The first thing I felt was nothing.

Not the sheets against my skin. Not the heaviness of my limbs. Not even the sting of my lungs that had fought to breathe water instead of air. My body was an empty vessel, still and unresponsive, but my mind—my mind hovered between darkness and awareness.

And in that haze, voices broke through.

“Sir, we can’t drain more blood,” the doctor’s tone was strained, panicked. “She drowned, her lungs were filled with water. Her body won’t hold. If we continue, she’ll die—especially knowing she’s also pregnant with your child.”

Pregnant? My heart jolted. No. That couldn’t be. I never even suspected. My cycle was always irregular, unreliable at best. And most of the time—Joseph and I used protection. Condoms, precautions, anything to avoid surprises. I never dared to hope… because we weren’t married yet.

But then came Joseph’s voice. Familiar. Sharp. Cold.

“I don’t care if she’s pregnant. And if she dies? So what?” His words cut deeper than the tubes piercing my skin. “She matches Hannah’s blood type. Hannah needs this more. Between them, I’ll always choose Hannah. Ysabel is nothing. Not even my wife. Do it now.”

The sound of the machines blurred, the edges of my consciousness collapsing. I wanted to scream, to fight, to demand why—but my body betrayed me. Darkness pulled me under.

When I woke again, agony consumed me. Every muscle throbbed, my veins hollowed as if someone had scraped life itself from inside me. Memories of what I heard replayed, twisted with doubt. Was it a dream? Was it real?

A nurse appeared at my bedside, offering a strained smile. “Miss Ysabel, you need to rest. You lost a lot of blood. You were found unconscious after drowning. You must stay for recovery.”

I swallowed hard, my lips trembling. “I… was I—pregnant?”

Her eyes widened, then softened with pity. “I don’t think so. There’s no record.”

But I heard it. I knew what I heard. Pregnant. Child. Died. My womb felt empty, my chest hollow. Silent tears slipped down my cheeks as the truth clawed at me.

“What about… my husband?” The word cracked on my tongue, though even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t true. Joseph wasn’t my husband. Just the man I had given my life to, the man who had Jackson’s heart, the man I had foolishly believed would love me.

“Did someone visit me?”

The nurse hesitated, then shook her head. “No one has come. You’ve been asleep for three days already.”

I forced a trembling smile. “Please. Leave me alone.”

The door clicked shut, and silence swallowed me whole. That was when the ache settled in—not the physical pain, but the kind that gnawed at the marrow. I thought it was love.

I thought five years of devotion meant something. I wanted to believe that his care, his touch, his presence was real. Yet still, it wasn’t. To him, I was never love. Just convenience. Just pity. And me? I was a fool. A fool who mistook borrowed warmth for a promise, who gave my heart to a man who never truly wanted it.

My chest tightened, and for the first time in years, my thoughts drifted back to Jackson. Jackson—wild, reckless, full of life. He had never once made me feel like an afterthought.

With him, every word was truth, every touch was certainty. If he were here, he would never have let me rot in this bed alone. He would never have given me up for someone else’s sake. Jackson would have fought for me. Protected me. Loved me without condition.

And now his heart beat inside Joseph. The cruel irony cut deeper than any blade.

I waited the entire day, staring at the door, praying Joseph would come. He didn’t.

By nightfall, something in me snapped. Pain laced every step, but I forced myself out of bed, the IV tugging against my arm. The hallway lights were dim, cold. That’s when I heard it—his voice again.

I froze.

“…are you sure it’s okay that you’re here?” Hannah’s voice. Her tone was low, nervous. “What about Ysabel? You drained too much of her blood for me.”

Joseph scoffed, his voice a knife. “I don’t care about her. She won’t die. And even if she does, what then? It’s not like she matters. The baby already died. She’ll never know.”

The ground tilted beneath me. Baby. Died. Never know.

