Days blurred together.

I stopped counting them.

At first, I fought. I screamed. I clawed at the locked doors, threw things, refused to eat. But nothing changed. The only thing that greeted me every morning was the suffocating luxury of this bedroom—if I could even call it that. It was more of a gilded cage.

The four walls were draped in silk curtains, a chandelier casting golden light over the space. The bed was massive, covered in thick, expensive sheets that still smelled like Bryant. I hated it. I hated that I was stuck here.

Bryant barely visited. He only came to check if I was still breathing, smirking when he saw me curled up in the same spot. "You’ll get tired of resisting, love," he’d say before leaving again.

And maybe he was right.

Weeks passed before something changed.

One morning, the door creaked open. I expected another one of his staff bringing food, but instead, I saw him.

Bryant leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, eyes scanning me with an amused look. “You’re finally calm,” he noted.

I didn’t reply. I just stared at him, my hatred simmering beneath my skin.

“Come.” He gestured for me to follow.

For the first time since I woke up here, I was allowed outside the room.

I hesitated. This had to be a trap. But staying locked inside was worse, so I forced myself to stand. My legs were weak from weeks of inactivity, but I followed him through the long hallway.

And that’s when I saw it.

A mansion.

Not just any mansion—this was huge. Crystal chandeliers, marble floors, gold-plated stair railings. The air smelled of expensive perfume and freshly polished wood.

My stomach twisted. This didn’t make sense. The Bryant I knew—he came from a decent family, but he was never this wealthy.

“Where did you get the money for this?” I asked, my voice sharp.

He smirked, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Grandpa’s gift,” he said. “Mr. Dawson transferred the property to me. A reward for my success.”

Success?

I narrowed my eyes. “What success?”

His smirk deepened. “Fulfilling his wish, of course.”

Something in his voice made my skin crawl.

I shook my head. “What wish?”

Bryant’s gaze dropped to my stomach. He didn’t say a word.

My stomach dropped.

No. No, no, no.

I took a step back. “You mean—”

His smirk widened. “You’re carrying the heir, love.”

A chill ran down my spine. My fingers curled into fists.

This was why. This was why he had taken me. Why he had done this to me. It wasn’t about me—it was about the child.

I was nothing more than a surrogate.

I felt sick. I turned and ran back to the room, slamming the door shut behind me. My breath came in sharp gasps. I clutched my stomach, as if that would erase what was inside me.

This can’t be happening.

I needed to get rid of it.

The next few days were a blur. Bryant started treating me differently. Nurses arrived—Angela, the main one, was always by my side, checking my vitals, making sure I ate. Bryant acted like he cared, but I knew better.

One afternoon, Angela handed me a small pregnancy test. “Just to confirm, Miss Geoffanie,” she said with a soft smile.

I already knew the answer. But still, I locked myself in the bathroom and took the test.

Minutes passed.

I stared at the two pink lines.

Pregnant.

Tears slipped down my cheeks. I bit my lip to keep from screaming.

This was his child.

I needed to end this.

That night, I made my decision.

I waited until the mansion was quiet. I crept into the bathroom, trembling hands reaching for the small stash of pills I had secretly hidden.

One swallow. That was all it would take.

But before I could, the door burst open.

Bryant.

His eyes flicked to the pills in my hand. The room exploded.

The next thing I knew, the pills were slapped from my grasp. My back hit the wall as he grabbed my wrists, his face contorted with fury.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” he growled.

Tears streamed down my face. “Getting rid of your disgusting spawn!”

His grip tightened. “You think I’ll let you? You think I’ll let you take away the one thing securing my legacy?”

I choked back a sob. “You’re a monster.”

His jaw clenched. “Maybe. But you? You’re mine. And so is that child.”

His words sent ice through my veins

That’s when he finally admitted it.

“The baby is the key,” he said coldly. “Once it’s born, Mr. Dawson’s fortune becomes fully mine.”

My stomach twisted in disgust.

Of course. This wasn’t about love. It wasn’t even about me.

It was about power.

I shoved at him, but he didn’t budge. His grip remained firm, his expression unreadable. “Get used to it, love,” he whispered before letting me go.

I collapsed onto the floor. He left without another word.

I curled into myself, sobs wracking my body.

I had to escape.

I tried. Again and again.

I used everything I had learned from my years as a dispatcher—tracking movements, memorizing schedules, studying security patterns.

But Bryant was always one step ahead.

Every time I made it close to the gates, someone stopped me.

Every time I tried contacting the outside world, the phone line was cut.

Every time I thought I was free, I was dragged back.

Weeks passed. My belly started to show. The weight of my reality became heavier. I was trapped.

Then, one morning—I woke up to something different.

A large box sat beside my bed.

Frowning, I reached for it, my fingers trembling as I lifted the lid.

Inside was a wedding gown.

Beautiful. Elegant. White lace and silk, delicately folded.

I sucked in a breath. My pulse pounded in my ears.

There was a note.

I unfolded it, my hands shaking.

"Ready for the wedding?"

I was trapped.

