I screamed. I hit the broken glass and felt hot lines cutting my skin. Blood soaked the skirt.

Someone called his name softly. “Damon.” Harper stood in the doorway, “I’m sorry. Did I come at a bad time?” She looked like she might cry. She lifted her foot and it slipped. A candlestick tipped over and the flame caught the scattered photos.

The portraits curled at the edges, then blackened. Paper turned to smoke. Nikolai and Sylvia’s faces burned until only ash drifted into the air. Damon’s face changed in a way that pulled something in me apart. He froze, then scooped Harper into his arms like she’d just broken.

“I didn’t mean to,” she blurted, tears starting to fall. “I didn’t mean to! Please don’t be angry.”

For a second he was nothing but panic. He wiped her cheeks like a man who’d been taught that soothing hands could fix anything. “It’s okay,” he murmured into her hair. “It’s fine.”

That look... how he softened, how he rushed felt like a blade twisting in my chest. I ripped free of the guard’s grip and shoved him hard. “Wake up! She’s not Sylvia! She’s a cheap copy who had surgery just to look like my sister.”

Damon’s face shut down into something cold and hard. He grabbed my wrist so tight I thought my bones might crack. “I know she is not,” he said, voice low. “I know. But can you bring Sylvia back to me? No!”

I opened my mouth and nothing came out. I wanted to scream that she was dead, that nothing could fix this, but all I could taste was metal. Tears filled my eyes. He was so close I could see the steam rising from his skin.

“Tie her up,” he ordered. He stepped back and watched like a judge.

They bound my hands with coarse rope and forced me to my knees in the center of that hall, the place I used to run wild as a kid. My wrists chafed, my dress was soaked with blood, and the smoke from the burned photos stung my nostrils.

I knelt there while he cradled the woman I’d loved him into hating. I knelt while the family portraits blackened into nothing. I knelt and thought about how long I’d been falling and how there might not be any ground left to hit.

When Damon walked out with Harper, he didn’t even look back at me. The door slammed shut so hard it shook the floor. Darkness filled the ancestral hall. The ropes cut into my wrists as I fell to the ground. My knees hit cold stone, and tears just… fell on their own.

I looked up at what was left of Sylvia’s portrait. Half of it had burned away. The part with her smile was gone. I laughed through the tears. “You see that, sister?” My voice was shaking. “He can’t even tell what’s real anymore.”

I leaned my head against the floor, whispering to no one. “I’ll see you soon. When I get there, tell him yourself, okay? Tell him how stupid he’s become.”

Outside, I could faintly hear Damon’s footsteps. The faint click of his lighter followed, over and over. He smoked like he was trying to burn the air. I imagined Harper’s voice next... sweet, high, the kind that used to make him melt.

“Damon, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”

“Go home,” he said flatly.

“But I want to stay with you—”

“I said go.”

She left eventually. I heard her heels fading down the hallway, one by one. Then there was silence.

He stayed there, though. I could feel it. Maybe he was staring at the door, maybe thinking about breaking it open. But he didn’t. He left me there like he always did.

I don’t remember falling asleep. When they finally untied me, the sun was already setting again. My legs wouldn’t move right. My knees were black and blue, and my back ached like someone had taken a bat to it.

A servant tried to help me, but I shook my head. “Don’t. I’m going out.”

They looked scared to argue. I didn’t have much time left anyway. I just wanted to see my parents once. Just once.

I stood across the street from the old house. The lights were on inside, warm and soft, like they used to be. For a moment, I almost turned back. But the door opened.

The old housekeeper gasped when he saw me. “Miss Rhea? My God, it’s really you—”

Before he could finish, my father came out. His face went pale, then red. “Who told you to come here?”

“D-dad…”

“Get out!” he shouted. “You killed Sylvia, and you still have the face to come back?”

My mother stormed out behind him with a belt. “We don’t have a daughter like you! You’re cursed!” She swung it hard. The belt hit my back again and again. I didn’t move. I didn’t even block it.

“I just wanted to see you,” I whispered. “Just for a minute.”

“What’s there to see?” He kicked my leg. “Go back to your husband. Go die there if you must!”

Die? I smiled bitterly and nodded.

The rain started suddenly, pouring down, turning the ground to mud. I slipped when they shoved me. The belt fell from my mother’s hand, but she didn’t reach for me.