He continued, his words merciless. “I never wanted her. I only pitied her. Joseph—” he paused, his voice breaking only to twist into bitterness. “Joseph died because of me. I was drunk, reckless. I crashed into his car. I killed him. His family gave me his heart out of pity, not knowing I was the reason he died. You left, I was devastated. So I used her. A bed warmer. Nothing more. But now that you’re back, and you’ve divorced that bastard husband—let’s get married.”

Hannah gasped softly. “Joseph… of course, I would love that! I regretted leaving you.”

My stomach twisted, bile rising to my throat. My knees nearly buckled, but I pressed against the wall, forcing my sobs down.

Every word was a dagger. Every word burned the love I had clung to into ashes.

Joseph. It was Joseph. The man I had trusted, the man I had given five years of my life to—he was the reason Jackson was gone. All those nights I cried myself to sleep, mourning my first love, never once had I imagined the man sleeping beside me carried such a secret. He had crashed into Jackson. He had killed him. And then, instead of confessing, he had hidden it behind his sickness, behind his pity, behind his manipulations.

The man who carried Jackson’s heart had been the very hand that ripped him away from me.

My tears blurred everything. My breaths came shallow and broken. It felt like betrayal layered upon betrayal, until I couldn’t tell where the grief ended and the rage began.

I stumbled away, desperate for air, desperate for escape. My eyes caught a telephone on the corner desk. My hands shook as I grabbed it, my breath ragged.

There was only one number I had memorized, one lifeline I had never dared to use.

When the line clicked, my voice broke. “Brother… it’s me. Ysabel.”

Silence. Then a sharp inhale on the other side.

“Do you still care for me?” My tears fell hot, dripping onto the receiver. “If yes… please… help me. Help me fake my death.”

“Do you still care for me?” My tears fell hot, dripping onto the receiver. My voice cracked as I clung to the only lifeline I had left. “If yes… please… help me. Help me fake my death.”

There was silence on the other end. A silence that stretched like a blade against my throat. And then came the scoff, sharp and bitter.

“Right now?” My brother’s voice was laced with anger. “You’re asking for my help now—after everything? After you left us, after you chose him over your own blood? You betrayed us and Jackson, Ysabel. For that man. And now you come crawling back?”

My chest heaved. “It’s my mistake—I know it’s my fault now. But please, listen to me. He’s the reason why Jackson died—” My sobs choked me, words tumbling out raw and broken. “He killed Jackson… so he could get his heart. He killed our baby, too. I was wrong. I should have never loved anyone aside from Jackson. Never.”

My hand trembled as I tightened my grip on the receiver. “Please. Pick me up. I swear, I’ll do anything you want from me. Anything.”

On the other end, silence stretched again, until finally his sigh reached me. “Fine. At least you finally came to your senses. I’ll pick you up in five days. Settle everything. After that, you’re done with him. Do you understand?”

My knees buckled as relief and despair collided. “Yes,” I whispered, trembling. “Yes.”

I dropped the receiver, my whole body quivering violently. The room spun, darkness swarming in from every corner until I couldn’t hold myself up anymore. I fainted—slipping into oblivion.

When I woke again, I was cradled against Joseph’s chest. His hands shook me gently. “Ysabel? What are you doing out here? You’re not yet okay—why are you walking around? Come on, you’ll collapse again.”

His voice was soft, concerned, the voice that once fooled me into believing I was loved. He carried me back to the room, setting me on the bed with a gentleness that now felt cruel.

“Ysabel,” he murmured, brushing the damp hair from my face. “I’m sorry… for everything. I shouldn’t have left you alone. I should’ve been there when you woke up. I should’ve taken better care of you. I was just… overwhelmed, distracted with the company… I didn’t mean to neglect you.”

His excuses poured out like honey, sweet but suffocating. Each word layered with guilt, but none of it touched truth.

I forced myself to look away, to keep my tears buried deep. Pretending ignorance was my last weapon now. I lowered my lashes and whispered, my voice fragile, “It’s fine, Joseph. I’m sorry too… for causing trouble. For worrying you.”

