“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.

The fever came quickly after the pool. My body trembled, drenched clothes sticking to my skin, the cold seeping deep into my bones. I coughed violently, every breath feeling like glass tearing through my throat. My skin burned with heat and yet I shivered.

And then came the performance.

Hannah. Sitting by my bed with a basin and towel, pretending to wipe my forehead with tender care. Her voice was soft, sweet, dripping with the act of compassion. “Shh… don’t cry, Ysabel. Rest. You’ll be fine.”

Joseph had told her not to. I remembered clearly the way his voice snapped, “Don’t waste your time on her, Hannah.” But she insisted, and so she played the saint—while I lay weak and broken.

I closed my eyes, forcing my tears back, pretending to believe her touch was genuine. But the moment Joseph left the room, her hand stilled. Her tone changed.

“You’re not his wife,” she whispered, low and sharp, her lips close to my ear. “You’re nothing but a bed warmer. That’s all you’ve ever been. Now that I’m here, it’s over. Leave. Got it?”

I trembled, my throat dry, but I couldn’t speak.

She lifted the glass of water and forced it against my lips. “Drink.”

I shook my head weakly, but she pressed harder until the liquid spilled into my mouth. My stomach churned, the water mixed with bile.

Moments later I bent forward, vomiting, tears streaking my cheeks. Hannah stepped back in disgust, smirk tugging at her lips.

“Pathetic,” she muttered, dropping the glass with a clink onto the table. “You’re sick, weak, and useless. Why would Joseph ever want you when he has me?”

She left me there, shaking, my fever making the room blur and tilt.

Later, I heard his voice outside the door—Joseph’s voice, cheerful, light, so different than when he spoke to me. “Come on, Hannah. Let’s go on a date.”

And they left together.

I fell asleep with the sound of their laughter echoing in my ears, my body heavy with fever, my heart heavier still.

By the time I opened my eyes again, my fever had broken. My body ached, but at least I could move without collapsing. I pushed myself up, my head throbbing, the silence pressing down.

No one was there. Not Joseph. Not Hannah. Not even the maids.

When I rang for someone, finally a maid appeared—but she wouldn’t meet my eyes. Her lips were sealed, her posture stiff. I asked where Joseph was, and she only bowed her head and left.

Confusion clawed at me until I turned on the television. The headline hit me like a thunderbolt.

“Second Chances: Joseph Jones to Wed Hannah Mill at Sunset Today.”

The screen flashed with images of them—Joseph in his suit, Hannah in her gown, glowing, smiling as though betrayal didn’t stain their hands. The anchor’s voice was giddy: “A wedding of love reborn… a story of destiny…”

My body went numb.

So that was it.

Good. If they wanted their sunset wedding, they could have it. But I wasn’t leaving empty-handed.

I dragged my aching body to his office. I scanned the shelves, the desk, the drawers. And then my eyes landed on the safe tucked neatly in the corner.

My hands shook as I pressed the keypad, trying combinations. Nothing worked. Until my eyes flicked to a photo frame on his desk—Hannah, smiling sweetly, holding his arm.

Her birthday. I typed it in. Click. The lock opened.

Inside was a stack of documents, wads of cash, and a single flash drive. My gut told me this was it. I plugged it into his laptop. Files loaded. My breath hitched as I read.

Traffic reports. Witness statements. A police file marked confidential. It wasn’t just guilt. It wasn’t just an accident. It was the truth. Joseph had killed Jackson. And covered it.

My tears blurred the screen as I grabbed the flash drive, clutching it like it was life itself.

I called the police from the office line, my voice breaking. “I have evidence,” I whispered. “Evidence that Jackson Urie’s death wasn’t an accident. I’m filing a case now.”

I packed quickly after that. Every move filled with fury and sorrow. My clothes, my documents, the little savings I had. I stuffed them into a suitcase.

And then, just as I stepped outside, I saw him. My brother. Waiting by the car, his arms crossed, his eyes sharp but softened when they landed on me.

“You’re ready now?” he asked.

I nodded, tears trembling at the edge of my lashes. “Yes.” My voice cracked, but this time it wasn’t from fear. It was resolve.

He opened the door for me. “Then let’s go.”

We drove in silence, the city flashing past, the sunset painting the horizon. By the time we reached the airstrip, a private plane was waiting. My brother helped me aboard, his hand steady against my trembling fingers.

The engines roared to life, the world shrinking below as we lifted off.

I pulled out my phone one last time. Staring at the screen—Joseph’s number still pinned at the top. With a deep breath, I pulled the SIM card out. Tossed it into the wind as the door shut.

I was gone.

And this time, I wouldn’t come back.

Joseph’s POV

My hands trembled as I adjusted the cufflinks, the ones Hannah had picked. Today should have been the day my life came full circle. Today, I was supposed to bury the shadows of the past.

The door creaked open. I turned, expecting a staff member. Instead, two men in uniform entered, their expressions sharp.

“Mr. Jones,” one of them said, voice firm. “You are under arrest for the death of Jackson Urie.”

My breath caught. “What?” I laughed, though my throat tightened. “That’s absurd. It was an accident. Everyone knows it.”

The officer stepped closer, holding up a folder. “We have new evidence. A flash drive. It was sent directly to us—by Ms. Ysabel.”

Her name struck me harder than the accusation. My pulse roared in my ears. “Ysabel?” I snapped. “Where is she? Bring her to me now!”

“She is not here,” the officer replied flatly.

I ripped my phone from the table, dialing her number again and again. Each ring clawed at me, unanswered, until finally the line went dead.

The butler entered quietly, his eyes darting with unease. “Sir… she isn’t answering her calls.”

Behind me, Hannah’s voice wavered, panicked. “Joseph, what’s happening? Why are they saying this? Why would she—?”

“Shut up, Hannah!” I barked, though my own chest was caving in. My mind spiraled. Ysabel. Evidence. Betrayal. None of it made sense. She wouldn’t dare. She couldn’t.

I called again. Nothing. Again. Nothing. My heart slammed harder with each silence.

Then, the butler’s phone buzzed. He answered, and his face drained of all color. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to me.

“Sir…” his voice cracked. “We just received a traffic incident report.”

He swallowed hard. “… Miss Ysabel was hit by a 12-wheeler truck and is now dead.”