I stayed there, on my knees. Then I bowed three times, forehead touching the wet pavement each time. “Take care of yourselves,” I said quietly. “I won’t bother you again.”

Then I turned away.

The rain got heavier. It soaked me until I couldn’t tell the difference between tears and rainwater. I just kept walking. I didn’t even know where I was going.

A car slowed beside me, black and sleek, headlights cutting through the downpour. The window rolled down. Damon’s face appeared, stone cold, cigarette between his fingers.

He looked at me like I was just another stranger on the street.

"Get in the car," he ordered.

Why should I? I might ruined his car seat... So, I kept walking in the rain, pretending I didn’t hear him.

The sound of my wet shoes slapping against the pavement was the only thing I wanted to listen to.

“If you don’t get in,” Damon said behind me, “I’ll drag you in myself. Choose.”

I froze. Then the car door opened with a loud click. I didn’t want to fight. I just got in.

The moment I sat down, water dripped from my hair and soaked into the leather seat. I tried to sit as small as I could in the corner, hugging my knees, shaking.

He gave me one look and scoffed. “You really are pathetic. Even your own parents kicked you out. Guess they finally saw what kind of person you are.”

I didn’t say anything. Just looked out the window. The rain on the glass looked like veins, spreading everywhere, bleeding light.

He didn’t drive us home. We stopped in front of some fancy club instead.

My throat tightened. “Why are we here?”

He smirked and opened my door. “Come on. Let’s play.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Didn’t ask what you wanted.” He grabbed my arm. “Don’t act scared now.”

Inside, the lights were dim. The music was too loud. Harper was sitting in the middle, in her usual white dress, smiling like she owned the world.

When she saw Damon, her face lit up. “There you are! We’ve been waiting forever. Let’s play some games!”

Her friends screamed in agreement, half-drunk already. “Losers get punished!”

It started as truth or dare, or maybe some twisted version of it. It didn't matter. Damon and Harper “accidentally” lost in the first round.

“We should make them drink the wedding cup!” someone shouted.

The girls giggled and pushed the glasses forward. Harper’s face was already pink from wine. Damon looked at me, smiling like he wanted me to break, and raised the glass.

They lost again.

This time one of the girls drew a card and grinned. “Five-minute kiss. Deep. No cheating.”

The room burst into cheers.

Before I could blink, Damon’s hand was on the back of Harper’s head, kissing her like the world wasn’t watching.

I sat there, hands trembling under the table. My stomach burned even though all I drank was water.

The last punishment was worse. They made him lift Harper up and spin her like a princess. Everyone screamed and clapped. Harper’s laugh filled the whole room, loud and sweet, like she knew I was watching.

And he kept glancing at me. Waiting for a reaction. Waiting for me to cry or scream or run.

But I didn’t. I just sipped my water and stood up. “Bathroom,” I muttered. The hem of my dress brushed his knee as I walked past.

In the bathroom, I turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on my face. The woman in the mirror looked like she’d already died. Pale lips. Empty eyes.

When I pushed the door open, Harper was leaning against the wall outside, blocking the way.

“Still pretending to be calm?” she said, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “You should’ve seen Damon before we came. He said he was going to make you lose face tonight.”

I tried to walk around her. “Move.”

She grabbed my wrist. “You think you’re still Mrs. Whitlocke? He told me he only married you to get revenge. You’re nothing but a placeholder.”

I turned, staring straight into her smug face. “He can hurt me all he wants. But you?” I stepped closer, voice low and steady. “You’re just a stand-in for a dead woman. You really think that’s something to be proud of?”

Her smile twitched, then sharpened. “At least I’m alive. You won’t be, not for long.”

My eyes narrowed. “What did you say?”

She laughed softly. “You really think your pancreatic cancer was bad luck? Poor thing. Those vitamins you took every morning?” She leaned close, her breath brushing my ear. “I switched them. Months ago. Same brand, same bottle... only mine had a little something extra. Toxin. Slow poison. It burns your pancreas from the inside out.”

My stomach turned cold.

She smiled wider, eyes glinting with triumph. “I wanted to watch you rot from the inside. And guess what? It worked.”

“How dare you!”

"Yes, how dare me.”

She grabbed my collar and raised her hand, ready to strike. But then her eyes flicked over my shoulder. She froze.

Damon.

Her face changed instantly into panic replacing venom. She shoved herself backward and screamed.

