I should have known something was off the moment the clerk said my name wrong.

“Miss Kiera Dane?”

Her voice was polite, unshaken by the chaos she was about to drop into my life. She looked over her glasses, fingers hovering above her keyboard.

“I’m afraid we cannot release a marriage certificate under that name. According to our database, no legal union exists between you and a Mr. Rowan Cross.”

For a moment, her words didn’t land. My mind simply refused to process them. I stood there, clutching my purse, nails digging crescents into my palms.

“That’s impossible,” I finally managed. “I am Mrs. Kiera Cross. I just need a reprint. I ruined the original while cleaning my husband’s office. Coffee accident.”

She didn’t frown or argue—her expression remained perfectly neutral, softened by the kind of smile clerks use to keep unstable customers from breaking down. With a few taps, she swiveled her monitor toward me. The screen displayed columns of text and system codes my brain refused to interpret.

“Miss Dane,” she repeated in that same gentle tone.

Hearing it again made my stomach twist. “No. No, that’s wrong. He told me the civil paperwork was filed the day the church postponed our ceremony. I saw the certificate. I’ve lived as his wife for three years. We’re married.”

The clerk’s voice dropped into something close to pity. “Ma’am… the system is clear. Mr. Cross is married, but not to you. His legal spouse, for the past three years, has been one Seraphine Vega. Does that name ring a bell?”

It felt as though my knees disconnected from the rest of my body. Seraphine. My best friend. Or the woman I thought was my best friend. Her name cracked something open inside me.

I thanked the clerk—somehow—then walked out in a haze. The world outside looked the same, but everything inside me had collapsed. One blurred drive later, I was standing at the front doors of Rowan’s mansion.

His home, not mine.

I climbed the stairs with numb feet, replaying memories that now felt warped and suspicious. Three years ago, just as I was supposed to walk toward Rowan in a chapel overlooking a hill, everything had fallen apart. My bouquet. My gown. The ceremony. All ruined when news broke that Seraphine had been pushed from a rooftop by someone targeting the woman Rowan loved.

Everyone believed the attacker had mistaken her for me. That she had suffered because of her connection to us.

But she wasn’t even meant to be on that rooftop. That should’ve been my fall.

Instead, Seraphine survived—if one could call lying motionless in silk sheets “surviving.” Her brother, Riven, moved in too, needing medical attention of his own. Rowan said caring for them was the least we could do after what she’d “sacrificed.”

And I trusted him. I trusted every word.

For three years I tended to her, treating her like fragile glass—feeding her, bathing her, brushing the hair she couldn’t lift a hand to touch. I cooked Rowan’s meals. Smiled when he pecked my forehead. Believed him when he blamed stress for avoiding intimacy. I never questioned the certificate he showed me once and tucked away afterward.

Looking back… I had been blind.

As I rounded the hallway, voices slipped through the slightly open door of Rowan’s study. I knew I should leave, but my feet anchored to the floor.

“Rowan, thank you,” Riven murmured, his tone sincere. “For everything you’ve done for Seraphine… and for me.”

Rowan let out the familiar, warm laugh that once made me feel safe. “Don’t be ridiculous. Seraphine has always been important to me. I think about what happened every day. She was never meant to be targeted—that was on Kiera. That’s why I married her. To convince the enemy she was the one I cared for.”

My breath hitched, freezing halfway up my lungs. The room spun, but I remained still, plastered to the wall.

Riven spoke again, soft and unsure. “And if Kiera finds out? What if she decides to leave?”

Rowan scoffed. Actually scoffed. “Kiera? She’s clueless. She doesn’t realize the marriage wasn’t real. And even if she uncovered it somehow… she wouldn’t walk away. She’s been obsessed with me since childhood. Like a stray dog that won’t stop following you home. I pitied her, that’s all. She was convenient.”

A long silence swallowed the hallway.

Then my body finally moved—slow, detached, like I was floating instead of walking. I drifted to my room, the walls of that mansion suddenly unrecognizable. None of it had ever been mine. Not the roof. Not the man. Not the life.

Inside my room, I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. The rage and heartbreak didn’t explode—they settled into something cold and final.

My fingers trembled violently as I picked up my phone.

My mother answered almost instantly. “Kiera? Sweetheart? What’s happened?”

I swallowed hard. “Mom… do you remember the marriage proposal you were arranging before I insisted on staying with Rowan?”

“Yes, I remember,” she said cautiously.

“Set it up again,” I whispered, each word sharp as glass. “I’m coming home. I’m finished here.”

“Please… set everything up again. I want it done as soon as possible. And I’m coming home. I mean it.”

My mother didn’t respond at first. The line went silent except for the faint jingle of her bracelet and the soft rustling of silk — familiar sounds that suddenly felt like echoes from a life far away from mine.

“What are you talking about, Kiera?” she whispered sharply, surprise cracking through her perfectly controlled voice. “You chased after Rowan Cross for a decade. Ten years. You insisted you loved him so much you refused the marriage I had arranged. And now suddenly you want me to revive that match you fought me over?”

