Marla’s POV

"Is it ready?" I asked, my voice cold and emotionless.

My butler, a tall and muscular man, nodded. Without a word, he moved closer, pulling away the white blanket that covered the long stretcher. As the fabric slipped off, my breath hitched. My mind went blank for a moment as I stared at the body lying there.

It was me.

My corpse.

"It’s ready, Lady Marla," he said calmly.

I stepped closer to the lifeless body, examining it carefully. The resemblance was perfect—down to every detail. My face, my hair, my features, even the butterfly tattoo on my thigh. It was all there.

I turned to the butler, my expression firm. "Good. Make sure everything is flawless. No one must ever find out about this. If the truth comes out..." I paused, my voice dropping into a lethal tone, "I will do whatever it takes to kill whoever betrays me."

The butler bowed deeply. "Yes, Lady Marla."

Without hesitation, he returned to his task, ensuring the corpse was prepared for the upcoming wake. I watched him for a moment before my gaze drifted into the distance. My thoughts spiraled back to the reason behind all of this.

I had to fake my death.

It was the only way to escape my impending marriage to Jason, the ruthless mafia kingpin of this city—and my fiancé.

I knew this might not make sense to anyone else, but to me, it was the only option. I clenched my fists, the memories of everything we’d been through flashing before me. Our union was supposed to symbolize the merging of two powerful mafia dynasties.

But everything fell apart when I discovered something—something unforgivable.

Now, I had to make sure my plan was perfect. The world had to believe I was truly dead. Only then would Jason suffer for the sins he’d committed against me.

"Lady Marla," the butler’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

"It’s ready."

I straightened myself, my heels clicking against the marble floor as I walked toward him. Each step echoed with purpose, a reminder of the price everyone would pay if my plan went wrong.

Nothing and no one can stop me from carrying out my plans.

Once upon a time, I was deeply in love with him. I gave him everything. My body, my soul, my heart. Everything a woman could possibly give to a man in the name of love—I gave it all to Jason.

And what did I get in return?

Betrayal.

He cheated on me.

The audacity of that man, that motherfucker, to cheat on me. I couldn’t accept it. I still can’t. For years, I tolerated his nonsense—his excuses, his lies, his absence. But it was her, Shane, his mistress, who shattered every hope I had left.

That bitch didn’t just steal him from me. She flaunted it.

She had the nerve to send me pictures and their messages. Every word they exchanged about their secret meetings felt like a dagger to my chest. She made it sound like some grand victory, like cheating on me was her greatest achievement. And the timing—God, the timing—it was right before our wedding.

“Lady Marla, I know this is heartbreaking... but are you really sure about this?”

The voice of my butler, Matthew, pulled me out of my thoughts.

I turned to him, my gaze as cold as steel. “Don’t you dare say a word about this.”

He bowed quickly and stepped back. “Yes, Lady Marla,” he said, his voice trembling as he hurried away.

The wedding is drawing closer now. My resolve to leave everything behind has only grown stronger. I know what we built together. I know we created an empire. But that empire—and everything it stands for—is part of what I am leaving behind.

A smirk curled on my lips as I grabbed a glass of red wine. I took a long sip, the bitter sweetness warming my throat. My fingers traced the rim of the glass, absentmindedly swirling the liquid inside.

Our wedding is in two weeks.

And I know they’ll be stunned when the bride who shows up is already dead.

Marla’s POV

I went home, pretending like I wasn’t up to anything. The moment I arrived at our mansion, I was caught off guard. Waiting for me was my fiancé.

Jason. The man who would soon be my husband. The same man who was a cunning, unapologetic devil in disguise.

"Marla," he said, his voice low and sharp, slicing through the silence. "Where have you been? You’ve been avoiding me."

His gaze pinned me in place like a predator sizing up its prey. Before I could respond, he closed the distance between us, pulling me into a possessive embrace. His arms locked around me like chains, and he buried his face in the curve of my neck. His breath lingered against my skin, deliberate and invasive, as though claiming me as his own.

I stiffened, a knot forming in my throat. Forcing myself to play along, I returned his embrace. My mind screamed at me to push him away, but I couldn’t.

When he finally released me, his dark eyes bore into mine. I painted a bright smile on my face, masking the rage I was feeling inside.

"I just went to the mall," I said lightly. "Looking at jewelry for the wedding."

I hoped for a flicker of guilt, a sign that he might confess. But Jason was unreadable, his expression calm and calculated.

"You didn’t need to bother," he said, a smirk tugging at his lips. "I’ve already arranged everything. The finest jewelry money can buy, handpicked for you. I don’t leave things to chance, Marla. You should know that by now."

His arrogance was suffocating, yet undeniably commanding. He didn’t ask for gratitude—he demanded it, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Before I could respond, he seized my hand, his grip firm. "Come," he said, leading me toward the door. "We’re going to the farm. I have something to show you."

"Jason, I—"

"Don’t argue," he cut me off, his voice smooth but dangerous. "You’ll want to see this."

Reluctantly, I followed.

The drive was quiet, his presence heavy and impossible to ignore. When we arrived at the farm, the sight was almost overwhelming. Horses stood dressed in perfect gear, showing just how much Jason controlled every detail.

He strode ahead, his movements purposeful, and stopped near a stall. "Marla," he said, gesturing toward a chestnut-colored horse, "meet Chestnut. I bought him for you."

His tone carried no warmth, only a smug satisfaction that made my stomach churn. Jason wasn’t giving me a gift; he was reminding me of his power, his ability to control every aspect of my life.

Before I could respond, someone called out to him.

"Jason, is that you?"

We turned to see Dave and a few others approaching. Jason’s demeanor shifted.

