“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.

I don’t even know how I got to the hospital.

Everything after the pain was a blur—burnt eyes, shaking hands, and the soft sting of humiliation that clung to every breath I took. I remembered crawling. I remembered cars honking, faces staring. But no one helped. Not a soul.

By the time I made it to the emergency room, my vision had become a watery haze, white-hot and blinding. My skin stung. My body trembled. My soul felt carved out and hollow.

The nurse looked up in alarm. “My God,” she gasped, rushing over. “What happened to you?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My throat was raw from screaming.

She led me gently into the examination room, guiding me like I was made of glass. Hours passed—tests, ointments, lights shining into my damaged eyes. I clutched the edge of the bed, bracing myself.

Later, a doctor entered, his expression relieved. “It’s a miracle,” he said. “The damage was mostly superficial. Your vision’s safe, but you’ll feel the pain for a while.”

The nurse beside him added softly, “You’re lucky. That chemical could’ve blinded you permanently. Do you want to call someone? Your husband?”

I shook my head. My lips barely moved, but I forced out a soft, “No.”

No one. There was no one I wanted. No one I trusted.

Then, my phone buzzed on the side table. The screen lit up with a name I once would’ve ignored—Scott.

I hesitated before answering.

His voice was clear, confident. “Are you ready to be picked up?”

I swallowed hard, pressing the phone to my ear. “Yes. Just… one more day. I need him to sign the papers.”

A pause. Then a slow chuckle. “Good. Because there’s no way you’re backing out now, Nadia. You’re mine.”

For a moment, I didn’t respond.

There was a time I hated that sentence. I hated Scott. I hated the way my brother tried to force us together—tried to tell me he was the better choice.

But now? Now I saw it. Scott had always been steady. Loyal. Patient. He loved me. And more than that, he never tried to manipulate me.

“Sure,” I finally said. “I’m yours.”

Then I hung up, staring at the ceiling.

This wasn’t just about revenge anymore. It was about taking back control. Of my body. My choices. My life.

When I was discharged, I didn’t wait for anyone. I took a cab back to the house. The home that didn’t feel like mine anymore.

Colton was in the living room, surrounded by scattered paperwork, talking on the phone like nothing happened. Like I didn’t almost lose my eyes. Like I didn’t scream for him, and he didn’t ignore me.

He didn’t even glance up as I entered.

“I need you to sign something for the hospital,” I said coolly, holding out the envelope.

He waved his hand dismissively. “Why would I need to—?”

“It’s a release form,” I cut him off, keeping my voice flat. “For liability.”

That made him pause. “Fine, whatever.”

He scribbled his signature without even reading it.

It was done.

As I turned toward the door, I could finally breathe. Tomorrow, I’d be free.

But before I could step out—

The front door slammed open.

“You witch!” she shrieked. “What did you do to my daughter?!”

I staggered, my scalp burning. “What are you talking about?!”

“She was kidnapped, you psychotic freak!” Beatrice screamed, her eyes bloodshot and brimming with fake tears. “She was screaming for help while they locked her in some dirty warehouse! What kind of monster are you?!”

Just then, a small voice broke through the chaos.

“She kidnapped me!”

Maureen.

She stood near the entrance, her face streaked with dried tears, hair disheveled, her tiny arms covered in faint bruises.

A bandage was wrapped hastily around her knee. She looked fragile—broken. Her pink dress was ripped near the hem, and she clutched a stuffed bunny, holding it like it was her last anchor to safety.

My stomach twisted in horror.

Colton rushed to her side instantly, pulling her into his arms. “Oh my God… Baby… What did they do to you?”

Maureen clung to him, sobbing into his shirt. “Daddy… she’s bad… she had them take me… the men said it was because of her… they hurt me…”

My breath caught. “What?!” I took a step forward. “Maureen, no—sweetheart, I didn’t—”

She flinched, burying herself deeper into Colton’s chest.

Beatrice turned on me like a blade. “She’s terrified of you! She couldn’t stop crying the whole ride back! Covered in bruises, screaming your name like it was some curse—saying you sent them!”

I shook my head violently. “No! I would never… I don’t know anything about this!”

Beatrice’s voice cracked as she pointed a trembling hand at me. “They said it. The kidnappers—they said they were paid… by someone in this house… and the little girl said your name! That’s all the proof we need!”

My vision blurred. “I didn’t… I couldn’t…”

“She’s jealous,” Beatrice sobbed, falling into an exaggerated cry. “She lost her baby… and now she wants mine! She can’t stand to see me and my child happy—that’s what this is about!”

“Don’t say that,” I whispered. My voice was barely there, but it shook with rage and devastation. “You don’t get to say that to me. I lost my baby, yes, but I would never hurt a child. Especially not Maureen.”

“Then explain this!” Colton roared, stepping between us. “Explain the bruises on her arms! The warehouse they found her in! Her torn dress and the way she screamed every time someone said your name!”

“I don’t know!” I cried out. “I didn’t do it—I swear to you, I had nothing to do with this!”

Beatrice let out a shaky breath and turned to Colton with wide, watery eyes. “I told you it was a mistake keeping her in this house. I knew she hated me, but I didn’t think she’d go this far… I thought we were friends…”

Colton’s jaw clenched. His face twisted with fury as he looked at me like I was a stranger.

“This is why you lost our child,” he said, his voice like ice. “You don’t deserve to be a mother.”

His words hit me like a slap across the face.

I stood there, frozen, mouth slightly open, the sting of his accusation worse than the burns I once endured. “You… you really think I could do that?”

He didn’t answer.

Beatrice stepped forward again, holding Maureen protectively. “We’re leaving,” she said firmly. “I won’t let my daughter stay in a house with that woman.”

I looked down at Maureen—her bruised skin, her tearful eyes. My heart ached. I didn’t blame her. I blamed them.

“You don’t even know what’s real anymore,” I whispered, but it was already too late.

Colton pointed toward the door, not even meeting my eyes. “If they don’t come back here… then you’re dead to me.”

The sound of the door slamming echoed through the house like thunder.

But I didn’t cry.

Not this time.

Because tomorrow—I will be gone.