“When are you going to get rid of her, then, Jameson?”

I halted on my steps, frozen on spot, as my hands trembled with the pregnancy test result and Lamborghini keys I had planned to surprise my husband Jameson yet I didn’t expect to be the one surprised.

“Gosh, she’s so clueless. Does she even know about us?”

That voice. Sasha. Jameson’s first love. The woman who haunted our marriage in ways she never should have.

The door to Jameson’s office was cracked open, and I hesitated for a moment before inching closer. My heart sank as I peeked through the gap.

“What do you think she’ll do if she finds out about us?” Sasha played her fingers around Jameson’s neck as she sat on his lap.

“She won’t find out about us…” Jameson’s voice finally broke through, cutting me deeper. “You know that Katerina’s just a replacement. It was always you, my love.”

“Still, I hate that she’s with you!” Sasha continued.

“Katerina’s naive. She believes in everything I say, clinging to the hopes that I was her prince charming after her father and brother died… don’t worry, soon, she’ll be gone in our life…”

I backed away from the door, my heart hammering in my chest. The hallway blurred around me as their words replayed in my head.

I didn’t stop walking until I was in my car. I threw the pregnancy results in the nearby trash bin before getting in. Tears blurred my vision as I drove aimlessly through the city.

Then the headlights appeared out of nowhere. Three black SUVs swerved in front of me, forcing me to slam on the brakes. My car skidded to a stop, and before I could react, men were already stepping out.

“Step out of the car,” one of them ordered.

I hesitated, my heart racing.

“Now.”

I opened the door, my hands shaking as they pulled me out.

“Call your husband,” the man said, shoving a phone into my hand.

“What do you want with him?” I asked.

“He owes us,” the man said simply. “And if he won’t pay, we’ll settle for you.”

I dialed Jameson’s number, my fingers trembling so badly I nearly dropped the phone. The line rang twice before he picked up.

“Kat? What’s going on?” His voice was calm, almost bored.

“They—” My voice cracked as the man yanked my arm, his grip bruising. “They’re saying you owe them.”

Jameson sighed, and I could practically hear him rubbing his temples. “Kat, I’m in the middle of something. Can’t you handle this?”

“Jameson, please!” I cried as one of the men struck me across the face. Pain exploded in my cheek, and the phone slipped from my hand.

I scrambled to pick it up. “Jameson, they’re hurting me!”

There was silence on the other end. Then, his voice, cold and detached: “You’ll figure it out. I’m busy.”

The line went dead.

I stared at the phone as I couldn’t believe he just left me alone. The man grabbed me again, pulling me to my knees. His fist connected with my stomach, and I doubled over, gasping for air.

They didn’t stop until I was coughing and shaking, my vision blurring from the pain. When they finally left, I dragged myself back to the car.

I don’t know how I made it to the hospital. The bright lights and antiseptic smell felt distant, like I was floating outside my own body.

A nurse helped me into a chair. “We’ll take care of you,” she said.

I nodded, barely processing her words.

The news came later, after the tests, the ultrasounds, and the steady beep of monitors.

“Miss Katerina, I’m so sorry,” the doctor said. “You’ve lost the baby.”

I got home, my body still aching from last night, and headed straight to the bedroom. The sight of Sasha lounging on my side of the bed stopped me cold. She sat cross-legged, flipping through a magazine like she belonged there.

“What are you doing here?” My voice came out sharp and louder than I intended.

She glanced up, her lips curling into a smirk. “Oh, Jameson said I could stay for a while. Something about how I needed a place to settle back in.”

My hands clenched into fists at my sides. “In our house?”

“His house,” she corrected, tilting her head as if it were obvious.

Before I could say anything else, Jameson walked in. His eyes scanned my face, pausing at the bruise on my cheek.

“What happened to you?” he asked, his tone flat. “Did you tell them anything?”

I frowned. “What?”

“The men who hurt you,” he said, crossing his arms. “Did you mention Sasha? Did you say anything about the Silver Bullets?”

My jaw tightened. Of all the questions he could have asked—about how I was feeling, about what happened—this was what he cared about. Protecting Sasha. Protecting himself.

I lost our baby because of that. But it’s not like I was going to tell him. What was the point? He wouldn’t care. I thought the baby could save our marriage, but I was wrong. At least now, I could leave without anything holding me back from Jameson.

“No,” I said through gritted teeth. “I didn’t mention her.”

“Good,” he said, as if that was the only thing that mattered.

Sasha snorted softly.

I looked between the two of them, something inside me breaking all over again. “You know what? Do whatever you want. Both of you.”

Jameson frowned, like he couldn’t understand why I was upset. Sasha just shrugged, looking perfectly comfortable in the bed that was supposed to be mine.

I turned and walked out, slamming the door behind me. I spent the rest of the night on the couch, staring at the ceiling and wondering how my life had come to this.

The next morning, I woke up with a stiff neck and an even heavier heart. I couldn’t stay here—not like this.

By midday, I found myself in a small office on the outskirts of the city, sitting across from a woman in a sharp suit.

“You want to cancel all your identities?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” I said firmly.

