When I woke up, I was in another hospital bed. Sterile lights above me, the smell of antiseptic clinging to my skin, my body heavy like someone had poured concrete into my veins.

And there he was.

Hakeem.

Sitting beside me with that permanent scowl, but this time his jaw was tight, eyes shadowed like something was actually bothering him.

“You really gotta stop testing me like this,” he said, voice low and rough. “You know I didn’t want it to go that far, Harmony. You push me and I snap. I told you not to keep pissing me off.”

I turned my head, stared at the white wall beside me.

“I know,” I said. My voice was soft. Too soft. “It won’t happen again.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. That calm, detached tone of mine? He didn’t like it. Hakeem could handle my screaming, my crying. But silence? Silence made him feel like he was losing control.

He leaned in, cupped the back of my head like he still owned me. “Don’t act like this. Don’t make me feel like you’re scared of me. You know I hate that shit. Look, I got something planned for you. Something big.”

I didn’t move. Just listened.

“It’s our wedding anniversary next week. Three years,” he said. “I booked the yacht. Docked under Masterson Bridge. Midnight.”

Of course he did.

A floating palace under the stars. Moonlight, candles, champagne. No escape.

“I dropped seven figures on the setup,” he added, like that was supposed to impress me. “So put on something decent and show up.”

I stayed quiet.

After a beat, I asked, “Where’s Aziel?”

He pulled out his phone, tapped a few times, then turned the screen toward me. A live feed. My brother, sitting cross-legged on the floor of a luxurious room, a teacher walking him through phonics. A soft-spoken nanny poured juice into a glass behind them.

“He’s fine,” Hakeem said. “Homeschooling starts today. He’s got everything he needs. Best tutors. Twenty-four-hour watch. No harm comes to him, long as you don’t give me a reason to change that.”

I nodded once. Silent.

He watched me for a long moment. Tried to read me, figure out where I’d gone behind my blank face.

But he couldn’t.

Because I wasn’t there anymore.

---

When I stepped onto the yacht that night, the entire deck was drenched in candlelight. Crystal flutes lined the table, each filled with champagne I didn’t ask for. White orchids twisted down the railings. Live violin music floated beneath the stars.

And in the distance—Masterson Bridge, glowing above us like the city itself was watching.

He pulled me into a slow dance beneath the moonlight, whispered against my neck, “Three years, baby. We made it.”

I didn’t blink. Didn’t smile.

Because something inside me had gone quiet.

And when I looked out over the water, I made a promise to myself:

One more month to erase every trace.

To disappear for good. And this time, not even Hakeem Masterson would find me.

Then the elevator chimed. Doors opened. And out walked Margaret. Hakeem immediately went to her and Margaret wrapped her arms to him.

That bitter smile curled onto my lips before I could stop it. Not a decision. Just instinct. Pain wrapped in venom.

Hakeem saw it instantly and stepped in fast. “Don’t start. She just wanted to drop something off for you. That’s all.” I looked down, pretending not to notice how his fingers were laced with hers. But I noticed. So did he. He shifted, straightened his back, and gave me that look, the one that said don’t make me clean up a mess tonight, Harmony. Not here. Not under the stars I paid to light for you.

“Thanks,” I murmured. “Nice of her.” That fake composure pleased him enough.

He finally let go of her hand and came over to wrap his arm around me. Cold lips brushed my temple like an insult.

Margaret didn’t say anything. Just pulled a velvet box from her clutch and handed it to me with that soft, patronizing smile that never quite touched her eyes. I opened it slowly, standing near the glass railing, the dark waves of the river shimmering below.

Inside was a silver hairpin. Delicate. Etched. Familiar. My mother’s. Not just any pin—the pin. Slightly burned. The one with our family crest, with a hidden blade in the stem. She wore it the day she died. The same day Margaret burned her alive.

I couldn’t speak and my fingers curled around the box.

“Where... Where did you get this?”

Margaret blinked, playing her part. “Harmony… I found it in a tiny estate sale on the East End. I thought it was pretty. I didn’t know it meant something to you.”

“You’re lying,” I whispered.

“I’m not,” she said, eyes glassy now. “I thought… I just wanted to give you something special. It's your anniversary. I wanted to be happy for you.”

