It was supposed to be our fifth wedding anniversary. A quiet dinner, maybe roses on the table, and that concert of my favorite band I had been hinting about for weeks. But instead, I stood alone in the middle of a crowded arena.

Colton said he was busy. He always was.

I bought the concert ticket myself without him knowing.

“It’s childish,” he had said last night while staring at a pile of paperwork, not even bothering to look up. “You’re nearly thirty and pregnant. You shouldn’t be chasing concerts.”

I smiled weakly, trying to hide the sting in my chest. “It’s our anniversary…”

He simply sighed. “I’ll make it up to you next week.”

But I knew he wouldn’t. So I went alone.

The music pulsed through my body as the lights danced above us. For a moment, I was happy. Until the screen above the stage flickered to life.

The spotlight panned over couples, laughter and cheers erupted as strangers kissed shyly or dramatically for the camera. Then the camera stopped. On two familiar faces, hugging each other, swaying bodies.

The crowd squealed, calling out, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

They didn’t. They pulled apart awkwardly, their faces full of panic, but it was too late. The screen froze for half a second—just long enough for me to recognize them.

Beatrice. My best friend. Colton. My husband.

Beatrice… who once braided my hair before my wedding… who knew every single secret I whispered during late-night calls… who smiled and told me she was so happy to see me finally find a man who loved me.

And Colton… who swore to never lie to me.

My chest tightened. The air around me turned thick. I couldn’t move, couldn’t think. I clutched my swollen belly, trying to anchor myself in the spinning world.

Just yesterday, I asked Beatrice to come to the concert with me.

“Sorry, Nadie,” she said, faking a regretful smile. “I have a date with my boyfriend.”

A boyfriend I never met. A boyfriend who turned out to be my husband.

Tears welled up in my eyes, but I couldn’t let them fall. Not here. Not in front of thousands.

I forced myself to walk, pushing past people, out into the cold night. My hands trembled as I hailed a taxi. My baby kicked weakly inside me, as if sensing my anguish.

“Home,” I whispered, voice cracking. “Just take me home.”

But fate had other plans.

The crash came so suddenly. A blur of headlights, a screech, then blackness.

When I opened my eyes, I was in a hospital room, surrounded by harsh white lights and machines that beeped steadily. Pain gripped my abdomen like fire.

“The baby…” I whispered.

Doctors moved around me in urgency. “We need to operate,” one said. “There’s internal bleeding. We may have to—”

“No,” I cried. “Please, save my baby. Please…”

I fought. Screamed. Then darkness swallowed me whole.

When I woke again, everything felt… still.

Too still.

My hand instinctively moved to my stomach.

Flat. Empty. I didn’t have to ask.

A soft voice outside the curtain confirmed it anyway.

“She lost the baby,” the doctor whispered.

Then a voice I knew. One that used to bring me comfort. Colton.

“It’s okay, doctor. Honestly… I never cared about that baby anyway.”

My heart stopped.

“I’m just glad it happened now. Saves me the trouble of dealing with it later. She’s not the one I want to build a future with. She’s just a stand-in.”

The doctor hesitated. “What about her ovaries, sir? You approved the—”

“Yes,” Colton said coldly. “I had them removed. So, what? She’s not even fit to become a mother. It would be a good thing that she can’t ever carry a child again. I don’t want her child competing with my son with Beatrice… Beatrice is the one I really want to be with.”

Silence. My heart stopped.

Then Colton’s chilling command: “No one tells her. Ever. I paid for your silence. If a word gets out, I’ll ruin you.”

Tears rolled down my cheeks. I didn’t make a sound. I couldn’t.

A few minutes later, he stepped inside, wearing that fake mask of concern.

“Nadia,” he said gently, brushing the hair away from my damp forehead. “Baby, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here sooner. I got caught up with some things at the office.”

I didn’t speak. I couldn’t. I just stared past him, my heart still cracking open from what I’d overheard.

His phone buzzed. He checked the screen quickly and answered.

“Yes?”

It was loud enough for me to hear the voice on the other end—faint but unmistakable.

“Sir,” the butler said breathlessly. “Miss Beatrice just fainted. She collapsed at the estate. The maid says she’s not waking up. You need to come home immediately.”

I didn’t move. Colton’s expression flickered—but only for a moment. Then he turned away from me, lowering his voice like it could hide the truth.

“Got it. I’ll be there right away.”

He ended the call, slipped his phone into his pocket, and turned back to me with a fake smile.

“Sorry, something urgent came up at work. Just a quick issue to fix—I'll be back soon, okay?”

He leaned down, pressed a kiss on my forehead like I was too weak, too stupid, too drugged to understand.

But I understood.

He lied. Straight to my face. Even when I knew. Even when I heard.

And still… he left. Just like that.

And I broke. But for just a few seconds.

Then, I grabbed my phone with shaking hands, fingers fumbling over the screen until I found the number I hadn’t called in years.

It rang once.

Twice.

Then a voice answered.

“Nadia?” my brother said.

I sobbed into the receiver.

