"Do you still want to destroy my husband and your greatest enemy?" I said, my voice flat over the phone. "If yes… pick me up after seven days. I'm going to marry you."

There was a brief silence on the other end, and then a deep, amused laugh. “Is what I’m hearing right? Samantha Reid—Mrs. Jackson Smith—is finally agreeing to marry me? After all these years of swearing you’d rather rot in hell?”

"Inigo," I whispered, “do you want him ruined or not?”

Another pause. "I do. But what about your child with him?"

I swallowed, hard. "There is no child anymore. Jackson… killed our baby."

And before he could say another word, I ended the call and dropped the phone beside me. My hands were trembling. No—my whole body was. A sick, bone-deep chill curled through my skin, all the way down to the hollow space where my baby used to be.

Three days ago, I was smiling. Hopeful. I was finally going to give birth. Jackson was supposed to be waiting at the hospital. I was on my way—when the van swerved in front of mine. Masked men. Guns. I thought… I thought it was Inigo. That’s what Jackson had told me for years: If something happens, it’s Inigo. He hates me. He wants what I have—including you.

They injected something in my veins. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t scream. But I was wide awake. I felt the pain as they sliced into me. I watched blood soak my white dress. I saw my daughter—a tiny, fragile thing—ripped from me. And then nothing. Just a scream in my throat that never escaped.

Then the door burst open. Shouting. Gunfire. I could barely turn my head, but I saw him—Jackson, storming in with rage in his eyes, shooting the men one by one. Blood sprayed the walls. The last thing I heard was him screaming my name, falling to his knees beside me. His hands cradled my face.

“My love, stay with me—”

And then I blacked out, thinking he had saved me. Thinking he was my hero.

When I woke up yesterday, my limbs numb from anesthesia, Jackson was beside me with blood on his shirt. He looked like a savior out of a nightmare. His voice shook as he told me he "got there too late." That he "killed them all." That I was safe.

I believed him. God help me, I always believed him.

But then I heard it. That moment when the drugs hadn't worn off yet and he thought I was asleep. He was standing by the window, speaking to someone on the phone.

“Did you clean the mess? Pay them off?” he said. “Make sure no one knew that I was the one who kidnapped my wife and killed my unborn daughter.”

My fingers gripped the sheets. Is this a dream? What was he saying?

“Yes, sir. They’ll never speak. And they left the country already,” the man replied.

“Good. Let Samantha think it was Inigo,” Jackson said, voice cold and sharp. “No one should know. Not her. Not anyone.”

A pause. Then another voice, hesitant. “Sir… we made her sterile after killing the baby. Wasn’t this too much? What if she finds out?”

“She won’t,” Jackson snapped. “I never loved her. It’s always been Candice. I just needed someone when Candice married my cousin. Samantha was there. Convenient. Loyal. There should only be one heir. Mine and Candice’s. That thing in Samantha’s womb… it would’ve ruined everything.”

My stomach twisted. I wanted to scream. Vomit. Die. But I couldn’t move. I just lay there. Paralyzed. Betrayed.

Candice. The golden girl of high society. Elegant, untouchable, the kind of woman men fought over—and Jackson did. She was his first love, the one he swore he’d marry, the one he gave everything to. But four years ago, Candice shattered him. Chose power over love. Married Jackson’s cousin for status and inheritance. Back then, Jackson wasn’t as powerful as he is now. Jackson broke. I found him that night, drunk and bloody and ready to end it all.

I was the one who stopped him. I was the one who stayed.

I helped him rebuild. Gave him my heart. Even helped him build an empire through my family’s connection even they told me that Jackson would betray me soon. And when he asked me to marry him, I said yes without hesitation, thinking he had finally let go of the past.

But he never did. All along, I was just a placeholder.

Now Candice’s husband was dead. And I was no longer needed.

Jackson came into the room later that day, holding a bouquet of white lilies.

“My love,” he said, gently brushing hair from my forehead. “How are you feeling?”

“I lost the baby,” I whispered.

His eyes dropped for a second. Then he smiled. “It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re alive.”

“The doctor said I can’t have children anymore,” I said, watching him closely.

He paused but only for a second. Then he leaned in and kissed my hand. “That’s okay. We still have each other. You know I love you, right?”

I nodded. Pretended I didn’t know.

He stood. “Anyway, I need to go to attend some business. I’ll be back, okay?”

I only smiled and watched him leave.

As soon as the door shut, I grabbed my phone and dialed fast.

“This is Samantha Reid,” I said when the lawyer answered. “I want to file for divorce. From Jackson Smith. Immediately.”

I cried all night. The ache in my chest burned worse than the pain in my abdomen. I had lost my baby. My womb. My pride. But Jackson—he didn’t even come back.

He said he’d return. That he had to “handle things.” But morning came, and I was still alone in that cold hospital bed. No calls. No texts. Just silence.