“I was wrong,” I managed, my throat tightening until it hurt. I lowered myself onto the bed because my knees didn’t feel strong enough to hold me anymore. “I just want out, Mom. Please. Ask the man you chose for me before to come pick me up. Give me a week. That’s all I’m asking.”

“That soon?” Her tone shifted, softening into concern — the way she had spoken to me when I sobbed on her lap after Rowan ignored me during prom night. “Sweetheart, what happened? Did you argue? What about your divorce papers? Did he finally sign them?”

A hollow laugh scraped out of me. “There’s no need for any divorce. It turns out… I was never married in the first place.”

Before she could lecture me or drown me with sympathy, I ended the call. I didn’t want to hear any of it. I needed the silence more than anything.

But when I turned around, ice flooded my veins.

Rowan was leaning against the doorway, arms folded tightly, his expression dark and unreadable.

His shadow stretched across the room like a warning. “What the hell was that, Seraphine?”

My stomach dropped. Seraphine. Sometimes he couldn’t even bother to say my name right.

“Who were you talking to? And what do you mean you were never married?” He stepped toward me, irritation sharpening every word. “Is this another stunt? Are you upset because I said no to that pointless anniversary trip you wouldn’t shut up about?”

I opened my mouth, but air failed me.

He moved closer, lowering his voice, coating it with fake tenderness that made my skin prickle. “Didn’t I explain? We can’t go right now. Your friend is still unconscious. Her brother can barely move. You need to look after them, and so do I. When Seraphine recovers, we’ll travel. I promised you, didn’t I? We’ll go see the northern lights. That’ll make you happy, right?”

Every word felt like a rope tightening around my throat — gentle, warm, suffocating.

Only now did I understand: Seraphine had always been the invisible wall between us.

Even before her fall.

Even before the coma.

Back in high school, I thought she was helping me get closer to him — delivering my love letters, handing him my gifts, giving me advice.

But she was the one he called late at night.

She was the one he searched for in a crowd.

She was the one he smiled at when he thought I wasn’t looking.

My best friend.

My silent betrayal.

I must have zoned out because Rowan’s voice snapped like a whip. “What now? What’s going on in that head of yours? Are you insulting me with your silence? Speak up!”

My vision blurred as tears overflowed, hot and uncontrollable. I didn’t bother wiping them.

His expression softened instantly, the same pathetic boyish panic he used to manipulate me. “Hey, hey… I’m sorry, baby. I shouldn’t have raised my voice. You know I hate it when you cry—makes my chest hurt. Come here.”

He wrapped his arms around me, his fingers sliding behind my neck in that familiar way, guiding me toward a kiss.

His lips touched mine.

But there was no spark. No warmth.

Only revulsion.

There was a time when that kiss could undo me. When I would’ve forgiven him for anything just to feel wanted.

But now?

Now I finally understood the price of loving him.

I pulled away, keeping my voice flat. “My stomach hurts.”

He blinked, surprised. Then he gently brushed a tear from my cheek. “A stomachache? That’s it? Why didn’t you say so right away? I’ll call the driver. We’re going to the hospital.”

He dialed someone immediately, barking orders, pacing like he was dealing with a crisis. I stood by the doorway like a shadow watching him pretend to care.

The car ride was quiet. He held my hand, tracing lazy circles that made my skin crawl. For a moment, I almost let myself believe the lie — that he was worried about me. That he could choose me for once.

Then his phone buzzed.

He checked the screen, and in an instant, it was like I had never existed.

“What? Seraphine is conscious?” His whole face ignited with joy — a joy I had never seen directed at me. “Turn around! Take us back immediately. I have to be there when she wakes. She’s going to want to see me first.”

I stared at him. “And me? I don’t matter? I told you I’m sick, Rowan.”

He shot me a look of pure annoyance, like I was an inconvenience in his way. “You’re fine. It’s just a stomachache. Stop exaggerating. Driver, pull over.”

The car eased to a stop on the roadside.

Rowan stepped out, grabbed my arm, and practically shoved me onto the pavement. The sky opened up with cold raindrops that slid down my neck.

“Here,” he said, tossing his black credit card onto the wet ground like he was throwing scraps to a stray dog. “Call a taxi and go to the hospital yourself. Don’t make this bigger than it is.”

“Rowan—”

“Stay put,” he barked, then slammed the door shut.

The car sped off into the night, racing back to Seraphine — the woman he never stopped loving.

I stood on the shoulder of the road, rain soaking through my coat, heavy and icy. My hair clung to my face, and my hands trembled against my chest.

The cold seeped into me until I couldn’t tell if I was shivering from the weather or from heartbreak.

I whispered into the storm, voice shaking, “Just one more week. One more week… and I’ll finally be free.”

I remembered sliding into the backseat of the taxi that night, the cold upholstery clinging to my drenched clothes like an unwanted second skin. I was too drained to even cry; all I wanted was to reach the hospital, have someone check my stomach, and maybe—just maybe—feel human again.

But halfway through the drive, the driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror, a weird little smile playing on his lips. Before I could form a question, a sharp hiss broke through the silent car.

A harsh, chemical scent filled the air.

