I woke up to the sterile light of the hospital, the scent of antiseptic sharp in my nose and the weight of loss pressing down on my chest.

The first thing I saw was Jaxon, slumped over the edge of my bed, his shoulders shaking with what looked like honest grief.

For a moment, I almost believed it—almost let myself hope that beneath all the lies, there was a part of him that cared.

He looked up as I stirred, his eyes red and puffy. “Beatrice… Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant again?” His voice cracked, and he reached for my hand, squeezing it tightly. “They just told me—the doctors said the baby died. Why didn’t you say anything?”

I stared at him, searching his face for any flicker of truth. But I saw only the performance, the rehearsed sorrow.

I knew, deep inside, that he and Hannah were the reason I kept losing my babies. I knew the food last night wasn’t just a coincidence. But I couldn’t let him see that I knew. I couldn't let them know I didn't care anymore. After all, I planned for abortion. They helped me make it easy.

“I was supposed to make it a surprise but it's too late now,” I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

Jaxon wiped his eyes, sighing heavily. “I’m sorry, too. For not taking care of you… for everything. Maybe it was the food, maybe I did something wrong. I should have been more careful.”

“It’s okay,” I said, forcing my voice to stay calm. “This isn’t the first time... and the doctor said I'm really sensitive.”

Hannah appeared in the doorway, her face arranged in a mask of concern. She hurried to my side, patting my arm gently. “Don’t worry, Beatrice… Everything will be okay. You’re strong. Surely, you’ll have a child again.”

Jaxon nodded, glancing at Hannah with a strange glint in his eye. “Actually, Hannah is pregnant. Maybe we can… adopt her baby? That way, we can have a family.”

I felt my stomach churn, rage and disgust swirling inside me.

I turned to Jaxon, my voice icy. “Why would we adopt? What about the father? Are you the father, Jaxon?”

He recoiled, shaking his head emphatically. “No, of course not! Hannah used a sperm donor. It’s all above board.”

Hannah chimed in quickly, her smile brittle. “Yes, just a donor. Nothing more… and you know how I always wanted to have a baby and when they told me I had cured my infertility issues, I decided to have one... Even with not father. I mean, you're there for me, right? And Jaxon...”

I nodded, pretending to accept their story. “Yeah… okay. Congratulations. You both can do whatever you want to do.”

Jaxon brightened instantly, his mood shifting like the flick of a switch. “That’s great news, Beatrice. We can be a happy family together.”

I forced a smile, exhaustion weighing me down. “Let me rest for a while.”

They left me alone. I stared at the ceiling, replaying every word, every lie, every moment that had brought me here.

My body ached with loss, but my mind was sharper than ever. I would not let them destroy me. Not now.

My phone buzzed on the side table. I reached for it, hands trembling, and saw a message from my lawyer: Divorce finalized.

A wave of relief crashed over me, mingled with fear and hope. I was free from Jaxon—at least on paper. But I knew he wouldn’t let me go so easily. Not with the company, not with the secrets I carried.

Later that day, I left the hospital. I went straight to the church, my heart pounding with anticipation and dread. Lorenzo was waiting for me, dressed in a simple suit, his eyes alive with determination.

He took my hands in his, his touch gentle but firm. “Are you ready?”

I nodded, my voice steady. “Yes. I need you, Lorenzo. Not just for me, but for justice. For all the things they’ve done. Help me bring them down and you can demand anything fro me.”

The ceremony was brief, almost surreal. I barely registered the words, the vows, the ring on my finger.

All I could think about was survival, about the fight ahead.

When the priest pronounced us husband and wife, I felt something shift inside me—a new beginning, a new chance.

Afterwards, we sat together in the quiet of the church, the stained glass casting colored shadows across our faces.

I looked at Lorenzo, my new husband, and spoke the words I’d been holding deep inside.

“They’re planning to kill me on my birthday,” I said, my voice trembling but clear. “Jaxon and Hannah—they want to take me out on the yacht. I’m terrified of water. They want to push me overboard and make it look like an accident. I overheard everything. I would still come though because I’m not yet done with them, so save me.”

Lorenzo’s hand tightened around mine. “I’ll be there. I promise. We’ll be ready.”