Inside, my chest screamed with the truth I already knew—that his apologies weren’t for me, that Hannah’s name on his lips meant more than mine ever would. But I feigned submission, nodding like the fool he thought I still was, because pretending was easier than shattering completely in front of him.

He fed me spoonfuls of warm soup, his eyes heavy with guilt, his words dripping with remorse.

Once, I would have melted. Once, I would have believed him. But now—I knew better. His apologies were empty shells, rehearsed, meant to keep me docile.

And then the butler burst into the room. “Sir Joseph, something happened to Miss Hannah! She’s vomiting again. The doctor is asking you to come immediately!”

The moment her name left his lips, Joseph dropped everything. He shot up from his chair. In his haste, the bowl of soup tipped, scalding liquid spilling across my arm.

I screamed, the burn searing into my skin. But he didn’t even look at me. Didn’t even hesitate. And just like that—he was gone.

I clutched my burned arm, trembling from both pain and fury. I treated it myself, wrapping it with cold compress, tears blinding my vision.

That was the last straw. I couldn’t do this anymore.

The next morning, I signed the discharge papers myself. Weak and aching, I forced my body out of that hospital and straight to the cemetery. My feet carried me to Jackson’s grave, and there—I collapsed.

My fingers traced the letters of his name carved into stone. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I’m sorry, Jackson. Because I fell for him. Because I let myself be fooled. Because the man who carries your heart is the same one who destroyed you. And me.”

My tears fell onto the earth as if I could water his memory back to life. In the haze of grief, I felt something warm, something familiar—like arms wrapping around me. Jackson. In my dream, he was there, pulling me into his chest, whispering against my hair, You’re not alone.

I woke to find myself drenched in tears. But his embrace lingered in my chest, a phantom comfort.

Dragging myself home, I tried to find air in lungs that barely wanted to breathe. And then I saw it.

A billboard towered above the city lights, bold letters screaming the headline:

“Second Chances Are Sweeter Than the First: Joseph Jones to Wed Hannah Mill.”

The picture was cruel. Joseph, smiling, Hannah beside him, radiant and triumphant.

My body froze, my heart hollow. So this was why he never married me. This was why every promise turned to dust.

But I did not cry. Not anymore. My tears had run dry. My love had burned to ashes.

Because in five days, I would be dead. And when that happened, every single one of them would regret it.

The fever gripped me like chains, burning from the inside out. My body trembled beneath the blankets, sweat soaking through the thin fabric, but the worst part wasn’t the heat—it was the dream that came with it.

Jackson.

He was smiling at me the way he used to, that mischievous grin lighting his whole face. We were on the mountain trails again, his hand tugging mine as we chased the sun. “Come on, Ysabel!” he laughed. “Don’t be scared. I’ll always catch you.”

I laughed in the dream, carefree, the way I hadn’t been in years. He kissed my forehead, his lips warm, his eyes full of promises that never broke. Marry me when we come back down, he had said once, teasing, but I knew he meant it.

And then the image twisted—Jackson slipping, falling, his hand out of reach, his voice lost in the wind.

I screamed in my dream, cried until my throat tore, calling his name over and over. “Jackson! Jackson!”

My own scream dragged me awake. I jolted upright, chest heaving, tears streaming.

But instead of Jackson, it was Joseph. Sitting in the chair beside my bed, arms crossed, his expression cold.

“So that’s it,” he mocked, his lips curling. “Still Jackson, even now. You scream his name like a widow mourning her lover. I’m right here, Ysabel, and yet it’s always him.”

My heart stopped. I wiped at my tears, shaking my head. “Joseph, I—”

He cut me off, his voice sharp. “This is exactly why I don’t want to marry you. Why should I tie myself to a woman still haunted by another man’s ghost?” He stood, towering over me. “Never mind. Forget about marriage. It’s pointless anyway.”