I coughed violently. “W-What are you—”

And the world snapped to black.

When consciousness finally oozed back in, my head felt like it was full of spinning concrete. My limbs were heavy and sluggish, my wrists tied painfully behind me, the skin bruised from the restraints. My legs were stiff. My spine rested against freezing cement.

Where… am I?

The place smelled of rusted metal and old motor oil. Dim, industrial light flickered from somewhere above. A warehouse. Abandoned. Hidden. A place designed for people no one planned to return.

Footsteps echoed, sending shivers up my arms.

“W-What… what’s going on?” I croaked. My voice sounded foreign to me, all cracked and dry.

One of the men approached, his face covered with a half-mask. “Shut it. Since you’re awake, call Rowan.”

My throat closed. “Why? Why do you need me to call him?”

“Your precious husband owes us a pretty sum,” he growled. “He made deals, took money, made promises—and screwed us over. Now he pays.”

“I… I have nothing to do with this,” I whispered, trembling hard. “I didn’t even know—”

“Oh yeah?” the man snapped, getting in my face. “Then explain why he sent his wife here instead of meeting us himself.”

Wife.

The word hit me like a slap.

I wasn’t even legally his wife.

“I’m not—” I stopped. They wouldn’t believe it even if I shouted it into their ears.

The other man scoffed. “We trusted him once. Got the wrong girl three years ago. That’s why you lived. This time? No mistakes. You understand?”

My stomach churned.

So Seraphine’s fall… the rooftop… the attack—they weren’t coincidences.

It all traced back to Rowan.

Everything.

“Make the call!” they barked.

With shaking fingers, I dialed his number.

He picked up almost immediately.

“Rowan,” I gasped, tears already gathering. “I’ve been taken—I’m tied up—please, please help me!”

He groaned. Actually groaned.

“Oh God. Kiera, not this nonsense again.”

My pulse stopped. “W-What? What are you talking about?”

“I am literally taking care of Seraphine right now,” he snapped. “Don’t start with your drama. Come home. She hasn’t eaten and you’re supposed to be helping. Stop playing these stupid games.”

Then he hung up.

Just like that.

I stared at the phone, my heart splitting open.

The men heard the whole thing. One clicked his tongue. “Useless,” he spat, before slapping me so hard my head whipped to the side. “So it was really Seraphine they were after. So what are you then?”

My lip tore; I tasted blood.

What was I?

A substitute.

A shadow.

A nobody.

But they didn’t release me. They kept beating me, kept hurting me. I could hear them muttering about killing me as a message to Rowan. Every scream I let out seemed to dissolve into the walls. Nobody came.

The next thing I knew, I was being dumped in front of a hospital like discarded garbage.

When I finally woke again, I was lying in a hospital bed. The antiseptic smell was sharp, and the lights overhead burned my eyes.

“Please stay still,” a nurse said softly as she adjusted my blanket. “You lost a significant amount of blood.”

I blinked slowly. “What… what happened to me?”

“You were found unconscious, badly bruised,” she explained hesitantly. “Someone called for help, but the caller didn’t stay or give details. However…” She paused.

My stomach tightened. “However what?”

Her expression softened with pity. “I’m sorry… but you lost the baby.”

“…What?”

I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe. The world felt hollow.

“You were around three months along,” she added quietly.

“I… I didn’t even know,” I whispered. “My cycle… it’s always irregular. I had no idea.”

Her eyes were warm with sympathy. “Would you like me to call someone for you?”

“My phone,” I murmured.

She handed it to me.

It still turned on.

Still no calls.

No texts.

Not even a missed message.

I tried calling Rowan anyway. Straight to voicemail.

I lay there staring at the ceiling, numb, until the lifelessness inside me became unbearable.

Eventually, weak and starving, I slipped out of bed and wandered the corridors wearing my hospital gown. I passed by the nurses’ area, then drifted into a quieter wing—

And then I heard a voice I hadn’t heard in years.

Seraphine.

“…I specifically told you to get rid of her. Why is she still alive?” she hissed.

My blood froze.

“I woke up,” she continued coldly. “So she should be dead by now. Why is she even breathing in this hospital?”

“She was rescued,” a man replied nervously. “Another group arrived unexpectedly. We had to escape.”

Saved?

Someone saved me?

But who?

“Do it properly next time,” Seraphine ordered, her tone sharp as a blade. “And do not let me see you again unless I call for you. And don’t you dare speak a word about this.”

Footsteps approached.

I backed away, hiding behind a corner as the man exited. My whole body shook.

And then—

“There you are!”

I turned.

Rowan stood there, smiling like a man greeting a friend at a café instead of his battered, bandaged wife.

“Perfect timing!” he said cheerfully. “Seraphine can’t wait to see you. She wants her usual milk tea from that shop you like. Could you grab it for her?”

I stared at him.

Could he really not see the bruises?

The bandages?

The IV mark on my arm?

“No,” I whispered.

His expression twisted. “What did you say?”

“I said I don’t want to.”

He stepped closer, frowning. “Are you seriously defying me right now? What’s gotten into you?”