, calling for water.

​Cynthia buried her face against Raiden's chest, but as he held her, she turned her head just enough to look at me. Behind her fake tears, a cold, sharp smirk flashed across her eyes—a clear, silent message that she had won.

I didn't utter another word. I turned on my heel, walked into the foyer, and gripped the handle of my scuffed leather suitcase. I pulled open the heavy oak entrance and stepped out.

The front doors slammed shut behind me with a deep, echoing thud.

The wind hit me like a wall. Freezing rain slammed into my face, soaking through my cardigan in seconds and plastering the thin cotton to my skin. Tears welled up in my eyes, burning hot against the ice-cold rain streaming down my cheeks.

I dragged the suitcase down the long iron driveway. My breath came in small gasps, my free arm wrapped tightly around my shivering ribs. Every step felt heavy, like dragging my feet through thick mud.

Three years.

I squeezed my eyes shut, my teeth chattering uncontrollably as the image of Raiden holding Cynthia flashed behind my eyelids.

My head throbbed violently. My vision blurred, the driveway lanterns smearing into long streaks of light. My legs trembled, numb from the cold water sloshing over my ankles.

​I took one more step, but my left knee gave out completely. My fingers slipped off the handle, and my body pitched forward toward the wet floor.

​Before I hit the dark ground, a pair of strong, firm hands caught me, locking around my waist and pulling my freezing body up against a solid chest.

"Hey—can you hear me?"

The voice was low, coming as if from the bottom of a deep well. Strong hands slid under my knees and beneath my neck, lifting my limp weight off the freezing gravel.

"Hold on," the voice rumbled against my shoulder, firm and steady. "Stay with me."

I caught a faint scent of cedar through the heavy rain before blackness rushed over my eyes, and I completely lost consciousness..

A sharp, sterile smell woke me.

​My eyelids felt heavy as lead. I blinked, trying to clear the haze in my eyes as a soft overhead light hummed above. A thin blanket was pulled over my shoulders, and a sharp prick of cold rested on the back of my hand—an IV line running up to a clear bag.

​My heart hammered in my chest. Where am I?

Did Raiden’s men drag me back?

​I tried to push myself up on my elbows, but my body was completely weak.

​"Don't move," a deep, calm voice spoke from the corner.

​My head snapped toward the sound. Standing near the window was a tall man in a tailored white shirt, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He held a cup, watching me with sharp, piercing grey eyes. He wasn't one of Raiden’s guards. He was a complete stranger.

​"Who... who are you?" I rasped, my throat raw.

​Before he could answer, the door swung open.

A doctor in a white coat walked in, reviewing an electronic chart in his hand. He looked between me and the tall man standing by the window.

​"Ah, you're awake," the doctor said, turning his chart toward us. "You collapsed from severe exhaustion and hypothermia, but the IV fluids have stabilized your vitals."

​I pulled back slightly against the pillows. "I need to go. Please..."

​The doctor adjusted his glasses, his face turning serious as he looked straight at me.

​​"You aren't going anywhere yet," the doctor replied firmly, his eyes scanning his screen.

"Your emergency bloodwork just came back, and there is something critical you need to know."

​I froze, my breath catching in my throat.

"Critical? What is it?"

​The doctor looked straight into my eyes. "You are three weeks pregnant."

​The air left my lungs completely.

​My trembling fingers crept down the front of the hospital gown, coming to rest flat against my lower stomach.

​Three weeks.

​I had just walked away from Raiden Vance forever... and I was carrying his child.