Not just inside Bryant’s mansion but inside a life I never wanted. Days blurred into weeks, my world reduced to the four walls of my gilded prison. Guards surrounded me at all times, their eyes cold and emotionless. No one spoke unless necessary, and I was never allowed to be alone.

There was no phone, no internet, no way to reach the outside world. I was a prisoner in a silk cage.

Instead of fighting, I was forced to learn how to be the perfect wife. Every morning, a well-known etiquette coach arrived, drilling into me the proper way to sit, speak, smile, and obey. I had no choice but to endure it—Bryant made it clear that any resistance would only hurt the people I loved.

And then, the wedding day arrived.

I woke up feeling numb. My body moved on its own, letting the makeup artists and stylists do their work. They painted my lips red, curled my hair into perfect waves, and slipped me into the gown—the same one Bryant had sent me in a box, mocking my fate.

The dress was beautiful. White lace, delicate embroidery, and a flowing train fit for royalty. But it felt like a funeral shroud.

I was about to marry a monster.

I sat stiffly in the car, hands clenched into fists as we drove to the church. Guards sat on either side of me, their presence suffocating. I stared out the tinted windows, watching the world move outside. The world I no longer belonged to.

Then, just before we reached the church, a man approached me. He moved swiftly, slipping into the car before the guards could react.

He didn’t say much.

Just held up a photo.

My breath caught in my throat.

It was my family.

Tied up. Eyes wide with terror.

"If you try to run, if you do anything stupid," the man whispered, "Bryant won’t hesitate to kill them."

My stomach dropped. I wanted to scream, to fight, to tear this dress off and disappear. But I couldn’t.

I couldn’t risk their lives.

So I walked down the aisle, silent and obedient.

The church was packed with powerful people—investors, politicians, business moguls. Men who controlled the world with their wealth and influence. They all watched as I took slow, measured steps toward my captor.

Bryant stood at the altar, looking as handsome and arrogant as ever in his tailored suit. His dark eyes gleamed with victory.

I felt like I was walking toward my execution.

The ceremony was a blur. I barely heard the priest’s words. My body was ice-cold, my hands trembling in Bryant’s grip. And then—

"You may now kiss the bride."

My lips were claimed by a man I despised. His grip was firm, possessive, as he sealed my fate in front of everyone.

The applause rang in my ears. I forced a smile, pretending to be the devoted wife. Pretending so Bryant wouldn’t hurt my family.

And then, just when I thought I had survived the worst, my world shattered again.

"Congrats, Mrs. Harlow."

The voice was light, happy—familiar.

I turned, and there she was.

Mae.

My sister.

Smiling. Glowing. As if nothing had happened.

I felt my chest tighten. My pulse pounded in my ears.

Mae wasn’t a hostage. She wasn’t broken, terrified, or suffering.

She was celebrating.

She threw her arms around me, hugging me tightly. Her touch burned my skin like acid.

"You did it," she whispered excitedly. "I’m so happy for you."

I froze.

Happy?

Mae was happy?

I pulled back, searching her face for answers. Was she brainwashed? Threatened?

But no. There was no fear in her eyes. Only joy.

And then it hit me.

She was part of this.

The kidnapping. The manipulation. The betrayal.

Mae had been working with Bryant all along.

My stomach twisted, nausea rising in my throat. My own sister. The one person I thought I could trust.

I wanted to scream. To shake her. To ask her why.

But I couldn’t.

Not here. Not in front of everyone.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced out a whisper.

"Mae… what did you do?"

She only smiled wider, leaning in to fix my veil.

"Relax," she murmured. "Everything worked out, right?"

For the first time—the late realization hit me. I am right.

I couldn’t breathe.

Bryant’s arm slid around my waist, pulling me close. His grip was iron. A silent warning.

I was his.

"H-How did you do this?"

She just stood in front of me with a full smile plastering on her face. “Can't you just be thankful? I saved your life from being worst?"

Worst? There was nothing worse other than this.

I gripped Mae’s wrist tightly and dragged her into the nearest bathroom, barely able to contain my rage. The sound of the bustling reception outside faded as I slammed the door shut, my chest rising and falling with furious breaths.

"What the hell are you doing here?" My voice came out in a harsh whisper, shaking with restrained fury. "Mae, you almost died—do you have any idea what Bryant is capable of?"

Instead of looking guilty, Mae sighed, annoyed, like I was the one being unreasonable. "Relax, Geoffanie. Bryant won’t hurt me. He never planned to."

Her words felt like a slap. "What?"

She crossed her arms, unfazed by my reaction. "It was all a setup. The whole thing—the kidnapping, the threats—it was planned. We planned it."

The blood drained from my face. "What are you talking about?"

She met my gaze with zero remorse, her next words slicing through me like a knife. "Bryant and I worked together. The original deal was for them to take me, but in the end…" She shrugged. "You were the better prize."

The room spun.

A deep, crushing silence settled between us before I finally spoke, my voice barely a whisper.

"You… let them take me?"