“Brother, I’m sorry… Please, take me back home. I’m going to divorce my husband.”

“Brother,” I whispered into the phone, my voice trembling as I stared out the hospital window, eyes swollen from hours of crying. “I’m sorry… Please, take me back home. I’m going to divorce my husband.”

There was a long pause on the other end, a silence that hit harder than any slap.

Then came his voice—cold, sharp, and laced with disappointment. “What’s wrong now, Nadia? You’re divorcing the man you left our entire family for? After five years of turning your back on us, now you come crawling back?”

I closed my eyes. “He betrayed me.”

Another pause.

Then a chuckle. “Ah. Right. I saw the video. The infamous kiss cam. Colton and Beatrice, huh? Your husband and your best friend. That’s gotta sting.”

It did. More than anything ever had.

“Good thing you finally snapped out of your delusion,” he continued. “You’re always welcome home. But I’ll give you one week, Nadia. Settle everything—your marriage, the divorce. Because once that’s over, I want you to finally marry the man you were supposed to marry.”

The line went dead. I stared blankly at the screen. One week.

I had seven days to end five years of blind love, denial, and foolishness.

I wiped my tears, picked up my phone again, and called the lawyer. “Draft the divorce papers,” I croaked. “Today.”

But her voice was hesitant. “Miss Nadia… I checked the prenup. You can’t file for divorce unless Mr. Colton agrees and signs first.”

I gritted my teeth. “Then draft it anyway. I’ll get him to sign.”

That night, Colton never came. Not a single text. Not a missed call. Nothing.

I lay curled on the hospital bed, eyes swollen, arms empty. I should have been cradling my baby. I should have been humming lullabies. But instead, all I had was silence and the throbbing emptiness of a womb robbed of life.

And still—Colton was with Beatrice, no doubt.

The next morning, I checked myself out of the hospital. No one stopped me. Only the butler waited outside the entrance, standing stiff and uncomfortable like he didn’t know what to say.

“Sir Colton is… busy, ma’am,” he mumbled as he opened the car door.

Busy. My lips trembled, but I said nothing.

We drove in silence until I spoke. “Take me to Colton’s office.”

“Ma’am?”

“I need him to sign something.”

He hesitated before nodding, and changed direction.

When we arrived at the building, I stepped out like a ghost—no makeup, hospital band still clinging to my wrist.

I walked the familiar hallway, each step heavy, until I heard voices echoing near Colton’s office.

Male voices. Familiar ones. His friends.

“Dude, what are you gonna do when she brings up that viral kiss cam?” one of them said, laughing.

Colton’s voice followed, smug and cruel. “What else? Lie. Pretend. Nadia’s stupid. She loves me too much to question anything.”

My heart clenched, knees threatening to buckle.

“She doesn’t even know I only married her because of her last name. ‘Nadia Halvorsen’ opens doors. I used her to get contracts signed, deals closed. Everyone thinks they’re dealing with her father’s legacy.”

A sharp breath left me.

“And Beatrice…” he sighed, “She’s always been the one. Once I wrap this final deal, I’ll dispose of Nadia. Smooth. Quiet. Maybe send her on some long trip and never let her come back.”

Dispose of me.

The hallway spun around me, and my vision blurred. But I didn’t cry. Not anymore.

Instead, memories crashed in.

Five years ago. My parents had warned me. My brother had screamed at me. “He’s using you! He’s from the rival family, Nadia! Are you blind?”

I had been.

Colton had seemed so charming, so gentle—so different from the stories whispered between boardrooms and family meetings. I told myself he wasn’t like them. That he couldn’t be. He had chased me for three years. Waiting outside my university gates. Leaving notes in my books. Calling when I said not to. Smiling like I was the only thing in his world. I thought that meant something. I thought that was love.

And when I started to fall, I fell hard.

My family tried to stop it. My father grounded me. My mother cried. My brother called him the enemy. “You’re handing over our legacy to someone who will use it to destroy us.”

I didn’t care. I ran away from home.

I begged Beatrice—my best friend—to deliver my letters to him when my parents locked me away at the lake house. She was my lifeline, my only hope. She smiled, nodded, said she supported me. Said she was rooting for us. That she believed in love.

Lies. All of it. I thought she was helping me build my future. I didn’t know she was helping herself to it.

And when Colton asked for my hand, I said yes, heart full of joy and naivety. I thought I had fought for a once-in-a-lifetime kind of love.

But now I saw it clearly.

I was a pawn. A stepping stone. A fool.

I didn’t confront him. I didn’t barge into that office or throw the papers at his face.

I waited. When he left for a meeting, I slipped into his office using the emergency pass in my wallet—the one he forgot existed.

His laptop was unlocked. I moved quickly.

In less than five minutes, I found the folder.

The deal. The final contract he wanted to close before discarding me.

It detailed fraudulent transactions, hidden accounts, and forged authorizations using my name and signature.

He was a thief. A liar. A monster wearing my husband’s face.

I transferred every file into my flash drive.

Then I picked up the phone and made one final call.

“Scott Valencia,” the deep voice answered.