“That’s not an easy process, especially for someone like you.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

She leaned forward, folding her hands on the desk. “You’re married to Jameson Cross, leader of the Silver Bullets. That name comes with a lot of baggage. People don’t just disappear from that world.”

“I don’t care how hard it is,” I said, pleading. “I’ll pay whatever it takes. Just make it happen. If I have to die to vanish, then do it.”

She studied me for a long moment, then nodded. “It’ll cost you. A lot.”

“Money isn’t an issue,” I said.

“Alright,” she said, pulling out a stack of paperwork. “Sign these. We’ll get started.”

I spent the next hour filling out forms, each signature feeling like a small piece of freedom. By the time I left, the weight on my chest had lifted just a little.

When I got back home, the sight of the house made my stomach turn. I parked in the driveway and sat there for a few minutes, trying to gather the energy to go inside.

I opened the door to the bedroom and stopped in my tracks. A set of lacy lingerie lay sprawled across the bed, glaringly out of place against the familiar sheets.

I picked up the lingerie with trembling hands and marched out into the hallway, where Sasha was lounging on the couch.

“You might want to be more careful,” I said, my voice cold. “Next time, don’t leave your things in my bedroom.”

Sasha looked up, a mockingly innocent expression on her face. “Oops,” she said with a shrug. “Sorry about that. Jameson and I got... caught up in the moment.”

My blood boiled. “You’re disgusting.”

She smirked. “Don’t worry, I’ll get your favorite sheets cleaned. We made quite a mess.”

I scowled at Sasha’s smug comment about cleaning the sheets. The audacity of her mocking tone made my hands itch to slap her, but I stopped myself. She wasn’t worth it. Instead, I spun around and stormed into the bedroom, slamming the door behind me.

I yanked my suitcase out of the closet, tossing it onto the bed. Clothes, shoes, and whatever I could grab landed inside, one item after another. My chest burned with anger, each piece of clothing stuffed inside feeling like another step closer to freedom.

The door creaked open behind me.

“What the hell are you doing?” Jameson asked.

“Leaving,” I said shortly, not bothering to turn around.

“Leaving? Over what? Because Sasha made a joke?”

I zipped the suitcase halfway. “Because I’m done with this. With you.”

Jameson stepped closer. “You’re being ridiculous. Do you even know what Sasha’s been through? Her whole family was murdered, Kat. She has no one else, and here you are, acting like a spoiled brat instead of showing some compassion.”

I turned, glaring at him. “Compassion? She’s flaunting your affair in my house, mocking me at every turn. And you’re defending her?”

He scoffed, crossing his arms. “You’re overreacting. She’s trying to get through a tough time, and you’re making it harder for her.”

I stared at him, disbelief cutting deeper than any words. “You’ll defend her no matter what, won’t you? Even when she’s wrong.”

“She’s not wrong,” he shot back. “You are.”

My fists clenched. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Grow up, Kat,” he said coldly before turning and walking out, slamming the door behind him.

The next day, Jameson was stretched out on the couch, scrolling on his phone. I walked past him toward the kitchen, catching a glimpse of the screen.

“Can’t wait to see you tonight,” Sasha’s text read, complete with a winking emoji.

Jameson chuckled, his thumbs moving quickly as he typed back a response.

My stomach twisted, but I forced myself to breathe. If this was how he wanted to play, fine. I could play too.

I grabbed a stack of papers I had prepared earlier and approached him. “Jameson, I need your signature on these,” I said, holding out the documents.

He barely glanced up. “What’s this?”

“Business,” I said smoothly. “Just something to finalize a deal.”

With a sigh, he grabbed the pen I offered. “You always pick the worst times for this.”

I kept my expression neutral as he scribbled his signature on each page without reading a single line—not even knowing it was the divorce papers. When he handed the papers back, I forced a small smile. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he muttered, already back to texting Sasha.

I walked to the bedroom, my heart pounding as I tucked the signed divorce papers into my suitcase.

By noon, I was sitting in the agency office, finalizing my plan.

“We’ll make it look like a drowning,” the agent said, sliding a photo across the table. The dummy corpse looked eerily like me, floating face-down in dark water. “This should be convincing enough.”

I nodded, keeping my voice steady. “Make sure the rumors point back to him. I want people to think Jameson did it.”

The agent raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure about this?”

“I’m sure,” I said firmly.

Once the arrangements were made, I created a fake social media account. Using the photo of the dummy corpse, I typed out the caption: Jameson Cross and Sasha Gray killed Katerina Cross.

Before posting, I sent the image directly to Jameson’s phone with no caption, knowing it would catch him off guard. I imagined the confusion on his face, the panic that would follow as he pieced it together.

Then, with one final deep breath, I hit “post.”

The image spread like wildfire. Within minutes, the account had hundreds of views and comments. Messages flooded in, accusing Jameson and Sasha of being a monster, some even calling for justice. The sight of it going viral filled me with a twisted sense of relief.

Satisfied, I closed the account and deleted any trace of it from my phone.

I arrived at the airport a couple of hours later, my new identity papers tucked safely in my bag. My ticket was one-way, and from this moment on, Katerina Cross no longer existed.

But then, three men in dark suits stepped in front of me, blocking my path, before I could approach the boarding gate.

“Miss Smith,” they said in unison. “You have to come with us.”