Samantha's POV

For three years, I gave everything I had to help Ethan clean up the Jackson family business, just because he said he wanted to start a family.

I trusted him so much that I even put together the proposal myself.

I did everything. Picked the flowers, picked the venue, and made sure everything was perfect. Name it, and it was all on me.

I thought that after everything, he’d finally make things official between us.

But as I walked toward him, dress bunched in one hand and a smile stretched across my face like a fool’s, Ethan took the bouquet I had spent hours arranging—and handed it to someone else.

The whole room seemed to freeze. Dead silent.

Outside the window, the fireworks I had planned lit up the sky. Bright, loud, and all wrong.

They were meant to celebrate love. I just hadn’t realized it wasn’t mine.

For over ten years, I had been Ethan’s shadow—his fixer, his confidante, his lover.

Always there. Always behind the scenes.

But standing there, watching him with her, it finally clicked.

When Ethan said he wanted to start a family, he didn’t mean with me.

He meant her. Polished. Untouched. Raised the "right" way. Everything I wasn’t.

And as the last firework fizzled out in the sky, I stood there. Frozen. My hands were trembling, my breath caught somewhere between shock and heartbreak.

I looked up at him, my voice barely holding together.

“Why, Ethan?”

He didn’t even flinch.

“Everyone on Summerset Bay knows you’re just the mad dog I keep chained in the dark,” he said, flat, emotionless, like he was stating the weather.

Then he paused. Not long. Just long enough to make it hurt more.

“Now that the Jackson family business is clean,” he added quietly, “I need to marry someone pure. You’re too dirty. Too... tainted.”

I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move.

As if afraid I might lose control, Ethan gave a slight nod to the bodyguards. They didn’t hesitate. They grabbed me, held me down. In the struggle, my dress tore, exposing the scars carved into my skin.

Scars I’d earned helping him. Covering for him. Bleeding for him.

And then he turned to her.

Bethany White.

That girl. Sweet. Delicate. Untouched.

He reached out and gently placed a hand over her eyes.

“Don’t look,” he whispered, like he was shielding her from something grotesque. “You’ll have nightmares.”

That was it. That was the moment I knew.

Ethan Jackson didn’t need me anymore.

It was time to go.

——

Next thing I knew, I was back at Jackson Villa, locked in a bedroom like some kind of criminal. My head was still spinning from the night before when I heard Ethan’s voice.

“Sam, I shouldn’t have said all that.” His tone was low, almost gentle. “You did a great job with the proposal. Bethany liked it.”

I turned my head slightly on the pillow, still processing the bomb he had just brought to me.

After I broke down at the proposal party, Ethan’s bodyguards had dragged me out, hushed me away, and tossed me into this room. The message was clear. He wanted me to remain silent, stay in place, and avoid damaging his image.

If I behaved, I’d get a cushy and comfortable life.

But I said nothing. I waited until he came back.

When he finally opened the door, he crossed the room like nothing had happened and placed his hand on my waist.

His breath brushed my ear, warm and familiar.

My ear. That was the spot he used to love the most.

I shivered.

I had been by Ethan’s side for over ten years. Everyone in the inner circle knew it, even if no one ever said it out loud.

I was his right hand. His secret. His not-so-secret lover.

I remembered five years ago, clear as day.

We were in the middle of a deal with a major player in Summerset Bay. A big player made a disgusting offer, and he’d hand over control of a key port to Ethan if I spent the night with him.

“Just one of your subordinates,” he said, his eyes crawling over me. “One night, and in return, I’ll hand over a port. Seems fair, right, Jackson?”

He was balding, overweight, and reeked of sleaze.

Ethan didn’t even hesitate. He looked the man dead in the eye and flipped the entire table over. “My people aren’t for sale.”

After that, word got around.

In the underground world, they started calling me 'Jackson’s wife.'

No one dared touch me.

Someone brought it up in front of Ethan once. He didn’t confirm it, didn’t deny it. Just sipped his tea and glanced at me, soft, unreadable, like there was something only the two of us understood.

So when he told me he wanted to settle down and start a family, I believed it was finally my turn. That everything I’d done—every sacrifice—meant something.

But that’s not how the world works.

While I was helping Ethan scrub his empire clean—smoothing deals, laundering assets, setting up front companies—he was preparing for a life that didn’t include me.

