I stumbled out of the club, the blizzard's wind cutting my face like razors. Tears froze on my cheeks almost instantly. I curled up on a bench, the words I’d just heard replaying in my head.

Three years. It was all an elaborate lie.

The memories flooded back.

Three years ago, Isabella had poured a bowl of soup on me in the school cafeteria, mocking my secondhand clothes. I’d run to the library crying. That’s where I met Dante.

He was so gentle, handing me a tissue and comforting me. "They're just jealous of how beautiful and smart you are," he'd said.

I thought it was fate, meeting my light in my darkest moment.

Now I knew. It wasn't a chance meeting. It was a setup, with Isabella pulling the strings. She’d paid one of her admirers to build me up, just so they could all watch me break.

My phone rang, making me jump. St. Mary’s Hospital.

"Miss Rose? Your grandmother's condition has taken a turn for the worse. Please come immediately," the nurse said urgently.

My heart stopped. My grandma was the only family I had left. I couldn't lose her.

I tried to hail a cab, but the streets were empty in the blizzard. Just as I was losing hope, a black Range Rover pulled up.

The window rolled down, revealing a man with a strong jaw and a faint scar. He was in his early thirties, with dark hair and dark eyes.

"Need a ride?" His voice was deep and steady.

"I need to get to St. Mary's. My grandmother..." My voice broke.

"Get in." He didn't ask any more questions.

He drove smoothly, not asking why I was crying in a snowstorm, not trying to offer empty comforts. The silence felt safe.

"Thank you," I said as I got out.

He nodded and handed me a business card. "Call me if you need anything."

I snatched it without looking and ran into the hospital.

Grandma was lying in bed, her face ashen. She saw me and weakly squeezed my hand. "Rose, my child..."

"Grandma, I'm here. The doctor said you're just tired, you'll be fine in a few days," I said, holding back tears.

"Don't lie to me, child," she whispered. "I want to see Dante. When are you getting married? I want to see you in your wedding dress..."

My chest ached with a pain so sharp it was hard to breathe. "He's... he's handling some business. He'll be here soon."

"Call him. Tell him to hurry." She gripped my hand tighter. "I need to talk to him."

My hands shook as I dialed the familiar number. Voicemail. I tried again and again. Same result.

My grandmother waited all night, her eyes fixed on the door. She was waiting for the man she thought would be my husband, the man she was ready to entrust me to.

But the door never opened. Not even when she took her last breath.

"Rose... be happy..." were her last words.

I knelt by her bed, sobbing until I couldn't breathe. Not because Dante didn't come, but because I didn't even know who I was supposed to call. The man I had loved for three years didn't exist.

After handling the funeral arrangements, I dragged myself back to my apartment. I mindlessly opened Instagram, trying to distract myself, and saw Isabella's latest post.

It was a picture of her on a man's arm as they stepped off a private jet. His profile was painfully familiar.

The caption read: "Told him not to pick me up, but he insisted on the surprise. ??"

So that's why he didn't have time to see my dying grandmother. He was busy picking up Isabella.

I stared at the photo. That was the real Dante. Isabella’s Dante. Not the fake gentleness he showed me, but real, indulgent affection.

And my "Dante"—the man who made me breakfast, watched sunsets with me, and whispered sweet nothings—was just a performance.

I put down my phone, walked to the bathroom, and looked at my haggard reflection in the mirror.

Enough.

I picked up the phone and called the clinic. "I need to schedule an abortion. As soon as possible."

Then, I opened my laptop and submitted an application to the news agency to become a war correspondent. The departure date was a week from now—my wedding day.

With my grandmother gone, I had nothing left to tie me here.

But first, to make sure I could leave without any trouble, I had to play along.

Finally, I took out the recording from the club—thank God for my reporter's instincts.

Dante wanted to expose the truth at the wedding. Perfect. I had a return gift for them, too.

A gift they would never, ever forget.

The next day, after burying my grandmother, I dragged my exhausted body back to Dante’s mansion. The moment I put the key in the lock, I heard laughter from inside.