“Ahhh!”

She hit the floor, clutching her forehead. Blood spilled through her fingers.

Damon rushed over, furious, scooping her up.

“Rhea!” His voice shook with rage. “You killed your sister, and now you want to kill her too? Do you even know she’s the closest I could find to Sylvia?”

The siren of an ambulance wailed somewhere outside.

He carried Harper out carefully, holding her like she was made of glass. Before he got into the car, he turned and glared at me.

“If she dies, Rhea, I’ll make sure you live wishing you didn’t.”

...

When the car drove off, I stood on the steps, the rain falling harder, soaking through everything.

Then I laughed. Damon hates me, his mistress poisoned me... What's there to left?

“Life worse than death,” I whispered. “You think I haven’t been living it already?”

I walked home alone. Damon didn’t call that night. Didn’t show up either.

But I knew he would. He always did.

At three in the morning, the sound of the front door being kicked open echoed through the villa.

The sound of the door slamming open jolted me awake.

Before I could move, Damon was already beside the bed. His face was dark, eyes colder than I’d ever seen. He yanked the blanket off me and grabbed my wrist.

“Get up.” His voice cut like ice. “You’re going to the hospital.”

I blinked at him, confused and half-asleep. “What—why?”

He didn’t answer. Just pulled harder.

“Damon, stop, you’re hurting me!”

He turned, eyes burning. “Harper needs blood. You have the same type. You’re coming with me.”

My stomach twisted. “I didn’t push her. It wasn’t me—”

“Shut up.” He shoved me toward the door. “You’ll do what you’re told.”

The ride was silent. Rain slid down the car window, and I counted each drop to keep from crying.

At the hospital, the fluorescent lights were too bright. Everything looked white and sick. Damon dragged me straight to a small room where a nurse waited.

The nurse took one look at me, hesitated. “Sir, she’s too pale. We can’t draw blood from her right now.”

“Why not?” Damon snapped.

The nurse flipped through my chart, frowning. “She has a serious medical condition. Late-stage cancer.”

“What?”

For a second, I thought maybe he’d finally stop. Maybe he’d look at me and see that I was already dying.

Instead, he laughed. “Cancer? That’s the best excuse you could come up with? You even bribed the nurse?”

I stared at him, my lips parting, but no words came.

“Enough.” He pushed me down into the chair. “Do it.”

The needle went in. My body trembled. The room spun, and I felt the warmth leave me bag by bag. Damon’s voice sounded far away.

“Take more. Harper needs it.”

I don’t remember when I blacked out. The last thing I saw was his back as he walked toward another room... toward her.

When I woke up, a nurse was changing my IV. She sighed softly. “Miss Rhea, why didn’t you tell him? Donating that much blood... it’s dangerous for someone in your condition.”

I stared at the ceiling. “It w-wouldn’t matter,” I said quietly. “He wouldn’t believe me anyway.”

All day I lay there, listening to nurses whisper outside.

“Mr. Whitlocke hasn’t slept all night. He’s been taking care of Miss Harper himself.”

“Yeah, he even feeds her and wipes her face like she’s a child. So gentle.”

I couldn’t listen anymore. I pulled out the IV and left.

...

When I got home, my phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.

Harper had sent photos, dozens of them. Damon sitting beside her bed, spoon-feeding her porridge, brushing her hair back, fixing her blanket. His face soft, the way it never was with me.

I stared for a long time. Then I smiled.

In his heart, Damon only ever loved three people. My sister. The woman he thought I was. And now, her replacement.

I went to the drawer and took out the lighter. One by one, I threw everything into the brazier.

The gifts he’d given me when he pretended to love me.

The photos we took when I still believed him.

The necklaces we once called “matching.”

The fire caught quickly. It smelled like endings.

When the door burst open, I didn’t even turn.

“What the hell are you burning?” His voice was sharp. Heavy footsteps came closer. He grabbed my neck, slamming me against the wall.

“Who told you you could touch Sylvia’s things?”

I couldn’t breathe. My hands clawed at his wrist, but he only tightened his grip. Then he threw me down. The brazier overturned, sparks flying across the floor.

“Listen, Rhea,” he shouted. “If you ever touch Sylvia’s things again, I’ll make you regret being alive.”

Before I could answer, he grabbed my wrist and forced it into the burning brazier.

