“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?”

“You’re defying me now?” Rowan repeated, each syllable sharp enough to slice through the air.

His tone cracked beside my ear like a snapping cable. Shock widened his eyes, so dramatic it would’ve been funny if I wasn’t already drained down to my bones.

“No,” I murmured, my voice scraping against my throat. “I’m exhausted. I was hurt, Rowan. I called you… didn’t I?”

For a split second, his expression wavered—his performance face slipping before he slid it back on. The caring husband mask. The gentle protector persona he saved for witnesses.

“Oh, sweetheart, I thought you were messing around,” he cooed, stepping closer to stroke my cheek, as though that tiny gesture could erase the pounding ache in my ribs.

“You should’ve told me properly. Where does it hurt? I swear I’ll find whoever did this and make them regret it, okay? Just relax. Let me take care of my girl—”

A piercing shriek erupted down the hallway.

“Rowan! Help me!”

Seraphine.

The taste of betrayal never even reached my tongue because Rowan spun away instantly—didn’t spare me a glance, didn’t finish his sentence, nothing.

“Seraphine! I’m here!” he yelled, practically sprinting to her room, as if gravity itself dragged him back to her side.

I stood alone in the corridor, staring at the empty space where he’d vanished. Then a laugh escaped me—a thin, hollow sound that barely counted as laughter. I didn’t know anymore if I was mocking him… or myself.

From her room, I heard his panicked voice: “It’s alright, Seraphine, I’m right here. I’ll get the doctor. Don’t worry.”

Then loudly, like I was invisible:

“Kiera! Go call the doctor!”

As if I were a servant. As if I hadn’t poured years into playing the role of a wife I never actually was.

I turned to leave, but Seraphine’s frail little voice drifted out, sugary and weak. “Kiera! Please… come here.”

Before I could think, I found myself beside her bed. She gazed at me with those doll-like features everyone adored.

“Oh, my dearest friend,” she whispered dramatically. “I missed you so much. Rowan told me everything… how you took care of me, and my brother, and the whole house. Thank you for holding everything together while I was gone… and now I’m finally awake.”

The words were syrup-coated poison.

My hand moved almost on its own—I nudged her shoulder. Not hard. Just enough to push her back against the pillows.

She gasped, eyes widening. “Sister… why would you do that? What did I do wrong?” Then she looked at Rowan, trembling like a scared child.

Rowan’s fury snapped instantly toward me. “Have you lost your mind? She’s still recovering! What if she fell? She’s injured!”

A dry laugh slid from my lips. “I’m injured too, in case you forgot. I didn’t shove her. She leaned on me. It hurts.”

Rowan’s jaw tightened. “You can’t even apologize properly? Seraphine has always been nothing but kind to you—”

“Rowan, please,” Seraphine whispered, putting on a trembling-lip performance flawless enough for an award. “Don’t scold her like that. I didn’t realize she was hurt. Kiera… I’m sorry. Truly. Please forgive me.”

Rowan folded his arms, verdict sealed. “Say sorry to Seraphine.”

“No,” I breathed.

His expression darkened. “Then you’re forcing my hand. I’ll lock you inside the house until you learn how to respect your own family.”

A humorless scoff burst out of me. That was it—the real Rowan revealing himself now that Seraphine was awake. To him, I was less than a shadow.

“Fine. Lock me up,” I muttered. Then I met his eyes. “You didn’t even care that I lost our child.”

His face twisted in confusion. “What did you just say?”

But I didn’t repeat it. I turned away. He didn’t follow—Seraphine whispered something and he stayed by her side. He always stayed.

I would never be fine again.

When I got home, I went straight to the small altar I’d built for my father… and now, for the baby I’d never meet. I lit a candle with steady hands even as tears blurred everything around me.

My phone chimed.

A message from my mother:

Everything will be arranged in three days. Your fiancé will arrive by helicopter. Come home.

I pressed the phone against my chest, nodding slowly. Three days. I only needed to last three more days.

Later that night, Rowan returned. He didn’t glance at the burning candle—not once. Of course he didn’t. He simply flashed me that rehearsed, tired smile and said, “Sorry about earlier, baby. I was stressed. Anyway, Seraphine wants a big celebration tomorrow. You’ll organize it, right?”

I gave a broken laugh. “You want it tomorrow? That’s impossible.”

His fake smile vanished. “This isn’t a request. Do it.”

Seraphine appeared behind him, looping her thin arms around his waist. “Rowan… it’s fine. We can do it next week—”

“No. It has to be now,” he insisted. “People need to know she’s alive so no one will try anything again.” His gaze cut toward me. “Kiera will take care of everything.”

And that was final.

They left me to arrange an entire event—calling contacts, pulling strings—preparing a celebration for the woman who had ordered my death.

I didn’t sleep. Not even for a second. I worked until my hands stung, the candle burning low.

Hours before sunrise, I passed their bedroom—and froze.

Soft moans drifted out. The door was half-open.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t even flinch. There was nothing left inside me to break.

I went to my room, retrieved the unworn wedding dress, the ring, and the copy of their marriage certificate. I placed them in a box along with a letter explaining the child he never cared about.

I scheduled it to arrive on the date that would’ve been our anniversary—no, their anniversary. The same day I planned to disappear forever.

Later, I half-dozed until I heard Rowan rummaging. He walked straight to the vase my father had crafted—the only piece of him I still had.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Seraphine wants this,” he said casually.

“No,” I whispered. “Not that one. Please. That’s the last thing I have from my father. Why would you give it to her?”

He didn’t even pause. “She wants to gift it to the surgeon who treated her. It’s just a vase, Kiera. You have many.”

When I reached toward it, he shoved me aside. I hit the floor hard, biting back a sound.

He didn’t even turn around.

—

The day of Seraphine’s banquet looked almost magical if you ignored the reality—that I was nothing but a well-dressed servant in my own home.

Seraphine lounged on a chaise like royalty, smiling sweetly at the guests who came to marvel at her miraculous return from a three-year coma. Rowan hovered beside her, every touch dripping adoration like slow poison.

I drifted through the ballroom carrying trays, bowing, offering drinks—pretending each smile didn’t shred me further.

When I brought Seraphine her wine, she gripped my wrist with dainty fingers.

“Kiera, everything looks incredible. Truly. Thank you.” Her voice dripped honey. She lowered it slightly. “You know… your husband really adores me. Don’t you agree?”

I stayed silent.

She chuckled softly, delighted by her own cruelty. “He arranged all of this for me. Everything. He’d do anything for me.” She tilted her head, eyes glittering. “Tell me, Kiera… how will you celebrate your wedding anniversary?” A mocking pause. “I mean—assuming it’s really your anniversary?”

Of course she knew. They’d been laughing at me for years.

I looked right through her. “Don’t worry,” I whispered. “I’ll be gone. You can enjoy him all you want on our anniversary.”

For a moment, she froze—surprised. Then her smile returned, sharp and triumphant. “Good,” she murmured. “Then run.”

I turned away before she noticed my trembling fingers.

For hours, I watched from behind the crowd as they basked in the glow of my work. Music flowed, guests cheered, Seraphine swirled around Rowan like silk, and I wondered if I had ever been wanted that way.

Probably not.

And then—

It happened.