I flinched at his words, but he wasn’t finished.

“Hannah will stay here with us from now on,” he announced flatly. “She needs care. She’s pregnant.”

My blood froze. “What?”

“You heard me.” His eyes bored into mine, merciless. “So you should cook for her. She needs proper meals.”

A bitter laugh escaped me, though my lips trembled. “I’m not your maid, Joseph.”

His gaze hardened. “You are to me. Because you’re useless otherwise. If you don’t want to, then leave.”

I felt the tears burn but swallowed them back. “So that’s it? You’re dating her now, marrying her? And what am I, Joseph? What was I ever to you?”

His hand cracked across my cheek before I could take another breath. My head snapped to the side, my skin stinging with fire.

“You dare say that to me?” he roared. “When you’re the one who can’t even move on from Jackson? Don’t think I don’t know—you went to his grave, cried there after whispering to me that you loved me. Hypocrite!”

My heart shattered as he sneered. “You used me, Ysabel. All this time. So what if I use you too? That’s all this is—use. Nothing more.”

“I don’t want this—” I whispered, my voice weak, trembling.

“I’m not asking,” he snapped. “I’m ordering.”

The door opened then, and Hannah stepped in. Her face was pale, her voice soft. “Are you fighting because of me? I’m sorry, Joseph. I didn’t mean—”

He cut her off immediately, wrapping an arm around her. “No, Hannah. Don’t apologize. She’ll cook for you. It’s time she earns everything she’s taken from me.”

I couldn’t even argue anymore. My body shook, my cheek throbbed, my heart bled. So I lowered my head and went to the kitchen.

I forced my trembling hands to chop vegetables, my vision blurry from tears. The knife slipped once, almost cutting me, but I pressed on. Anything to get this over with.

Then Hannah appeared at the counter, hesitating. “Ysabel… let me help.”

I shook my head, my voice barely steady. “No. It’s fine. No need for that.”

She lingered, wringing her hands. I turned back to the board, but my fever-weakened grip faltered. The knife slipped again—and this time, it nicked Hannah’s skin as she reached for the plate.

She gasped, blood welling up on her finger.

Before I could explain, Joseph stormed in. His eyes blazed with fury. Without a word, his palm slammed against my face again, harder this time, knocking me back.

“You dare hurt her?” he shouted, shoving me into the counter. “Are you serious now?”

My chest ached, my voice cracking. “I didn’t mean—she reached—”

But Hannah, even in her pain, whispered, “I-It’s not her fault, Joseph. Please, don’t—”

Her words were drowned out by his rage. He hit me again. Once. Twice. Again and again until I lost count, until the sting turned into numbness, until I could barely stand.

“Apologize!” he barked.

“No,” I croaked, blood on my lips. “It wasn’t my fault—”

His eyes turned to ice. Then his hands shoved me with brutal force. My body flew backward, crashing into the sliding doors that opened to the pool.

The cold water swallowed me instantly. I gasped, thrashing, but my arms and legs were weak. Panic surged—I didn’t know how to swim. Not since the cruise. Water was terror. Water was death.

I clawed at the surface, begging, choking. “Joseph! Please! Help me!”

“Joseph!” Hannah cried, her voice sharp with panic. “She’s drowning—help her!”

But Joseph only stood there, his jaw clenched, his hand gripping Hannah’s arm as if to hold her back. His voice was flat, merciless. “No. Let her. She chose this. She deserves it.”

I coughed, swallowed water, my body convulsing. My vision blurred as I saw Hannah clutch Joseph’s sleeve, shaking her head. “No, Joseph, please—don’t let her die.” Her tone dripped with concern, her eyes glassy as though she might cry.

But when his gaze shifted away for a heartbeat, I caught it—the curl of her lips. The smirk. Cold. Satisfied. Triumphant.

She wanted this. She wanted me gone.

The last of my strength slipped away, and the water dragged me under.