The pain was instant, unbearable. My scream tore through the room. The smell of my skin burning filled the air.

I fought, thrashing, reaching for anythin and my hand found a small stone from the shelf. I swung.

The sound was dull but hard. He staggered back, cursing.

I pulled my arm out, shaking. My skin was blistered and red, flesh raw.

“Look,” I said, my voice shaking. “Look carefully, Damon!” I pointed at the half-burned photo on the floor. “I was burning my own things. Not hers. Are you blind?”

He froze, eyes flicking to the photo.

Our photo.

The one where I was smiling beside him. Half of it was already gone. My face was disappearing in the flames.

He looked... shocked. For once, he had nothing to say.

Then his phone rang.

He answered, and Harper’s voice came through, soft and crying. “Damon, my wound... it’s bleeding again. It hurts.”

His expression changed. He turned toward the door.

“Burn it all,” he said flatly. “Burn every bit of your trash.”

He paused before leaving. Didn’t even look back.

“And for the record,” he added, his tone quiet but cruel, “every second I was near you made me sick.”

The door slammed.

I sat there on the floor, staring at the ashes. The room smelled like smoke and blood. My arm throbbed, but I didn’t move.

Because what was left to save?

The door slammed so hard the walls shook. Then everything went quiet.

I just sat there in front of the dying fire, watching the last of the flames turn to ash. The room smelled like smoke and burned skin. My wrist throbbed where he’d pressed it into the brazier, the skin cracked and raw.

By the time morning light slipped through the curtains, I still hadn’t moved. My whole body felt heavy, like I’d already died and just hadn’t realized it yet.

I dragged myself to the bathroom.

The woman in the mirror didn’t look like me anymore. My face was pale, my eyes hollow. The burn on my wrist looked like some ugly centipede curling around my skin. I stared at it for a long time before looking away.

Maybe this was how people looked when they were close to the end.

Damon didn’t come home the next day. Or the day after that. Or the next.

But the TV wouldn’t let me forget him. Every news channel showed him smiling beside Harper; buying her a luxury villa, holding her hand at some charity dinner, kissing her under flashbulbs like we’d never existed.

I turned the TV off. The silence was louder than the noise.

I picked up my phone and called him.

“Beep… beep…”

It rang so long I almost hung up. Then his voice came through, “What is it?”

There was laughter in the background. Harper’s. I could hear her giggling about something, calling his name.

“Come home,” I said quietly.

“No time.”

I swallowed. “The two weeks are up. I’m ready to tell you what I promised.”

There was a pause. I could hear him breathing on the other end. Then he laughed, sharp and cruel. “Rhea, how long are you going to keep using that lie? You think I’ll still fall for it?”

“I’m not lying, Damon. Just listen—”

“Enough.” His voice snapped through the speaker like a whip. “I’m on vacation with Harper. I’m done wasting time on your games.”

Then the line went dead.

I stared at the phone for a long time before I started laughing. It sounded strange... like it was coming from someone else. The laughter hurt, and somewhere between the sound and the silence, I realized I was crying.

“That’s it then,” I whispered. “That’s the last time.”

Outside, the sky was turning gold. I changed into a red dress, our favorite color and looked around the house one last time. Eight years. It was supposed to be a home. It ended up feeling like a cage.

I closed the door behind me softly, like I didn’t want to wake the ghosts.

The taxi dropped me off at the bridge. I stood there, the wind cold against my face, my hair sticking to my lips. The river shimmered under the streetlights. It was almost beautiful.

This was where it all began.

Where Nikolai and Sylvia died.

I leaned on the railing and closed my eyes. I could still hear their voices; Sylvia shouting through the rain, “Rhea, pick up the phone!” And Nikolai gripping the wheel, trying to steady the car.

I remember the headlights. The screech of tires. The crash.

My fault.

“If I hadn’t run away that night,” I whispered, “you’d still be alive.”

The pain hit me suddenly, sharp in my stomach. I bent forward and coughed up blood. It hit the bridge, bright against the red of my dress.

It looked like flowers.

“Nikolai... Sylvia...” I smiled weakly, feeling the world blur. “I’m coming.”

The wind picked up. My dress whipped around my legs. I stepped closer to the edge and closed my eyes.

The sunset bled across the sky, gold sinking into red.

Then I let go.

The last thing I felt was the rush of air, the chill of water swallowing me whole.