The morning after that night with Roland, I felt numb.

Not just physically—but deep, bone-chilling numbness that crawled through every inch of me. I wrapped myself in the thick robe by the bed, still pretending I couldn't see, and stormed down the hallway toward my father’s office.

He looked up from his desk with that same cold smirk he always wore like a badge.

“You better have a damn good explanation,” I snapped.

He didn’t flinch. Just leaned back casually, like he was waiting for me to explode.

“You let him touch me?” I said, my voice shaking. “You ordered that?!”

“Of course I did,” he said calmly, like he was talking about the weather. “Roland needed to believe that the child was his. He wouldn’t marry you otherwise.”

I stared at him, horrified. “So you just—what? Let him violate me? Like I’m nothing?”

He stood slowly and walked over to me, his eyes hard. “That child will make everything better. Roland gets an heir. We get peace. Jed disappears. Everyone wins.”

“No,” I hissed. “He will never touch my child. Ever.”

My dad’s jaw tightened. “If you refuse this… I’ll kill Jed.”

My breath hitched. I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. The room spun around me as his words sank in. All I could do was nod. Like some puppet. Powerless. Again.

Days passed like thick molasses. Heavy. Suffocating.

I barely spoke to anyone. Just stared at the walls. At my fake blind reflection. I had to protect my baby. I had to survive this game.

Then, one morning, a box was left at my door.

Curious, I opened it—and froze.

Inside was a white, laced wedding gown. Carefully folded. Like a cruel joke.

I took it to my father and asked, flatly, “ A wedding gown, isn't? When is the wedding?”

He didn’t even look up from his phone. “Soon as we resolve a few company issues.”

Something about that hit me different. Company issues? Since when did business determine marriage dates?

I kept my mouth shut. Kept pretending. But I started to listen more, to observe every word and whisper in this twisted house.

Then, just like that, the wedding day came.

No grand announcements. No butterflies. Just cold pressure and numb silence.

With the help of my father, I walked slowly down the aisle. Each step felt heavier than the last. I could hear the priest’s voice, faint and distant. Could sense Roland waiting, probably smirking, at the altar.

And then… it was done. With a few words and the fake glint of a smile, I became Mrs. Roland Marquez.

After the ceremony, Roland leaned down, whispered into my ear. “You’ll be moving in tonight. I want my wife by my side.”

I forced a nod. “Of course.”

Weeks passed.

I acted like the perfect wife. Smiled when I needed to. Ate what they served. Slept when he slept.

Then, one evening, I told him what he’d been waiting to hear.

“I’m pregnant.”

Roland froze for a second, then his eyes lit up like he won a prize. “Finally,” he said. “An heir.”

He kissed my forehead and told me how proud he was, how all his work finally meant something. What he didn’t know was that everything he worked for was built on blood and lies—and I was determined to bring it all down.

Months later, I gave birth to a baby boy—Isaiah Walterson Marquez.

He was beautiful. Tiny lips, soft brown curls… and his eyes. Jed’s eyes.

I held him close and cried silently. Roland thought the baby was his, but I knew better. And somehow, that gave me hope.

When Isaiah turned three months old, I made my next move.

I faked a miracle.

Told Roland I could finally see again. Claimed the doctors couldn’t explain it—but I could see. Everything.

He was thrilled. Genuinely happy. Kissed me, told me this meant a fresh start.

But what he didn’t know was: I remembered his face. The night my mother died. I saw him through the crack in the door when I was only ten. And now, I would prove what I saw.

As the months flew by, Roland started introducing me to the public even more for attention.

“Meet my wife,” he’d say proudly at every event, every gala.

And I smiled.

Because each handshake, each room I entered, was one step closer to getting access to his files, his people, his business.

At night, while Isaiah slept beside me, I’d comb through Roland’s laptop. His emails. His banking history. I was searching for any link between him and my father—and the murder of my mother.

One night, it happened.