"I didn’t see you there."

Their conversation turned to business, the details as ruthless as the man himself—profits, leverage, control. I barely listened, my attention drifting to Chestnut.

I leaned closer to the horse, whispering under my breath, "I want to kill that man."

My voice was low, but the venom in it was unmistakable. I watched Jason from afar, his commanding presence dominating the group, every word calculated to assert his dominance.

And then she arrived.

"Jason!"

Shane’s voice cut through the air, her approach a deliberate performance. Her laughter was too loud, her smile too bright, and the way she touched Jason made my blood boil.

Jason turned back to me with that maddening, yet, composed authoritative looks of him.

"Marla," he said, his tone edged with authority, "give me Chestnut."

I froze. "What? Why?"

"I need him for today’s race."

I glanced at Chestnut. The horse looked weak, exhausted. He didn’t have the strength for a race.

"Jason, he’s not—"

"I didn’t ask for your opinion," he said coldly, cutting me off. Without waiting for my consent, he took the reins and walked toward Shane.

"Watch me race," he said to her, his smile predatory.

Shane, of course, was all too eager. She laughed, leaning into him as though I didn’t exist.

I clenched my fists so hard my knuckles turned white. Jason’s disregard for me was undeniable. But as anger burned in my chest, I promised myself that one day, I’d find a way to escape him.

Marla’s POV

There was nothing I could do when Jason decided to take Chestnut and get ready for the race. I crossed my arms, watching him with a sinking feeling in my chest. I knew this was all for show. Shane, his mistress, was here, and he was putting on a performance. They thought I didn’t know about them, but I knew everything.

When the signal went off, the race began, and the horses bolted forward. Jason rode Chestnut with his usual confidence, while Shane stood beside me, clapping and yelling like a cheerleader.

"Go, Jason! Go, Chestnut!" she shouted, her voice grating on my nerves.

The way Shane cheered for Jason felt too comfortable, too practiced. It was clear she’d been in this position before, rooting for him like she belonged by his side.

Suddenly, gasps erupted from the crowd. My heart dropped as I focused back on the race. Chestnut was struggling. His pace slowed, his legs faltered, and then he stumbled, throwing Jason off to the ground.

“Oh my gosh!” Shane screamed, rushing toward Jason without a moment’s hesitation.

I stayed where I was, watching the scene unfold. Deep down, I thought he deserved it.

Minutes later, Shane returned, clinging to Jason like a lifeline, her arm wrapped around his waist. Jason’s face remained stoic, his presence commanding despite what had just happened. He walked with deliberate steps, ignoring the medical team tending to Chestnut as if it didn’t matter.

“This is your fault!” Shane snapped suddenly, spinning toward me and pointing a finger.

“You’re the one taking care of the horse, aren’t you? No wonder this happened—you’re neglecting him!”

Her voice was sharp, but her accusation didn’t faze me. I raised my hands, not out of guilt but frustration.

“What are you talking about?” I said sharply. “That horse was handed to me today.”

Before I could say more, Jason’s cold, firm voice cut through.

“Enough.”

I froze. His gaze shifted to Shane, silencing her immediately. His tone didn’t rise, but the authority in it was undeniable.

He leaned closer to Shane, speaking in low tones I couldn’t hear, and she nodded, still looking upset. Jason then turned to me briefly, his eyes narrowing as if daring me to say another word. I didn’t.

Minutes later, Chestnut was back on the field, looking far too weak to be running again.

“Chestnut, go!” Shane yelled, bouncing with excitement.

Jason’s attention was fully on the horse now, his posture relaxed but deliberate. He didn’t rush. Instead, he stood still, waiting for the animal to approach him, and it did, obediently.

I noticed the way Jason interacted with Chestnut. His movements were precise, almost calculated. It wasn’t kindness—it was control. Even the horse seemed to understand who held the power here.

Shane, hovering beside him, asked softly, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Jason gave her a glance, but he smiled at her, a genuine smile I never received from him, “I’m fine.”

She brushed her hand against his arm, her touch lingering. Jason allowed it for a moment before running his fingers through her hair, as if he owned her. Their gazes locked, and the connection between them was obvious.

Watching them, my chest tightened with anger.

The race organizers announced a break, and people began to wander around. I thought about sitting next to Jason, but Shane beat me to it, slipping into the seat beside him like it was her rightful place.

“Is it okay if I sit here?” she asked sweetly, though she didn’t wait for an answer.

I stayed quiet, biting back the urge to lash out. Let her act like she was winning. I knew better than to challenge Jason openly in public.

As soon as Shane sat down, she grabbed Jason’s hand without hesitation, intertwining her fingers with his. What angered me even more is that he didn’t pull away. He let her.

The whispers from the crowd reached my ears, sharp and cruel.

“Isn’t Jason engaged to Marla? Why does it look like there’s something between him and Shane?” someone murmured.

“Why isn’t Marla saying anything? Doesn’t she care?” another voice added.

I swallowed the shame building inside me. Their judgment felt like a weight pressing down on me.

The speakers boomed, cutting through the murmurs.

“Everyone, we have an announcement! There’s going to be another racing competition. Riders, get ready and prepare your horses!”

The energy picked up again as people gathered in excitement. Shane turned to Jason, her voice dripping with smugness.

“I placed a $50,000 bet to support Marla’s horse!” she said, loud enough for me to hear.

Her tone made my blood boil, and her smirk was infuriating when she glanced at me.

“Thanks,” I said flatly, refusing to give her the reaction she wanted.

Inside, I was agitated. Let her brag. Let her think she had the upper hand.

It wouldn’t last forever.