I stepped forward. “You knew exactly what this was. You knew.”

Margaret slowly backed up. Her voice trembled, just loud enough for the guests and crew to hear. “Why do you hate me so much, Harmony? I’ve done everything to stay out of your way. I—I try to be kind. I smile, I stay quiet. I gave you that. And still…”

She kept walking backward, step by step, toward the edge of the deck. Tears began to fall. Right on cue.

“I just wanted to be happy for you. For both of you…”

Another step back.

“Margaret,” Hakeem warned. “Don’t.”

“I’m sorry I survived,” she cried. “I’m sorry I came back. Maybe I should’ve stayed dead.”

Then—she took one last step. And let herself fall. Her body disappeared beneath the black water with a splash that silenced everything.

Gasps cut through the night like glass. Guests froze. Forks clinked against plates. A violinist stopped mid-bow.

“She jumped…”

“Oh my god…”

“What did Harmony do to her?”

“I heard she’s been tormenting that poor woman for months…”

“She’s unstable. Always was.”

“Margaret!” Hakeem’s voice cracked, ragged and raw. He didn’t even look at me. He bolted forward and jumped without hesitation, crashing into the waves after her like the world would end if she didn’t resurface.

The staff scrambled. Radios went off. Spotlights swung out from the yacht’s frame to scan the water. I didn’t move. I stood where I was, alone at the railing, fingers still clenched around the velvet box.

Below, I heard coughing. Splashing. Her name, echoing again and again.

“I told you she was jealous,” someone whispered.

“She always hated Margaret. This time she pushed her too far.”

“She should be ashamed. What kind of woman ruins her own anniversary?”

I didn’t flinch. I stared down at the water. But all I could see were the silver glints of that hairpin, glinting under the moonlight.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t speak. Because at that moment, I realized something: she didn’t fall. She performed.

And he jumped to save the show.

But me? I was done playing as their audience.

---

Hakeem climbed back onto the yacht, soaked to the bone, Margaret in his arms like she was made of glass. Her head lolled, limbs limp. He laid her down on the deck and immediately started CPR. Chest compressions. Mouth-to-mouth. His hands shook as he pushed, breath catching on her name.

“Margaret,” he whispered, over and over. “Stay with me. Breathe. Please, baby—”

I watched from the other side of the deck, clothes dripping, knees raw from the polished wood. And through the tears in my eyes, I saw it. Just for a second. Margaret’s mouth twitched. Not in pain. Not in panic. But in a smile. She was pretending. The cough that followed was exaggerated. Mournful. Weak. The perfect little performance.

Hakeem let out a choked breath and pulled her into his arms the moment she started sobbing. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

My chest burned. Not from jealousy. Not even from rage. But from the weight of truth—that I would never win against a ghost.

He looked at me like I was the infection in his perfect night. Like my very existence had ruined everything.

“You humiliated her,” he said.

“She jumped,” I croaked. “You saw it, she jumped herself.” But it didn’t matter. Margaret whimpered into his chest again, just loud enough for everyone to hear. Her voice cracked, shaking.

“Hakeem… I was so scared…”

That was it.

He stood up slowly. Turned to his guards.

“Strip her down.”

I flinched. “No! Wait, Hakeem—”

“Do it.”

They grabbed me. Tore my dress from my body like it meant nothing. I fought, but it didn’t matter. I was dragged to the center of the deck, bare under the spotlight, salt water drying on my skin.

The whip cracked before I could scream. The first lash tore through skin and nerves, lightning-bright pain flashing across my back. Guests gasped. Some turned away. Some watched. The second hit made me stumble. The third made me bleed. By the fourth, I was coughing…violently. I tasted copper. Then blood hit the floor. A lot of it.

I fell to my knees, trembling, arms barely holding me up as more blood spilled from my mouth.

I heard Hakeem’s footsteps running. He knelt in front of me, cupping my face roughly.

“What the fuck! Harmony?!”

My lips were red. Dripping. I tried to speak but couldn’t. Then behind him Margaret suddenly doubled over, coughing loud, gagging. Dramatic, practiced.

“Something’s wrong,” she sobbed. “I can’t breathe…”

That was all it took. Hakeem stood up in panic. Shouted toward the bridge.

“Get the med team! I need the fucking helipad cleared, NOW!”

