Because of Dr. Lilith Lockhart and her reckless arrogance, my father nearly died. She once boasted to her peers that she could repair a ruptured brain aneurysm with just one hand. One hand. But when the moment came, she failed. She claimed a sudden headache, dropped the scalpel in the middle of surgery, and ran out like a coward.

And my father… my poor father… never woke up again. He lies there, trapped in that hospital bed, machines screaming alarms around him, and all I can do is bang the call button over and over. No one comes. No one helps.

My brother Tristan tried to fight back. He filed a lawsuit, pouring every ounce of energy into proving justice still existed. But in just two days, his law license was stripped, he was thrown into prison, and they accused him of bribery, perjury, defamation. Lies. Every accusation was a lie. Ten years they gave him, as if his life were meaningless. His name, his reputation, his entire world was exposed to shame. Even his colleagues and friends turned against him.

And behind it all?

Thorne Simpson. My husband. The man I’ve been married to for five years. The man who controls this city. The man who swore he would protect me.

That day, as I pounded the bell like a lunatic with no one answering, Thorne strolled in. Perfectly tailored suit, gleaming shoes, calm as a stormless sea. He handed me my phone like it was a gift and said, “The case has been dropped. Make a video. Apologize. Publicly. Do it, and your father gets surgery. He survives… or dies. Your choice.”

My hands trembled uncontrollably. My body shook. Tears streamed down, and I whispered, “W-why…? Why him? Why would you protect Lilith over your own father?”

For the second time in my life, I cried in front of Thorne. The first was at our wedding—tears of happiness. Now, tears of betrayal.

“Stop crying, Aria…” His voice was soft, almost human, and for a fraction of a second, it seemed like he cared. He lifted a hand, as if to wipe my tears, then hesitated. He recoiled, as though my suffering disgusted him.

“Aria,” he said slowly, “Lilith and I grew up together. That surgery… it was an accident. Maybe your father wouldn’t have survived, even if she hadn’t lost control. The media’s tearing her apart. You need to be reasonable. Record the video. Explain it clearly. Then this ends. The doctors are waiting, and afterward, I’ll free your brother.”

He spoke as if it were optional, but his eyes said otherwise.

Could I refuse? Could I risk saying no? If I did… would I end up in prison like Tristan? Or worse… like my father?

My heart felt like it shattered. I had trusted Thorne. For five years, he had given me everything. Every gift, every indulgence, every luxury—he made them mine. He never raised his voice, never scolded. I thought he was my safe place.

But since my father’s failed surgery, every plea for help was met with hesitation. And now I knew: he had never been my sanctuary. He was the blade.

At first, he acted indifferent. “Inconvenient,” he said, pretending it wasn’t his concern. But the moment Lilith’s name came up, his whole demeanor shifted.

“If you refuse,” he said, “your father dies today. Your brother stays in prison. Don’t blame me for cruelty, Aria. Lilith saved my life once, from that car accident. I promised I would protect her forever. Even if it’s you standing in the way, you won’t stop me.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than my father convulsed in his bed. Alarms screamed. Doctors rushed in and wheeled him away without even looking at me.

“Dad!” I screamed. I tried to run after him, but Thorne grabbed my arm.

“Record the video, and he can have surgery,” he said.

I stared at him like he was a stranger. “Thorne… are you even human?”

He shoved my hand aside, looming over me like a wall I couldn’t breach. “Thirty seconds. That’s it,” he said.

In that moment, a chill ran through me. For the first time, I was truly terrified of him. Those years of love—maybe they were never real.

I had been his secretary once. I remembered how he pursued me relentlessly: 199 letters, 999 bouquets, everything to make me smile. After two years of dating, he did everything to keep me.

He shielded me from the rich heiresses who mocked me for being poor. He defended me at auctions, made public declarations, abandoned billion-dollar projects just to stand by me. He flew thousands of miles to care for me when I was sick.

The Simpson family hated me. They wanted him to marry Lilith—the perfect daughter from their elite circle. But he fought. He endured imprisonment, exile, even gave up his status as heir, just to marry me.

Finally, after all the struggle, they relented. We married. I thought that was the end of our battles. I thought we were untouchable. I thought we would grow old together.

Then Lilith returned. Spoiled, arrogant… and he treated her as if she were his responsibility. Her work, her failures, her surgeries—he handled them all. He chauffeured her, tended to her, cared for her more than me. One day, without even asking, he brought her into our home, put her in a guest room…

That day I realized the truth. I was no longer his choice. I was just his wife on paper. Lilith… Lilith had been his choice all along.

When the phone was pressed into my hands, they shook so violently I could barely hold it. Thorne, without a word, reached out and wiped my tears away, then opened the recording app and even pressed the button for me, making the video himself.