I nodded, feeling a strange mix of dread and defiance. Then I went home, bracing myself for whatever performance Jaxon and Hannah had prepared.

The moment I stepped into the house, I found Hannah in the hallway, dragging suitcases and boxes. Jaxon stood nearby, arms crossed, watching her with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Oh, Beatrice,” Jaxon said, not bothering to hide the coldness in his voice, “Hannah will use our room now. She likes the view and the sunlight. She’ll be here so we can take care of her and her baby. Just use the guest room for now.”

I forced a smile, swallowing the bitterness. “Okay.”

Hannah flashed me a bright, insincere grin. “Oh, thank you, my best friend. You’re really the best!”

I just smiled, holding back everything I wanted to say.

Later, as Hannah continued unpacking, I heard a crash from the bedroom. I rushed in to find her standing over a shattered painting—the one my mother had given me, the last gift before she died. The frame splintered, glass everywhere, the canvas torn.

Hannah looked up, feigning surprise. “Oops! I’m so sorry, Beatrice. I guess I’m just clumsy today.”

But I saw the satisfaction flicker across her face, the deliberate malice in her eyes. Rage surged through me, hot and uncontrollable. She knew how important it was to me!

I stepped forward and shoved her, harder than I meant to, the years of betrayal boiling over.

Hannah stumbled back, but before anything else could happen, Jaxon stormed in, his face twisted with fury.

He didn’t hesitate—his hand shot out, and he slapped me across the face, the crack echoing through the room.

“Are you insane?” he shouted, eyes blazing. “Are you trying to kill her baby because you can’t have one? God, I knew it! You were always jealous of Hannah!”

For a moment, the room was thick with accusation and tension. Hannah, ever the actress, wiped at her eyes and shook her head. “No, it’s my fault, Jaxon. I ruined the painting. I shouldn’t have touched it. Please, don't hurt my best friend.”

Jaxon softened, but only slightly, turning his concern to her.

“Even so, you have to understand the danger of pushing Hannah. You lost a lot of babies, Beatrice… and maybe this is the reason why? Because you’re not fit to become a mother when you can’t even take care of another’s baby.”

Without another word, they left me standing there—alone with the shards of my mother’s painting and the echo of Jaxon’s slap.

I could only laugh, a hollow, bitter sound that bounced off the walls. Let them go. Let them have their empty comfort and their lies.

I knelt down, gathering the broken pieces of the painting.

Tears spilled down my cheeks as I tried to piece it together.

For a moment, I allowed myself to grieve, not just for the painting, but for everything I’d lost: my parents, my children, my marriage, my sense of safety.

But grief couldn’t hold me forever. I wiped my tears and stood, resolve hardening inside me.

I wouldn’t stay here any longer. This house was nothing but a cage, filled with ghosts and poison.

I packed my things quietly. As I tucked the broken frame of my mother’s painting into my suitcase, my phone buzzed—a message from Lorenzo.

He’d found it. The evidence I’d been desperate for: proof that it was Mateo who orchestrated my parents’ deaths. Documents, bank transfers, and a confession hidden in an old recording.

My parents hadn’t died in an accident as everyone believed. Mateo had paid a mechanic to tamper with their brakes, ensuring their car would crash on the mountain road that night. The recording captured Mateo’s chilling words: “They were too stubborn when they learned that Jaxon was fooling Beatrice. But no, it can't be. We need their chemical company because it would make my company stronger. If they died, Beatrice will inherit everything and marry Jaxon. The company will be ours because Beatrice was easy to fool.”

I sat on the edge of my bed, the weight of truth pressing on my chest.

Tears pricked my eyes as I whispered an apology to my parents, my voice trembling in the empty room.

“I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. But I promise—I’ll finish this. I’ll make them pay.”

By nightfall, I was gone, checking into a quiet hotel under a different name, clutching the evidence and my grief close. I was done being a prisoner in my own life. This time, I would be ready.

The next morning, my phone buzzed. Jaxon’s name flashed on the screen. I hesitated, then answered.

“Where are you?” He demanded. “Are you mad at me because of what happened? I'm sorry, I was just scared the baby would die. You know my trauma because we lost a lot of babies already. Where are your things? Come home, and I have something for you.”