They carried Margaret away like she was made of gold. And me? He turned cold again. Didn’t even glance back.

“Bring her home,” he told the guards. “Lock her in the basement.”

They dragged me by the arms through the lower deck, past the shocked eyes of strangers, the stained memories of roses and red wine. Through the private corridor, into the black car waiting at the dock.

That night, I didn’t sleep in silk. I slept on a cold stone. Beneath the house I once ruled.

While she lay in a hospital bed, faking every breath.

And Hakeem… still hadn’t learned to see the difference.

---

The next morning, his men took me out again from the basement. I didn't even have a chance to change my clothes or clean my wounds. The car ride was fast. Violent. No one said a word. When we stopped, I stepped out into the rain. Cold. Heavy. It soaked my clothes in seconds, but that wasn’t what made me freeze.

It was where we were.

Cemetery.

No. Not here!

My heart dropped. I took a step back, chest tightening. Panic wrapped around my ribs like a vice.

“Hakeem,” I breathed. “Please. Don’t do this. Not here.”

He was already standing a few feet away, still as stone, rain dripping off his coat. He didn’t speak at first. Just stared at me like he didn’t recognize me anymore.

Then: “You’re not listening. You haven’t been listening for a long time. And now… I’ve got no other way to get through to you.” He turned to his men. Nodded once.

“Start digging.”

“No!” I ran, screaming, shoving at the guards. “Don’t touch her! Don’t you fucking dare touch her!” But Hakeem moved quicker. He grabbed me, yanked me back by the waist, spun me around and held my chin with one hand, steel-hard.

“You disobeyed me,” he growled. “You humiliated her. You mocked her pain. Now you’re gonna understand what loss actually feels like.”

I kicked. I struggled. My lungs burned from screaming. But no one stopped. No one cared. The ground cracked open in front of me. Shovels slammed into wet soil, flinging mud into the air as they dug past the stone markers and through the freshly packed earth.

Then I saw it.

My mother’s urn.

Black. Rain-slicked. Covered in dirt. Everything in me shattered.

“No! Please!” I dropped to my knees, throat raw. “That’s all I have left of her, Hakeem. Don’t do this. I’m begging you.”

He crouched beside the grave, staring at the urn like it was nothing but a paperweight. Then he spoke…quiet, even. Like this was business.

“The doctor gave me the report this morning.”

I froze.

“She went into short-term respiratory arrest from water inhalation and impact trauma. And they found a dislocated hip, nerve strain, too. Recovery will take months. And even then…” he trailed off.

“She may never dance again. You knew how she loves dancing but you took that from her." He glanced at me. But there was no warmth. No love. Just cold resolve. “You think I’m gonna let that slide?”

I shook my head, sobbing. “She faked it, Hakeem, she jumped! You saw her smile—”

“You broke her. So now I break yours.” And then, without hesitation… He dropped the urn.

It hit the mud-covered ground and shattered. Ash burst upward. Caught in the wind. Swirled in the rain like smoke from a funeral pyre.

I screamed. It didn’t even sound human. I dropped forward, trying to gather the pieces, hands clawing through the mud, through the shards, through the wet bone-dust of what used to be my mother. Ash stuck to my skin. Washed down my arms in gray rivers. I tore off my coat, tried to cover what I could. But it was all being washed away.

“Mom... please... don’t leave me again. Don’t go. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry...” I kept digging. Hands raw, bleeding. Nails cracked. My dress was soaked and heavy with filth. I didn’t care.

His men looked away. Even they couldn’t bear it.

But Hakeem just stood there. Watching me fall apart. Watching me disappear into the grave with her.

The rain didn’t stop. And neither did I. Because when you lose the last person who ever loved you... you don't come back.

You rot with them.

---

I don’t remember how they dragged me back to the estate. One minute I was screaming in the rain, digging through wet ash, and the next, I was slipping in and out of blackness. My body was shot. Fever. Blood loss. Trauma. My mind wasn’t even fighting anymore. I collapsed the moment we reached the gates. I didn’t get back up after that.

Days passed. Maybe weeks. I don’t know. The world around me turned silent. Numb. Blurry. The only one who came near was the housekeeper. Quiet woman who didn’t ask questions. Just wiped my face, changed my clothes, and helped me sit up when I needed to swallow pills.