Thirty seconds. That was all I had. I stammered through my lines, declaring I wouldn’t hold anyone accountable, that everything was merely an accident. When I handed the phone back, my voice was weak as I asked, “Can we… finally operate on my father now?”

He looked at me for a long moment before nodding. “Go ahead…” he said.

But before I could even process the word, a scream pierced the air from the operating room. “Ah! My head… I feel so dizzy!” Lilith collapsed, utterly helpless.

Thorne’s composure shattered instantly. He dashed toward her, lifting her into his arms as if the world depended on her alone. The doctors followed, leaving my father unmoved on the bed, alarms wailing around him. I screamed, “No! Save my dad! Please, Thorne, you promised!”

I tried to block him, but he didn’t even glance at me. His eyes were locked on Lilith. He shoved past me, running toward her bed with the doctors at his heels. Their frantic steps echoed in my chest, but the weight of my fear stole the words from my throat.

I was too late.

I clutched at his legs, begging him to turn back, but he shoved me aside with such force I stumbled and hit the wall. My vision caught my father lying helpless, and it felt as though my heart had been ripped from my chest.

“Dad! Dad!” I cried. But Thorne’s voice cut through everything.

“Don’t worry, Lilith. I’m right here… I’ve got you,” he said, panic lacing every syllable—but it wasn’t for me.

He only glanced back because of the sound of my body hitting the wall. Then he waved two interns toward my father’s room. “Your father will survive. I’ll honor that promise,” he said, icy and detached. “But nothing will stop me from saving Lilith.”

The world spun black.

Before unconsciousness took me, one thought echoed: I had to escape. I had to vanish from his life forever.

---

When I woke, a card sat on my bedside table, a note tucked beneath it. “Your father’s surgery will have to wait a little longer.” That single line spoke volumes. For Lilith, Thorne could pause the world. For me and my father, we were always secondary.

My chest ached so fiercely I could barely inhale. Then laughter erupted—bitter, broken, the kind that emerges when your heart is in pieces. Clutching my chest, I grabbed my phone and called Thorne’s grandfather, the one who had always wanted me gone.

“I’ll do it,” I said. “I’ll divorce him. But I need your help. Help me fake my death. I want my father and brother with me. I want us gone. Forever.”

Two days later, after discharge, the divorce papers were ready. My lawyer had everything in order.

When I returned to the villa, Thorne was just leaving to fetch Lilith. He froze when he saw me. “You’re back? You look… pale,” he said, a flicker of concern crossing his face.

Pale? Of course I was pale. My father lay in a hospital bed like a vegetable, my brother was in prison, and he thought I could look vibrant? I didn’t answer.

I handed him the papers flatly. “Sign this.”

He blinked. “What…?” he began, but his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, frowned, then, without hesitation, scribbled his signature and shoved the papers back at me.

“Lilith’s waiting. If it’s another work document, leave it in my study next time,” he said, already striding toward the door.

I stared at the signature, at how easily he let me go. He ended our marriage as if I were nothing. Pathetic.

I tucked the papers under my arm and walked straight to the courthouse.

---

By evening, I returned home. Thorne was in the living room with Lilith, his arm draped possessively around her. “She’s being followed by some obsessive patient’s family,” he said casually. “She’ll stay in our master bedroom. You can take one of the guest rooms. Thanks to your brother’s mess. Don’t worry, once it’s safe, she’ll move to my new penthouse.”

“Do what you want,” I replied. The divorce was done. This house wasn’t mine anymore. I had no fight left.

He looked startled at my calmness, as if expecting tears or screams. His frown deepened, but before he could speak, Lilith spoke.

“Aria, I just got off a night shift and haven’t eaten. Can you cook for me?” Her smile was sweet, but her eyes were sharp, daring. “Thorne says your cooking is the best, but I’ve never tasted it.”

“Ask the maid,” I said, turning to leave.

Her little protest followed me, and Thorne’s voice cut through, low and commanding. “Aria.” That was all. No explanation needed. I already knew. When Lilith wanted something, I was expected to serve.

I didn’t have the strength to argue anymore. I forced a smile that felt sharp and painful, like blades pressing against my gums, and dragged my exhausted body toward the kitchen.

The pot was already bubbling when I scooped the soup out and placed it on the dining table. My arm trembled from the weight, my wrist aching as I set the bowl down.

She barely glanced at it before curling her lip in disgust. “This is it?” she sneered. “This is what you call food? It looks revolting. Do you even know how to cook?”

Something inside me cracked. I ground my teeth and muttered, “Then don’t eat it.”