And when he said he wanted to propose, I thought he meant me.

I cried. I was so moved.

But the truth was colder than anything I’d prepared for: the proposal was never for me.

It was for another woman.

Thanks to all the work I’d done, Ethan became the legitimate face of the Jackson empire. He became the unrivaled, polished, and clean CEO of Jackson Global Holdings.

And me? I was his disposable right hand. Too dirty and a liability to his emerging empire.

He found someone else. Someone purebred and well-behaved who would go with him to such events and galas.

Meanwhile, all I got was a label—the mad dog in the dark.

So, that night, as I lay in that locked room with his hand on my waist and his voice in my ear, I finally saw things clearly.

Ethan Jackson had never loved me.

Not the way I needed him to.

Samantha's POV

I gently pushed Ethan’s hand away, my voice calm but firm. “Mr. Jackson, you’re engaged now. Maybe show a little restraint.”

He didn’t flinch. Just leaned back slightly, completely unfazed.

“Are you mad?” he asked, like he was commenting on the weather. “Come on, Sam. Mr. Jackson, really? When have you ever called me that? You know what I meant when I called you a mad dog. It’s just a title. Is that really enough to shut me out now?”

I met his eyes, steady.

“I’m not mad,” I said. “You were the one who called me a mad dog, remember? And mad dogs don’t get to share a bed with their master. Not like this.”

His body tensed, the words clearly landing harder than he expected.

A moment stretched, thick with dread, before his face contorted into a sneer.

He stood abruptly as he said, “Fine. In fifteen days, I’m marrying Bethany. It’s going to be the biggest wedding Summerset’s ever seen. And guess what?” He leaned in, his gaze sharp as glass. “You’re going to plan it. Every last detail. So be a good and do what you’re told.”

He didn’t wait for a response and just slammed the door behind him.

The echo of it vibrated through the room—and through me.

I didn’t let myself break. Not yet. I reached for my phone and dialed a number.

“Garrett,” I said, my voice low. “I need a new identity. Fifteen days. Can you make it happen?”

Garrett had been mine long before he belonged to Ethan. Years ago, when his mom was dying, and he was drowning in debt, I gave him the money for her surgery—no strings attached.

Following that, he remained by my side and became loyal to me. Garrett was exactly who I needed at this moment.

On the other end, there was a pause. Then, “You serious about this, Sam?”

“Yeah,” I said softly. “I’m done.”

I meant it.

Thirteen years ago, my drunk father tried to sell me to some creep in a nightclub for a bottle of cheap liquor. Ethan showed up out of nowhere and pulled me out of that hell.

From that night on, I swore I’d stay by his side.

For over a decade, I wasn’t just his lover—I was his fixer, his shadow, his cleanup crew. I made enemies vanish, closed deals no one else could touch, and buried problems before they ever reached his desk.

Half of the empire he stood on? That was me.

But now? Now the dirty work was done. He needed something clean to polish the Jackson name. I was no longer part of the picture and just a stain he wanted to scrub out.

With that, I added, "Garrett, I have no reason to stay anymore."

“I’ve got it,” Garrett said after a beat. “I’ll move fast.”

“Thanks.”

I ended the call and let myself fall back onto the bed, drained.

Sleep took me like a wave crashing over my head.

...

I don’t know how long I’d been asleep, but I woke to voices—low, sharp, laced with tension. The kind that didn’t belong in this house.

Ethan’s estate was always silent, almost unnervingly so. He’d built it that way—remote, private, airtight. Nobody came here unless he allowed it. And nobody ever showed up unannounced.

That’s why the voices pulled me straight out of bed.

I moved quickly, barefoot on cold floors, and cracked the door open just enough to see. My heart stuttered.

Bethany.

She was standing in the hallway, clinging to Ethan’s arm like she owned it. Her brows were pinched, her lips pursed, and her eyes full of accusation.

“What’s this room for?” she asked, her voice high and tight, dripping with suspicion.

She caught sight of me and froze.

Her expression shifted in an instant from shock to outrage. “Why is she living here?”

Ethan didn’t even blink. Cool as always.

“She’s one of my most trusted employees,” he said smoothly. “She’s always lived here.”

Bethany curled her lip.

“‘Employee’?” she echoed, like the word tasted rotten. “If she’s just an employee, why is she staying right next to your bedroom? Shouldn’t she be in the servants’ wing?”