I reached for my phone, hoping maybe… something. Anything. But instead, I found her.

Candice. A new post. A story from the night before.

She was on a yacht, laughing like a queen in her golden bikini. Music in the background, champagne flutes in the air. And then—there he was. Jackson. Shirtless. Relaxed. Smiling. And kissing her.

My vision blurred. My fingers went numb. I threw the phone, but the pain stayed.

The next morning, a nurse came with my discharge papers. Jackson didn’t even show up. Instead, the driver said he was “preparing a surprise at home.” I almost laughed. I almost believed. But I was too tired to question it.

When we arrived at the estate, I noticed the cars, the music, the voices. It wasn’t just a surprise. It was a full-blown party.

I stepped inside and froze. Gold balloons. Champagne glasses. A massive cake that said “Welcome Home, Candice!”

Candice. Not me.

And then I saw her. In the center of the crowd, radiant and smug. Her hand on the shoulder of a little boy. Around her, people fawned. Jackson’s mother, Janice, was beaming as she raised a toast.

“You should stay here in the estate with your son, Candice,” Janice said. “Jackson will take care of you both.”

Candice gave a soft laugh. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. What about your daughter-in-law? She might be upset.”

Janice scoffed. “So? I don’t care about that girl. She was never supposed to marry Jackson. I’ve never liked her. She walks around here like she owns the place, just because she ‘saved’ him once. She’s nothing. Nothing!”

It wasn’t new. Janice had always hated me. From the start.

She used to whisper behind my back, always cold, always watching. She blamed me for her divorce—believing I had something to do with it, just because Jackson’s father once said I reminded him of the woman Janice could never be. As if that was my fault. As if it was my fault that her husband had admired me—not out of love, but out of care as a father. She thought we were having an affair. I was twenty.

Jackson defended me then. Said I was family. That I saved his life. That I was loyal. I believed it. I thought he was standing by me. But now I know better—he needed me. A placeholder. A shield until Candice came back.

“Don’t worry, I will tell Jackson to divorce her soon, so maybe, you two…can be together?”

Candice laughed. “Well, maybe… that was a good idea.”

My breath caught. I had heard enough. I backed away quietly, deciding not to make a scene. Well, they never noticed me, either.

I climbed the stairs slowly, pain still lacing through my body. But just as I reached the landing, something hard hit my head.

A metal can.

I stumbled, clutching my skull. “What the hell—?”

And then I saw him. A little boy. Maybe three years old. Big brown eyes, now brimming with tears. He burst into sobs.

“What’s wrong with you?” a voice shrieked behind me.

Janice stormed up the stairs and yanked my hair so hard I nearly fell again. “You made him cry, you heartless bitch?”

I winced. “He threw something at my head—!”

“So what if he did?” Janice spat. “He’s a child! And you—what kind of woman makes a baby cry? No wonder you lost yours. You’d never be a good mother.”

The words sliced deeper than any scalpel.

“Mom, stop!” Jackson appeared at the top of the stairs. “She’s my wife,” he added.

But Janice snapped, “Wife? I told you to divorce her! She’s damaged now—useless. Can’t even give you a child. She let herself be kidnapped and now you lost an heir”

I stood there, frozen, humiliated—until the boy ran to Jackson and hugged his leg.

“Daddy, I’m scared of her.”

Daddy? Why haven’t I realized they look alike?

I turned to Jackson, my voice barely above a whisper. “Who is he? Why is he calling you daddy?”

Jackson cleared his throat. “He’s Candice’s son. From my cousin. But... he’s going to stay with us. He needs a father figure. I’ll raise him like my own.”

“What?” My heart sank. “They’re staying here? You agree to that without telling me?”

Candice gave a fake modest laugh. “Oh no, it’s really not necessary—”

“Come on, Samantha,” Jackson cut in. “Don’t be dramatic. You just got home. Be nice. Candice lost her husband. Her child needs a home. This is the best thing we can do.”

I stared at him. At all of them. And I swallowed the scream building in my throat. “Do whatever you want,” I said coldly. Then turned to go upstairs.

But I didn’t get far.

Janice grabbed my arm and shoved me—hard. “You ungrateful and rude bitch! You should be thankful!”

My body twisted. My feet slipped.

And I tumbled. Down the stairs.

Pain exploded in my side and I hit the bottom with a sickening thud. Groaning, I tried to move but then I heard the child cry out. He had slipped too, landing roughly beside me.

All attention turned to him.

Jackson rushed over. “Are you okay, buddy?”

No one looked at me. Not one person.

I crawled. My limbs shaking. My heart splintering. I dragged myself up the stairs, every step a reminder—I was no longer part of this family.

I had been replaced.

I thought the worst was over. I had bandaged myself up from the fall earlier—arms scraped, knees bruised, ribs aching but at least I had a few hours of sleep. I told myself to rest. That I just needed silence. Peace.

But peace never lived in this house. Because before dawn, I was yanked out of bed.