Her eyes flashed with something dark and vicious. Before I could react, she seized my wrist and slammed my hand straight into the boiling soup.

Agony exploded up my arm, white‑hot and unbearable, like fire tearing through my veins. I screamed and struggled, but she shoved harder, forcing my hand down as the bowl rattled wildly. It tipped, smashed against the floor, and shattered. Scalding liquid splashed everywhere.

When I finally tore free, I clutched my wrist, gasping. The skin was already swelling, blistering, red and raw. My hand didn’t even feel like part of my body anymore.

Footsteps thundered in as the crash echoed through the room. Before I could even speak, Lilith raised her hand and burst into fake tears. “Thorne! She threw the soup at me! She lost her temper and did it on purpose! My hand hurts so much…”

Thorne didn’t hesitate. His expression darkened instantly as he grabbed my injured wrist with brutal force.

“Aria! What is wrong with you?” he snapped. “Apologize to Lilith right now!”

Pain shot through me and I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. I yanked my hand away and shoved it toward his face. My palm was blistered, swollen, burned raw.

“You want me to apologize?” I said hoarsely. “Look at this. Look properly. Tell me who got burned. Tell me who really did what.”

For a split second, he froze. His gaze flickered between my ruined hand and her pale, trembling figure. Doubt crossed his face—just briefly.

Then she suddenly doubled over, clutching her stomach and crying out, “Thorne… my stomach hurts so bad. There were peanuts in the soup. You know I’m allergic to peanuts!” She gasped dramatically. “I only asked her one thing, and she exploded.”

She clung to him, sobbing louder. “If you don’t believe me, check the cameras. I would never lie to you, Thorne!”

“Ah… it hurts… it really hurts…”

I stared at her in disbelief. “I didn’t put peanuts in anything,” I said. “Whoever’s lying, the cameras will prove it.”

But Thorne’s hesitation vanished as if it had never existed. His face hardened, his eyes turning icy.

“I told you she’s allergic,” he said sharply. “How could you be so careless?”

She buried her face against his chest, her voice weak and pitiful. “Please don’t be angry at her. I know she hates me. I don’t blame her… she just wants me gone. Maybe I really should leave.”

“No,” he said immediately, tightening his arm around her. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Then he turned on me. “Aria. Apologize. Now.”

“Thorne, I swear I’m telling the tru—”

“That’s enough,” he cut me off coldly. He lifted her into his arms like I wasn’t even there. “I don’t want to hear another word from you.”

Then he looked at the butler. “Take her to the basement. Lock her in. She’s not coming out until I say so.”

My knees nearly gave out. The basement. That damp, foul place where he kept those snakes for her. I backed away, shaking uncontrollably.

“No… please. Not there. Don’t do this to me.”

I fought as they dragged me away, but it was useless. The door slammed shut behind me, and darkness crushed down on my chest.

The silence was broken by soft, terrifying hissing. My skin crawled. Something brushed against my ankle. I screamed and slapped at the floor, panic exploding inside me.

“Open the door! Please! Let me out!” I pounded until my fists burned and split. No one answered.

The air grew thick and suffocating. My skin erupted in rashes, itching and burning until I clawed at myself without realizing it. Hours passed. My throat went raw from screaming, and eventually I slid into the corner, shaking and gasping for breath.

When the door finally opened, I thought I was saved.

Light flooded in. I pushed myself upright, barely standing. Thorne stood there, backlit by the hallway. For one fragile heartbeat, I thought he might pull me out.

Then his voice cut through me, colder than anything I’d ever heard.

“Hold her down.”

Before I could react, two bodyguards rushed me. My arms were pinned, my jaw forced open. A bitter liquid was poured down my throat. I choked, coughing violently until blood splattered onto my clothes.

“What… what did you give me?” I croaked as fire spread through my chest.

Then it hit me.

My skin flushed red in blotches. My throat tightened, every breath slicing like knives. I knew this pain. I was allergic to seafood.

Thorne’s voice came calmly through my panic.

“You put peanuts in Lilith’s food. She’s in the hospital now. I warned you not to touch her, but you never listen. This is what she felt.”

He just stood there watching me writhe on the floor. No anger. No regret. Just cold indifference.

“I didn’t…” I tried to speak, but the words fell apart as pain ripped through me. No one cared. No one listened.

The last thing I saw was his face—calm, distant—as darkness swallowed me whole.

---

“Aria. Wake up.”

His voice pulled me back from the dark. My eyelids felt impossibly heavy, but when I finally opened them, Thorne was standing beside the bed. He exhaled deeply when he saw me conscious and reached out to brush my hair away.

I turned my head without thinking.

He froze. Then he pulled his hand back, as if I were the one who burned him.