I pushed the door open. Three people were in the living room: Dante, Marco, and Isabella.

Their laughter died the moment they saw me. The air, thick with the smell of champagne and expensive perfume, made me sick to my stomach.

"Rose, you're back." Dante stood up, that gentle smile I once loved plastered on his face. "Come, let me introduce you."

I stood frozen at the door.

"This is my twin brother, Marco."

My eyes shifted to the man I knew. The wild grin from the club was gone, replaced by a mask of polite friendliness.

"Hello, my dear... sister-in-law." He held out his hand, looking perfectly welcoming.

The thought of the things I'd done with him made my stomach clench. I fought back the nausea and gave a stiff nod.

"And this is my... friend, Isabella." The pause Dante took made the word "friend" sound like a joke. "Isabella, this is Rose."

Isabella stood up gracefully, a vision in a custom white suit. She walked toward me with a perfect smile. "Rose! It's been so long!" She opened her arms as if to give me a warm hug.

I instinctively wanted to step back, but she was already on me. To anyone else, it looked like a friendly embrace. But as her lips brushed my ear, her voice turned venomous.

"You look well. I trust you've missed our... friendship." Her voice was a whisper, but it landed like a ton of bricks.

I felt dizzy, the memories of her cutting me with a penknife, of her holding my head in a toilet bowl, flooding back…

"Shut up!" I shoved her away with all my strength.

Isabella stumbled back, "accidentally" hitting the corner of the coffee table. A red mark immediately appeared on her arm. She cried out, tears instantly welling in her eyes.

"Rose!" Both Dante and Marco rushed to her side, their eyes shooting daggers at me. "What the hell are you doing?!"

"I... she..." I tried to tell them who Isabella really was. But Marco cut me off, his fake smile gone, replaced by cold hostility. "Dante, it seems your fiancée doesn't understand Blackwood etiquette."

Dante gently examined the mark on Isabella’s arm, then his gaze, cold as ice, fell on me. "Marco's right, Rose. You need to be taught a lesson."

He grabbed my arm. I tried to pull away, but he was too strong. "What are you doing? Let go of me!"

"Go to the basement and cool off," he said, dragging me toward the stairs. "You can come out when you've learned how to apologize."

"No! Dante, don't!" I struggled. Panic clawed at me. I was claustrophobic—severely. And he knew it. Better than anyone.

But he ignored me, dragging me to the basement door. It was a windowless storage room with only a tiny air vent. The thought of being locked in that small, dark space made it hard to breathe.

"Please, Dante, don't do this..." I begged, my vision blurred with tears. "You know I'm afraid of the dark, you know..."

He hesitated for a second. I thought he might soften. But then he shoved the door open with even more force.

"This is what happens when you don't listen," he said, his voice like ice. "Think about what you did."

BANG.

The door slammed shut. The sound of the key turning in the lock was like a death sentence.

Darkness swallowed me whole.

I pounded on the door. "Let me out! Please! Dante!"

The only answer was the sound of their laughter upstairs as they continued their party, as if nothing had happened.

I curled into a ball in the corner, hugging my knees, trying to control my shaking.

This basement... I remember Dante saying he'd had it renovated after buying the house. I'd wondered why he'd installed such a heavy door and a complex lock on a storage room.

Now I knew.

This basement had been built for me from the very beginning.

In the endless dark, I could hear the sound of my own heart breaking.

Two days later, the basement door finally opened.

Dante stood in the doorway, a dark silhouette against the light. I was huddled in the corner, my legs numb, my throat too hoarse to make a sound.

"Out," he said, his tone flat, like he was calling a pet.

I used the wall to pull myself up, my legs so weak I almost fell. Two days without food or water had left me completely drained.

"We're going to try on wedding dresses today," he said, handing me a bottle of water. "Get ready. We leave in an hour."

Trying on wedding dresses. As if nothing had happened.

I mechanically washed up and changed. The woman in the mirror was pale and hollow-eyed, a ghost.