“It’s Nadia,” I said, heart hammering in my chest. “If you still want to destroy Colton Montgomery… I just handed you the key.”

There was a long pause. Then, “And what do you want in return?”

I swallowed. “Marry me.”

When I stepped out of the car and into the front yard, the smell hit me immediately—sharp, acrid, unmistakable.

Smoke. My heart dropped to my knees.

“No…” I whispered, breaking into a sprint. The gravel crunched under my heels as my skirts tangled around my ankles. I pushed past the front gate and stumbled toward the backyard—where my art studio stood.

Only it didn’t.

What stood there now was fire. Wild. Unapologetic. Flames flickering from a pile of canvases—my canvases. The ones I had poured years of my soul into. Memories in oil. Dreams in acrylics. All crumbling to ash.

“No!” I screamed, charging forward. My hands, shaking and bare, beat uselessly against the blaze. A gust of heat roared back at me, searing my skin. Sparks snapped like cruel little teeth, and one caught my wrist.

A hiss of pain escaped me. My skin blistered instantly.

Still, I reached into the fire, tugging at the edge of a half-charred canvas—the one Colton had posed for on our first anniversary. It broke apart like wet paper in my fingers.

I staggered back, breath hitching. My vision blurred—not from the smoke but from tears.

My chest heaved. My body shook. I fell to my knees in the dirt, too stunned to scream again.

Why? Why would he do this?

Anger surged like a lightning strike. I stood up, numb and trembling, and stormed into the house.

The laughter hit me like a slap.

I followed it—half in a daze, half seething. The living room lights were warm, too warm, almost mocking. And there they were.

Colton. Beatrice.

Her head was tucked beneath his chin. He stroked her hair with the same hand that once vowed to never touch another woman. They looked… content. Like a scene from a romantic movie.

They froze when they saw me.

Colton pulled back instantly. His smile faltered. “Nadia—hey. I was just… helping her cook something. Look, she’s so sweet—”

“What happened to my paintings?” I cut him off, voice steel.

He blinked. “Oh. That? I burned them. Beatrice needs the art room.”

For a moment, I thought I misheard.

“You what?”

“She’s staying here for a while,” he said casually. “She needs a studio space. And well… we thought she could use your studio. Or maybe you could move into the guest room? She likes the master. Says the light’s better in the morning.”

I stared at him, utterly numb.

And Beatrice stepped forward with a look of fake concern. “I told you, Colton, she’d be mad. It’s okay, Nadia. I’ll find somewhere else—”

“No, of course not,” Colton said, placing a hand on her back. “You’re her best friend. Don’t forget—you’re the reason we even got married.”

That hit harder than the flames ever could.

“She got scammed,” he added, almost bored. “Lost money. Her lease ended. It’s just temporary.”

“Is that it?” I asked softly.

He looked away. “Of course. What else would it be?”

I didn’t answer. The silence between us said it all.

I turned around. “Do whatever you want.”

Because I finally understood—whatever I said wouldn’t matter. He’d already chosen his side. His real home.

I made my way to our bedroom. It already felt foreign, like I was trespassing in a memory that didn’t want me anymore. I walked to the closet, pulled my suitcase from the bottom, and began folding clothes into it with trembling, burnt hands.

I didn’t cry. I couldn’t.

The pain had dried the tears before they could form.

A creak. I froze.

Behind me, the door opened.

“You’re moving?” Beatrice’s voice was syrupy, fake.

I didn’t turn around. “What do you want?”

She came in slowly, like a cat about to toy with a trapped bird.

“Well,” she said, shutting the door behind her, “I guess I don’t have to pretend anymore, right? You saw the video.”

I clenched my jaw. She came closer, pulled out her phone. “Oh, but wait. You haven’t seen this one.”

I didn’t want to look. But I did.

Her. Him. Tangled. Bare. My bedsheets. My room.

My world shattered again.

I turned away, silent. I wouldn’t scream. I wouldn’t let her have that power.

She scoffed. “Still the quiet, pitiful wife, huh? No wonder he got bored.”

I kept packing. She muttered something under her breath, turned toward the dresser. I thought she was leaving.

Instead, she picked up the bottle of isopropyl alcohol on the nightstand and suddenly sprayed it on my burnt wrist.

I screamed—loud, raw.

Pain exploded across my skin. My knees buckled. I collapsed onto the bed, clutching my arm.

“Oops,” she said mockingly. “Did that hurt?”

I shoved her. Hard. Her body slammed into the door just as it opened—revealing a small girl. Maureen. Beatrice’s daughter that I had treated my own but I know better now.

She blinked up at us, wide-eyed.

The girl’s face twisted. “Bad!” she yelled at me, then turned to her mother. “You’re making Mommy cry!”

Before I could defend myself, she picked up the bottle of alcohol—and hurled it at me.

It hit my face directly. The burning liquid drenched my skin. My eyes screamed in agony. I fell, clutching my face, crying out.

“I can’t see—I can’t—I can’t see!”

My vision swam on fire. My world tilted.