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.