“I just needed some time to clear my mind about everything,” I replied, keeping my tone neutral. "I was just hurt and missing my parents."

He was silent for a moment, then his frustration bled through. “What about the vaccine formula? The launch is on your birthday, remember? You need to be there! And you need to give it to me as promise, right?”

I almost laughed at his priorities. “Don’t worry, Jaxon. I’ll be there.”

He hung up, not bothering with goodbyes.

I stared at the phone, feeling the weight of the day ahead. My birthday.

The yacht glittered under the morning sun, decorated with banners and flowers, the air thick with expensive perfume and false smiles.

Guests mingled, glasses clinking, laughter rising above the gentle slap of waves. I stepped aboard, dressed in white, my face serene.

Jaxon greeted me with a wide, triumphant smile, his arm around Hannah, who glowed with carefully curated innocence. “Happy birthday, Beatrice,” he said, kissing my cheek. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” I replied, my voice steady. “You can have it, Jaxon. Claim it as your own. After all, you are my husband. I’m also giving you our company. Everything’s finalized now. You can now present it to them.”

His eyes sparkled with greed. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he called, gathering the crowd, “I present to you the vaccine formula—our greatest achievement, and the future of medical science!”

He launched into his speech, soaking in the glory, promising miracles and breakthroughs. I watched him, knowing every word was built on a lie.

The formula he held was a fake—an elegant, useless imitation. The real one was safe, far from his reach.

The board members nodded, impressed, eager to invest. Jaxon’s smile grew wider, his confidence swelling as he basked in their admiration.

When the presentation ended, he turned to me, eyes shining. “Thank you, Beatrice. This wouldn’t have been possible without you.”

I smiled, letting him believe in his victory. “I’m glad you’re happy, Jaxon.”

He leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “I have a gift for you, my love. Something unforgettable.”

I saw it then—the glint in his eye, the tightening of his grip on my arm. Just as I had expected, he led me to the edge of the deck, the water below dark and endless.

The guests were distracted, music playing, laughter echoing. No one saw as Jaxon’s hand pressed against my back, his words soft and venomous. “Goodbye, Beatrice. Thank you for your service.”

He pushed me.

For a moment, I felt nothing but air—the cold rush, the dizzying drop, the world spinning out of control. I closed my eyes, surrendering to gravity, to fate, to everything that had brought me here.

But I wasn’t afraid. Lorenzo was out there, waiting, watching. I trusted him. I knew I would be saved.

As the water closed over my head, I let go of everything—pain, betrayal, fear. I was free. Free from Jaxon, from Hannah, from the cage they’d built around me.

I drifted, the world silent and dark, knowing that when I opened my eyes again, everything would be different.

Jaxon’s POV

I walked back toward the party, my steps lighter than they'd been in years. The weight that had been pressing on my chest for so long was finally gone.

Beatrice was at the bottom of the ocean now, and with her, all my problems had disappeared into the dark water.

A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as I straightened my jacket and ran a hand through my hair.

The guests were still laughing, still drinking, completely oblivious to what had just happened. Perfect. Everything was going exactly according to plan.

Hannah appeared at my side, her eyes bright with anticipation. She glanced around quickly, making sure no one was watching us, then stepped closer.

"Is it done?" she whispered, her voice barely audible above the music and chatter.

I nodded, unable to suppress the satisfaction in my voice. "Yes. She's gone." I leaned down to her ear, my breath warm against her skin.

"Later, we can just act like she's missing. We'll say she wandered off, maybe fell asleep somewhere. I bet if she's ever found at all, it'll be too late to matter."

Hannah's face lit up with relief and something darker—triumph. She reached up and pulled me down for a kiss, her lips soft and eager against mine.

For a moment, we lost ourselves in each other, in the sweet taste of victory and freedom.

"Finally," she breathed against my lips. "Finally, we can be together. No more hiding, no more pretending."

"Soon," I promised, stroking her cheek. "Very soon, my love."

We separated reluctantly, both of us slipping back into our roles. Hannah smoothed her dress and plastered on her concerned friend expression, while I arranged my features into those of a devoted husband.

The party continued around us, guests mingling and celebrating the vaccine launch. I moved through the crowd, accepting congratulations and praise for "our" groundbreaking work. Every compliment felt like vindication. This was my moment, my triumph. Everything Beatrice had worked for was now mine.