An anonymous email popped into my inbox.

Subject: I know the truth. Meet me. Tomorrow. 9PM. Café Silencio. Come alone.

The next night, I drove out secretly, praying Isaiah wouldn’t wake up.

The café was quiet, tucked away behind old buildings and neon signs.

Inside, I found a man already waiting—hood up, eyes sharp.

“You’re Selena,” he said.

“Who are you?”

“Name’s Arkinson Ropalé. I used to work for Roland. And your dad.”

He told me everything.

He’d done the dirty work—handling illegal deals, forging records, laundering money. Until one day, they blamed him for a missing load of cash. He was arrested. Spent years in prison.

“And while I was rotting there,” he said, voice low, “Walterson had my wife and kids killed.”

My stomach turned. “Why are you helping me?”

“Because I lost everything. And now I want them to lose, too.”

I sat in silence, processing everything.

But then—

Gunshots.

Outside.

Arkinson’s head jerked toward the door. “They found us.”

He stood, pulling a small blade from his jacket.

“No,” I whispered, grabbing his arm. “I’ll show myself. You run.”

“I’m not leaving you,” he said firmly. “You’re not important to them anymore.”

“W-What?”

He looked at me—pity in his eyes. “Roland never cared about you. He just wanted your baby. To sell. To a drug lord.”

I froze.

“What?”

“Your father agreed to it. In exchange for power and wealth. You didn't know?!"

I couldn’t breathe. My knees buckled. My baby… Isaiah… they were going to sell him?

Then suddenly—tires screeched outside.

A familiar voice shouted from a black SUV near the curb. Then it fired a glass window for it to broke into pieces, giving us the chance to walk out of the café.

Then the car window rolled down.

“Get in! You both. They’ve got too many men!”

My heart leapt.

I knew that voice.

Jed.

DANG!

The moment Jed yelled, “Get in! You both. They were lots of men,” I didn’t think twice. I grabbed Arkinson’s arm, yanked the car door open, and slid into the back seat, barely catching my breath before Jed floored the gas.

Gunshots echoed behind us like a deadly beat chasing us through the night. My heart thudded in rhythm with every shot. Arkinson kept glancing behind, checking if they were gaining on us, while Jed maneuvered the SUV with calculated precision.

We didn’t stop until we were halfway outside the city—far enough to feel the silence again. Jed brought us to this hidden penthouse he owned, tucked at the top of an old but sturdy building. It was secure, minimalist, and oddly cold… kind of like Jed himself lately.

He let us stay without question, but something felt off. Every time I tried to start a conversation, he'd either look away or leave the room. I could feel the wall between us—thicker than ever. I couldn’t blame him, really… but it still hurt.

That night, I finally cornered him in the kitchen. He was just standing there, arms crossed, staring blankly at the window like he was searching for something.

“Jed…” I began gently. “Are you really okay? You’ve been… distant.”

He didn’t answer at first. I waited, heart pounding. Then he exhaled sharply and turned around. His eyes were glossy. “Do you even realize what you did to me, Selena?”

That one sentence shattered whatever strength I was trying to hold onto.

“I—I know,” I stammered, “and I’m sorry. You don’t know how much it killed me too.”

Jed looked away again, biting down on his bottom lip, fists clenched like he was holding back more than just tears. Then he finally said it.

“I never stopped watching over you. I followed you ever since that call… ever since you left me. I had people watching the Waltersons. I was there near the café, Selena. I knew something was gonna happen. I just didn’t know what.” His voice cracked.

I stepped closer and hugged him out of instinct. But he didn’t return it. He pulled away.

“I moved on,” he whispered. “You chose him, remember?”

My breath caught. That was my cue. I had to tell him the truth. The full, painful truth.

“I had no choice,” I whispered. “My father… he threatened to abort our child. He threatened to kill you.”

He froze. Completely.

