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?”

Samantha's POV

Tears slid silently down my cheeks as I looked at Ethan. His face was dark with anger, his expression unreadable, but his silence said everything.

He didn’t need to speak. I already knew what he wanted. It was for me to admit I’d stolen the ring, to make things easier for him.

Easier to keep up the illusion of Bethany’s innocence.

Easier to push me aside without guilt.

I wiped my face and stood up, swallowing the lump in my throat.

My voice came out calm, as I finally replied, “Fine. I’ll leave. I’ll be gone in three hours.”

That was the end of it. No apologies. No redemption. Just silence.

...

I left Jackson Villa behind and checked into a hotel near the coast.

As I set down my bags, my phone buzzed.

Garrett.

I picked up my phone, answered his call, and his voice came from the other end of the line.

"Sam, I’ve got everything ready. How do you want to leave?"

I looked out the window at the quiet sea. Waves rolled in and out, like a steady, moving motion.

Yet I felt nothing. No peace, no rage. Just emptiness.

"Anything works," I said quietly. "As long as I can leave."

There was a pause on the other end.

Then a soft, almost reluctant "Okay" came out of my voice.

...

Three days later, Samantha Campbell no longer existed in Summerset Bay.

Ethan only messaged me once during those days:

[How’s the wedding planning coming along?]

I didn’t respond, and he didn't bother to message me again.

That was the last thing I heard from him.

With Garrett’s help, I got a fake death certificate from a car accident.

Then I disappeared. Brooklyn Heights became my new residence. After settling into my new apartment, I erased all my social media accounts and severed every connection I had with Ethan or anyone associated with him.

As I was removing my SIM card, Ethan’s final messages came through, one after another:

[How are the wedding preparations going?]

[Have your wings grown strong enough that you think you don’t have to answer me now?]

[Bethany wants to see the wedding plan. Send it to me.]

And then, his name lit up on the screen.

He was calling.

For a moment, I hesitated. My hand stilled.

A flicker of nostalgia twisted in my chest, but it passed.

Without a word, I snapped the SIM card in half and tossed it into the trash.

...

Ethan's POV

I slammed my phone down on the desk so hard it rattled the glass.

“Tell Samantha to come see me,” I told my assistant, my voice cold enough to make her flinch. “She’s got thirty minutes. If she’s not here by then, she’ll never see me again.”

She nodded without saying a word and disappeared down the hallway.

The minutes crawled by. Five. Ten. Fifteen. I paced behind my desk, the tension in my jaw tightening with every passing second. By the time we hit thirty, I was practically vibrating.

She didn’t come.

She always came.

For over a decade, no matter what happened, no matter how badly we fought, she came back. She answered my calls. She stood by me even when I didn’t deserve it.

But love, even the deepest kind, dies if you kill it enough times.

The door creaked open.

My assistant stepped back in, breathless. “I’m sorry, Mr. Jackson. I can’t find her. No one knows where she is.”

Something in my chest twisted. I closed my eyes, jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

“Forget it,” I muttered. “She’s not the type to vanish without a trace. The wedding with Bethany is still happening. Finalize the guest list. And send a message to Samantha—”

My phone rang. I cut off mid-sentence.

Garrett.

Finally, someone who’d talk sense.

I picked up without hesitation. “No need to mediate. If Samantha wants to fix this, tell her to show up in the next ten minutes.”

There was a pause.

Then Garrett’s voice came through—flat, heavy. “Mr. Jackson, Samantha was in a car accident three days ago.”

The blood drained from my face.

While still processing his news, he added, “She didn’t make it. Her body’s already been cremated."

As soon as I heard it, I couldn’t move. My phone slipped from my hand and hit the floor with a hollow thud.