But as the evening wore on, I noticed some of the guests beginning to look around with puzzled expressions.

"Jaxon," Mrs. Wellington approached me, her brow furrowed. "Where's your lovely wife? I haven't seen Beatrice in quite some time. Surely she wouldn't miss her own birthday celebration?"

I put on my most concerned expression, shaking my head with practiced worry. "Oh, Beatrice wasn't feeling well earlier. She had a terrible headache and went to lie down in one of the cabins. You know how she gets with these social events—they can be overwhelming for her."

Mrs. Wellington nodded sympathetically. "Poor dear. Should someone check on her?"

"No, no," I said quickly, placing a reassuring hand on her arm. "She just needs rest. I'll look in on her later."

Similar conversations followed with other guests. Each time, I delivered the same story with the perfect balance of concern and dismissal.

Beatrice was resting, Beatrice was tired, Beatrice would rejoin us soon. The lies rolled off my tongue like honey.

But then I saw Grandfather approaching, his sharp eyes scanning the deck. My stomach tightened slightly. Mateo was harder to fool than the other guests. He had a way of seeing through facades, of sensing when something was amiss.

"Jaxon," his voice was low, commanding. "Where is your wife? Several people have been asking for her."

I maintained my casual demeanor. "She wasn't feeling well, Grandfather. She went to rest."

Mateo's eyes narrowed slightly, studying my face. Then I stepped closer, lowering my voice so only he could hear. "Don't worry. I got everything now, and she won't come back."

His eyebrow raised slowly, a knowing look creeping across his weathered features. "Are you telling me you killed her?"

I met his gaze steadily, my voice dropping to match his whisper. "Why are you shocked? Didn't you kill her parents?"

For a moment, silence stretched between us. Then Grandfather's lips curved into a cold, approving smirk. "Well, good job then. You deserve my company." His hand clapped my shoulder with paternal pride. "Just make sure to clean up your mess."

I nodded, feeling a surge of satisfaction at his approval. "Of course, Grandfather. Everything is under control."

He walked away, and I felt the last piece of my plan click into place. Even Mateo was satisfied.

There would be no questions, no investigations. Just a tragic accident that would soon be forgotten.

Another hour passed peacefully. I was beginning to think we'd made it through the worst when Hannah suddenly let out a piercing scream from the other side of the deck.

"BEATRICE!" she cried, her voice carrying across the water. "Oh my God, where is she? Has anyone seen Beatrice?"

The party came to an abrupt halt. Guests turned toward Hannah, who was now running frantically around the deck, checking behind chairs and peering over railings.

"She left this!" Hannah held up a piece of paper, her hands shaking dramatically. "It's a suicide note! She says she's having such a hard time, that she feels like she has no purpose now that she's finished everything!"

Chaos erupted. Guests gasped and murmured among themselves. Someone called for the captain. Others began searching the yacht, calling Beatrice's name.

I rushed to Hannah's side, snatching the note from her hands. My eyes scanned the carefully crafted words—words we'd written together days ago. It was perfect. Desperate, heartbroken, final.

"No," I whispered, then louder, "NO! This can't be real!"

I let my knees buckle slightly, catching myself against the railing.

The tears came easily—years of practice at manipulation had taught me how to summon them on command.

"She was struggling," I choked out to the gathering crowd. "The miscarriages, the pressure from work... I should have seen the signs. I should have helped her!"

Hannah wrapped her arms around me, her own tears streaming down her face. "It's not your fault, Jaxon. We all missed it. She hid her pain so well."

The guests surrounded us with sympathy and shock. Someone was already calling the coast guard.

Others were comforting Hannah and me, offering hollow words about how sorry they were for our loss.

I buried my face in my hands, shoulders shaking with fabricated grief. Inside, I was celebrating. It was working perfectly. No one suspected anything. They all believed our performance.

But as I lifted my head slightly, something caught my eye in the distance. Far from the yacht, barely visible in the moonlight, I thought I saw movement on the water. A boat, maybe? Or just shadows playing tricks on my vision?

I blinked and looked again, but whatever I'd seen was gone. Just empty ocean stretching to the horizon.