I swallowed hard, tears stinging the corners of my eyes. “Jed… the baby. He’s yours.”

His breath hitched. He turned slowly, his face a perfect mix of disbelief and devastation. “What?”

“Our son…” I took his hand and pressed it against my heart. “Isaiah… he’s yours.”

Jed’s knees buckled. He sat down on the cold marble floor like he couldn’t stand anymore. “Oh God,” he whispered, covering his face. “You didn’t even tell me… I could’ve protected you. I would’ve—”

“I know,” I cried, kneeling next to him. “I wanted to. But I was scared. I’m still scared.”

He looked at me again, eyes red and raw. “I worked my ass off, Selena. My restaurants are successful now. I’m a billionaire, damn it. I could’ve given you everything.”

“I didn’t want anything… I just wanted to survive. To protect him.”

We sat in silence for a few moments, letting it all sink in. Then, finally, he nodded. I even told him that Isaiah is still with Roland.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s take them down. For Isaiah.”

With Arkinson’s help, we started building a plan. He told us he was willing to infiltrate Roland and Walterson’s circle again. He said he had nothing left to lose.

“They want me more than they should,” he muttered. “If I surrender myself, they’ll end my life so that I couldn't ruin their system. Just make sure they won’t trace you both and I promise you that tney will bring Isaiah there to the same location where they will bring me once they captured me.

We knew it was risky, but we didn’t have much choice. Jed rigged a small tracking chip and hid it under Arkinson’s wristwatch. One press of a button, and we’d know exactly where he was.

The next night, Jed used my phone to call Roland.

“Guess who I’ve got,” Jed smirked into the receiver. “Arkinson Ropalé.”

Roland’s silence lasted a beat too long. “Where?”

“We’ll send him to you. Alone. Don’t get cute.”

We drove to the drop-off point—an abandoned hospital on the outskirts of the city. Jed and I waited in the SUV as Arkinson stepped out, looked back once, and disappeared into the shadows.

My chest tightened. “He’ll be okay, right?”

Jed took my hand. “He knew the risks.”

We returned to the penthouse, but I couldn’t sit still. I kept refreshing the laptop screen where the tracker's live location showed every move. Hours passed. Then finally—it moved.

“They’re flying him to Singapore,” I gasped.

Jed immediately started packing. “We’re going too.”

The next few days blurred together in a storm of preparation. Jed trained me how to use a gun. How to breathe. How to aim. How to shoot.

“Just focus on protecting yourself and Isaiah,” he said one night. “Nothing else matters.”

By the weekend, we were on a flight to Singapore, the chip signal blinking steadily. It led us to an extravagant mansion on a private island just outside the mainland.

We arrived at night. Everything was quiet—too quiet.

Jed parked a few feet away from the gate. But as he turned to say something, his hand flew to his forehead.

“Jed?” I reached for him. His face twisted in pain.

“It’s happening again,” he groaned, pressing his head into the steering wheel. “I—I know this place. I’ve been here before.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, panic rising.

He didn’t answer. He just clutched his temples as if his brain was tearing itself apart.

Then, before I could even react, masked men appeared out of nowhere. Four of them. Guns raised.

“Out of the vehicle!” one shouted.

We had no choice. They yanked the doors open and dragged us out.

I tried to fight back—I really did—but one of them jabbed something sharp into my neck. My vision spun. Jed collapsed beside me, twitching as volts coursed through his body.

Darkness swallowed us both.

When I opened my eyes, I was lying on a silk couch in a room too fancy for comfort—white marble floors, velvet curtains, and golden chandeliers. Jed sat beside me, rubbing his temples.

A man entered the room, tall and broad-shouldered, dressed like a war general. His presence felt like a storm entering the room—sharp, heavy, and impossible to ignore.

He walked straight toward Jed, a cruel smile on his face.

“Well, well… what’s up, stepson? D’you finally recover from amnesia? Remember me now?”

My blood ran cold.

WHAT?