An hour later, we were at the most exclusive bridal shop in the city. The staff greeted us warmly, and then I saw them—Isabella and Marco, already sitting on a sofa, sipping champagne.

"Rose! You're here!" Isabella chirped, jumping up with a brilliant smile. "I'm so excited! It's such an honor to be part of your wedding prep!"

Part of it?

"Isabella has a great eye for fashion. She wanted to help you choose," Dante explained. "And Marco's here to give the man's opinion."

A sales associate led me to the VIP section. The walls were lined with gowns, each one costing a fortune.

I pointed to a simple, elegant lace dress. "That one."

"Oh, that's gorgeous!" Isabella immediately walked over to it. "Let me try it on first, just so I can see how it looks and give you some advice."

Before I could answer, she had already signaled for the associate to take it down.

Twenty minutes later, Isabella emerged from the fitting room in the dress I had chosen. The white lace clung to her body perfectly. She looked like a fairy-tale princess.

"What do you think?" she asked, twirling so the skirt flared out.

"Stunning," Dante said, his eyes shining with a light I hadn't seen in a long time.

My stomach turned.

The next two hours were a nightmare. Every dress I picked, Isabella had to "try it on for me to see the effect." She paraded in front of Dante in every single one of my choices, and he showered her with compliments.

Worse, Isabella started asking Dante to come into the fitting room to "help with the zipper." Through the crack in the door, I saw her press her half-naked back against him, his hand lingering on her skin for far too long.

I touched my chest. The spot that used to ache for Dante felt nothing now. Only disgust.

"Rose, aren't you going to try anything?" Isabella asked, emerging for the fifth time, now in a classic, regal gown.

"I..."

"Of course you are," Dante finally remembered I was there. "Go on. That one would suit you."

But it was another one of Isabella's hand-me-downs.

I went into the fitting room. An assistant helped me into the gown. In the mirror, my pale, exhausted face was a stark contrast to the magnificent dress.

When I pushed the door open, the showroom was empty.

"The gentleman and ladies went upstairs to look at jewelry," the associate explained awkwardly. "They told me to tell you to just pick whichever one you like. The bill has been settled."

I stood alone in the empty showroom, wearing a hundred-thousand-dollar wedding dress, feeling colder than I ever had in my life.

They'd left me. Like a tool that was no longer needed.

I went home alone. It wasn't until late that night that Dante returned, holding a fancy jewelry box.

"Sorry, I had an important call." He sat next to me and opened the box. "This is to make it up to you."

Inside was a diamond ring, at least three carats, sparkling brilliantly. But with my part-time experience at a jewelry store, I could tell at a glance it was a fake. A good one, maybe, but still just a fifty-dollar piece of cubic zirconia.

"Okay," I said calmly, holding out my hand for him to put it on me. "I do."

Three more days, I counted silently in my head. Then I can escape this man, this whole nightmare.

He froze for a second, clearly not used to me being so compliant. In the past, I would have pouted or acted upset when he neglected me for work. This time, I was abnormally obedient.

"You're really not mad?"

I put on a perfect, mask-like smile. "I'm about to become part of the Blackwood family. Of course, I have to understand."

Dante smiled, satisfied. He kissed the back of my hand. "I knew you'd understand. Isabella's a good girl, she just wanted to help. I'm sure you'll grow to like her."

"I understand," I nodded, my expression docile.

He talked more about the wedding plans, but I didn't hear a word. My heart was already dead, as lifeless as it had been during those two days in the basement.

At 11:30, I was drifting off to sleep when I heard the bedroom door open. The footsteps were light, heavy with the smell of alcohol. I kept my eyes closed, pretending to be asleep. The mattress dipped, and a warm body pressed against mine.

"Rose..." a deep voice whispered in my ear, his hand starting to unbutton my pajamas.

But it wasn't Dante's voice.

I snapped my eyes open. Moonlight streamed through a gap in the curtains, illuminating the face of the man on top of me.

Marco.