But someone else came.

My little brother. Aziel.

“Harmony,” he whispered, “you’re hurting again.”

I blinked into the darkness, throat raw.

“Why always hurting?” he mumbled. “I want… I want us to go. Far. We can live… somewhere with trees. You and me… I don’t like this place.”

I turned just enough to hold him. Weakly. Barely. But enough. He wiped his nose on my sleeve and tried to smile.

“I’ll save money, okay? I’ll save a lot. And we run away. You and me. We go. Like magic.”

My lips parted. I wanted to say yes. I wanted to promise him that soon, very soon, we’d be free. But all I could do was hold him tighter and whisper, “I’m trying, Z. I swear I’m trying.”

He nodded against me. Then he fell asleep in my arms.

The only safe thing I had left.

And Hakeem? He was gone.

He was off somewhere across the world with Margaret, the woman who faked her death and came back acting like the universe owed her every stolen minute.

Photos of them were everywhere. Posing by the river in Paris. Locked together at the Louvre. Wrapped up in each other in some icy blue cave in goddamn Antarctica.

America’s most feared heir and his first love, back from the dead.

I stared at those photos until the sting in my chest faded into something colder. Until it stopped hurting. And that’s when I started peeling away the memories. One piece at a time.

The way he held me when I cried. The time he killed a man for brushing my arm at a party.

The island he shut down on my birthday just to watch me smile.

All of it—gone.

---

Then one morning, they came back.

No announcement. No warning.

Hakeem walked in like nothing had happened. Like I hadn’t died a little every day while he was gone.

He stood in the living room, loosened his tie, and said, “Margaret told me the only thing she regrets is not getting to marry me. So I’m fixing that. Let's get divorce now so I can finally give her the wedding she wanted.”

He didn’t even look at me when he said it. Just dropped the words like a business deal.

No explanation. Just a decision.

I looked at him. Really looked at him. This was the same man who used to whisper he’d bury the world for me. Who once told me I was his religion in a world full of lies. Now he looked at me like I was nothing but noise in the background.

I wanted to ask, “Do you love her?”

But I already knew. I’d known it from the moment she came back.

And I almost asked, “Did you ever love me?”

But right then, Margaret walked in and said his name. Soft. Sweet. Like she hadn’t wrecked everything.

He turned to her instantly.

His face softened. His eyes lit up. He hadn’t looked at me like that in years.

I held my breath. Then smiled. A small, broken thing that tasted like blood in my mouth.

“Congratulations,” I told him. “Hope you two are really happy.”

He tilted his head. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” I said, still smiling. “Just wishing you luck.”

He stood there, hand on the doorframe. Looked like he was thinking of saying something. Then Margaret’s voice called out again from the hall.

And just like that, he turned away.

He left.

---

The next few days were a blur of wedding prep. Margot on every phone call, every photo shoot. Hakeem beside her every step. Sharp suit, cold eyes, fake smile.

He planned that wedding like it was war. Every detail locked in. Every guest list was reviewed twice.

He hadn’t put this much effort into our wedding.

Then, just a few days before the ceremony, Margaret came to me with that same plastic smile she wore when she handed me my dead mother’s locket.

“Harmony,” she said, like we were best friends, “I realized we don’t have a ring bearer. And I was thinking, wouldn’t it be so perfect if Aziel did it? I mean, he’s practically family.”

I didn’t say anything at first. I just stared at her.

Then I stood. My voice came out low and clear.

“There’s a thousand kids you could use. But you picked him. Why?”

She blinked like she was offended. “I’m just trying to make this meaningful. It would be special. I don’t feel comfortable having some stranger walk the rings. I thought Aziel would make it feel more real.”

I looked her straight in the eye. “No.”

Her eyes filled with tears like it was rehearsed. She turned to Hakeem and clutched his arm.

“Honey… I didn’t mean anything by it. Harmony misunderstood me. I just want someone we both know involved. Someone safe.”

Hakeem gave her that amused little smirk, pinched her nose like she was a damn puppy.

“You’re such a headache,” he said. “Fine. You win. We’ll use Aziel.”

Then he looked at me. That smile was gone. His eyes locked on mine, sharp and cold.