Mae didn’t even flinch. "You don’t get it, do you?" She let out a bitter laugh. "Do you know what it’s like to be compared to you all my life? You, the perfect daughter. You, the one with a bright future. And me? The disappointment. The girl who got pregnant at eighteen and had to—"

She stopped herself.

But I knew.

My breath hitched. "Mae… what did you do?"

Her lips pressed together, her chin trembling slightly. Then she whispered, almost too quietly, "I got rid of it."

My whole body went cold.

A sickening, twisting pain coiled in my chest as the reality settled in.

She… she had an abortion.

"You were pregnant, and you—" My voice broke.

"I had no choice!" she snapped, finally showing emotion. "I had no future! I had nothing! But you—" She let out a bitter, breathless laugh. "You had everything. And I was sick of it. So when Bryant gave me a way out, I took it."

My palm connected with her cheek before I could stop myself.

A sharp, echoing slap filled the room.

Mae’s head snapped to the side, but she didn’t look surprised. If anything, she looked relieved.

"You… you let Dad believe you were dead," I choked, my vision blurring. "Do you know what you did to him? He stopped eating, Mae! He almost had a heart attack from the stress!"

For the first time, Mae hesitated. Guilt flashed in her eyes, but it disappeared just as quickly. She straightened, regaining her composure.

"He’ll be fine," she muttered. "Because now, I’ll be the one to take over the company."

I stared at her, feeling my heart shatter into pieces.

This wasn’t the sister I grew up with.

Mae smirked and reached for the door handle. "Good luck with Bryant," she said, her tone almost teasing. "You’re going to need it."

And then, she walked away.

She left me standing there, alone, broken, and trapped.

I had survived the wedding. But surviving Bryant was an entirely different battle.

For the next few months, I lived under his roof, bound to him in a marriage that felt more like a prison sentence. Bryant controlled everything—where I went, who I spoke to, even what I wore.

He was different now. More possessive. More ruthless.

It wasn’t like before—when we were engaged and my parents had forbidden our wedding. Back then, I loved him. Or at least, I thought I did.

Now, love had no place between us.

And the worst part? He knew it.

At first, I thought Bryant only wanted control. But then, I noticed the way his eyes darkened whenever another man so much as looked at me. The jealousy. The anger. The obsession.

The breaking point came when he introduced me to the world as Mrs. Geoffanie Harlow.

That night, I saw his true nature.

We were at a gala—another event where I had to smile and play the role of the perfect wife. I was used to being stared at; I had once been a beauty queen, after all. But I didn’t expect Bryant to take it so… personally.

He saw every glance, every lingering look from businessmen and socialites alike. And he hated it.

"You enjoy the attention, don’t you?" His voice was low, dangerous, as he pinned me against the wall of our bedroom later that night.

I swallowed hard. "Bryant, you’re overreacting."

His jaw clenched. "Am I?"

That’s when I knew—I needed to understand exactly who I had married.

And so, I followed him.

That night, when Bryant left the house, I hid in the backseat of his car. My heart pounded as the vehicle moved, the city lights flashing through the tinted windows.

After nearly an hour, we arrived at a warehouse.

Bryant stepped out, his movements calculated and confident. I waited a few seconds before slipping out, keeping to the shadows.

And then, I saw it.

A man—a reporter.

I recognized him instantly. He had been at the gala earlier, staring at me a little too long.

Now, he was on the ground, bloodied and beaten.

Bryant’s men stood around him, mercilessly landing blow after blow.

My stomach churned.

This was about me.

This man was being tortured because he had dared to look at me.

I couldn’t stay silent.

"Stop!" My voice echoed through the warehouse as I stepped forward. "Bryant, stop this!"

The men froze, their fists mid-air.

Bryant turned slowly. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes burned with something terrifying. "What the hell are you doing here, Geoffanie?"

My breathing was ragged. "You… you can’t do this."

His jaw twitched. "Go back to the car."

I shook my head. "Not until you stop this."

His patience snapped. "You think I’ll let another man look at what’s mine?" His voice was sharp, cutting through the tension. "You think I’ll let them admire you like some prize?"

Before I could reply, a sharp, searing pain tore through my abdomen.

I gasped, clutching my stomach.

Bryant’s expression changed instantly. "Geoffanie?"

A wave of nausea hit me. The pain was unbearable.

His arms were around me before I collapsed. "Get the car!" he barked at his men.

Everything blurred.

The last thing I saw was Bryant’s face—his mask of control replaced by something I had never seen before.

Panic.

Fear.

Regret.

When I woke up, the hospital room was dim. My body felt weak, empty.

Bryant sat beside my bed, his face pale, his eyes red. He had been crying.

My throat was dry, my voice hoarse. "Bryant… what happened?"

His hands clenched into fists. He took a deep breath, but it shook.

And then, he shattered.

"The baby," he choked out, his voice barely above a whisper. "The baby… didn’t make it."

For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

Tears welled in his eyes, pure devastation etched into his face. His shoulders trembled, his grip tightening on the edge of the bed as if he was holding himself together by a thread.

"I—I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I couldn't… I couldn't do anything."