My back hit the floor with a sickening thud and a sharp stab of pain shot up my spine. I gasped, vision swimming, and tried to sit up—but the weight of the fall made my body tremble.

A giggle. A high-pitched laugh filled the room.

I blinked up to see him—the child. Nathan. The same child who hit my head with a can earlier. The one they all adored like some royal bloodline. He was now bouncing on my bed as if it were his.

“I want to sleep here!” he squealed, throwing pillows around like it was a game.

“This is my bed,” I said through clenched teeth. I tried to make my voice kind—he was just a child, wasn’t he? But then again… he was the reason I was bleeding. He was the reason I was sleeping alone. He was the son of the two people who betrayed me.

Still, I tried again. “Go back to your room, sweetheart.”

But he ignored me, dancing in circles, shouting and shrieking. Until his little feet slammed into the stand that held my father's last remaining gift to me—an antique ceramic vase he crafted before he died.

It shattered.

I froze.

The shards scattered across the wooden floor like echoes of my heart. And without thinking, I grabbed Nathan’s arm. “Do you know what you’ve done?” I hissed. “That was the last thing I had from my father!”

The boy blinked at me, stunned, before bursting into tears.

Footsteps thundered outside, and then Candice barged in. Her eyes widened when she saw me holding Nathan’s wrist. “What did you do?! You hurt my son!”

“I didn’t—he broke something important—”

“You know we’re trying to adjust, Samantha! We know you hate that we’re here but this—this is a child! How could you?!”

“I didn’t even—” I stammered, but it was too late.

Jackson appeared in the doorway. His eyes didn’t scan the broken vase. Or the blood on my hand. No, they locked on Nathan’s tears.

Then his palm cracked across my cheek.

I stumbled back, breath stolen, eyes wide. Jackson had never laid a hand on me. Never raised his voice in violence. But now…?

“You slapped me?” I whispered. “Because of him?”

“He’s not just any kid!” Jackson growled. “He’s my heir! I’m adopting him. He’ll carry my name.”

I let out a bitter, disbelieving laugh. “Adopting? Really? And what’s the truth, Jackson? He’s yours, isn’t he?”

He didn’t say yes.

But he didn’t deny it either.

Instead, his silence lingered—loud, heavy, confirming everything without needing words. His jaw tightened. His gaze dropped to the floor for just a second, and that was all I needed. The truth was already etched in every glance, every unspoken word, every time he touched that child like he was his.

And just like that, my heart broke all over again.

I remembered the ultrasound photo I used to carry in my purse. The name we had chosen together. The way I used to press my hand to my belly and imagine the soft coos, the tiny feet, the bedtime stories. Our daughter.

Gone. Ripped from me.

And now here he was, parading his son in front of me—the child born from lies and betrayal—claiming he’d carry his name like some badge of honor, while mine never even got to breathe.

He stepped closer, his voice colder now. “I will not let you hurt him. You can’t even carry a child anymore. Don’t take your jealousy out on an innocent—”

Jealousy?

My knees buckled slightly, but I stood tall. What he didn’t know—what he would never understand—was that I wasn’t jealous.

I was grieving.

And he was the one who buried my future.

“Jealousy?!” My voice cracked. “I didn’t choose to be kidnapped! I didn’t choose to be butchered—you made sure of that!”

“Watch your mouth,” he warned, then grabbed a fistful of my hair. “Apologize to Candice. Now.”

“No—”

“Apologize!”

He pushed me down into the broken vase shards. Pain tore through my knees. I bit my lip until I tasted blood.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

Candice stepped forward and reached for me with a gentle smile. “It’s okay. I forgive you.”

But as she leaned down, she whispered into my ear, “Now you know. Nathan and I… we aren’t nothing in this house. So maybe it’s time you disappear quietly.”

I met her eyes. My voice barely a breath. “Don’t worry. I will.”

I turned to leave, but Candice let out a fake gasp and flung herself backward—slamming into the floor with a scream.

“Jackson!” she wailed. “She pushed me!”

And of course, he came running. Not to me. Never to me.

He checked her arms for bruises, cursed me under his breath, and stormed out with her in his arms while I bled on the glass alone.

But I didn’t cry.

I couldn’t. I had no tears left.

Later that night, a notification blinked on my phone. A new email from the lawyer I contacted.

The divorce is filed. Just needs his signature.

I stared at it for a long while. And then I printed it.

I found Jackson in the lounge, sitting beside Candice, who was draped in silk and sipping wine like she hadn’t just ruined my life. He kissed the back of her hand like they were in some fairytale.

“I need you to sign this,” I said calmly.

He looked up, annoyed. “Don’t you know how to knock? After everything you did to her?”

“I just need your signature,” I repeated. “It’s about the hospital. From when… when we lost the baby.”

He rolled his eyes, snatched the pen from my hand, and scribbled his name without reading it. “Now go.”