I saw Ethan’s brow twitch, just slightly. He didn’t answer right away.

But I did.

“It’s fine,” I said quietly, eyes lowered. “Miss White is right. This house has a real mistress now. I’ll move.”

“Samantha—” Ethan’s voice was laced with disbelief, like he couldn’t quite believe what I was saying.

I looked up at him briefly, calm, detached. “It’s the right thing to do.”

Bethany scoffed. “At least someone’s being reasonable.”

She tugged Ethan down the hall, already barking about her luggage.

He hesitated, just for a second, his eyes flicking back to me. Then he walked away.

No words. No apology. Nothing.

I stood there in the hallway, numb, not sure if I wanted to laugh or cry. The silence pressed in around me.

After everything I’d done—after everything I was to him—I still wasn’t enough. Not compared to Bethany, not compared to her wide-eyed innocence and spotless hands.

Samantha's POV

After they left, I quietly packed up what little I had.

I was nearly done when my phone buzzed.

A message from Ethan lit up the screen:

[Samantha, stay in the servant’s room for the next two days. I’ll take you to see the new house soon.]

A soft attempt at affection, maybe. But it was too late for that. I didn’t reply.

Instead, I picked up my things and moved into the servant’s room, one step at a time, feeling every ounce of weight in my chest. This used to be my home. Now it felt like a cage.

...

That night, the house was dead quiet—until it wasn’t.

Bethany’s scream ripped down the hallway, followed by the sound of drawers slamming and cabinets flung open. Her voice climbed higher, frantic, searching.

I stayed where I was. Not my problem.

Or so I thought.

Moments later, my door burst open. Bethany stood there with a small entourage behind her, eyes wild.

“My engagement ring is missing!” she snapped. “I’m looking for it in here.”

I didn’t move. Just raised a brow.

“Miss White,” I said calmly, “if your ring is missing, why are you searching my room?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Because everyone knows how you feel about Ethan. Don’t play innocent, you little bitch! You stole it.”

One of her friends shot me a smug, disgusted look like I was already guilty.

Right then, Ethan walked in.

“What’s going on?” Ethan asked, his voice clipped.

Bethany ran straight into his arms, playing the perfect damsel.

“Ethan,” she whimpered. “My ring’s gone. I was just checking in here, and she started making a scene!”

One of the women answered for her. “We thought we should check Samantha’s room, but she refused to let us in.”

Ethan turned to me, face unreadable. “Move.”

“Move?” I repeated, my voice catching. “You think I took her ring?”

I stood my ground, trying to hold back the burn behind my eyes. “And if I don’t move? What then?”

He stared at me, his voice flat. “Then get out.”

It was like he drove a knife straight through my chest—and twisted.

The man I’d followed for over ten years was now the one cutting me down.

My voice dropped to a whisper. “Fine.”

I stepped aside.

Bethany and her friend stormed in like they owned the place.

Less than two minutes later, Bethany let out a triumphant gasp.

“I found it!” she cried, holding the ring up like a trophy. “It was under her pillow!”

I froze.

She couldn't have found it that quickly unless she put it there herself. This was never about a lost ring. Bethany had set me up.

“I didn’t do this. I’ve never touched that ring.” My voice barely came out.

Ethan didn’t flinch. His eyes scanned the room with chilling detachment.

“But it was found in your room,” he said coldly. “That’s physical evidence. Witnesses. What else is there to say?”

Before I could even form a reply, one of Bethany’s friends stepped forward and slapped me across the face.

“You’re just a servant,” she sneered. “Don’t get ideas just because Ethan kept you around for a while. You think stealing a ring means you can steal her place, too?”

I held my cheek and calmly said, "I told you I didn’t take it. You clearly put the ring in my room..."

“Shut up,” Ethan barked. His voice was sharp, disgusted.

He looked at me like I was filth as he continued, “You have three hours. Pack your things and get out of my house.”

I blinked, feeling my heart twist in on itself. “Ethan… you’re really kicking me out?”

He didn’t even blink.

“I moved into this house with you over ten years ago,” I said, my voice shaking. “You told me this would always be my home. And now, over a ring, a lie, you're throwing me out?”

Bethany scoffed from behind him. “You are so shameless! You stole my ring, and now you're trying to play victim? Still clinging to Ethan like some pathetic leech. You just can't quit him, can you?”