"Ysabel?"

I jerked awake in the uncomfortable hospital chair. Lucas was looking at me, his blue eyes groggy but focused.

"Lucas!" I gasped, scrambling to his side. I wanted to grab his hand, but my bandages reminded me of my own fragility. Instead, I leaned down and pressed my forehead against his arm. "You're awake. Thank God."

He tried to sit up, wincing. "What happened? I remember... the video. The pills."

"It's gone," I said quickly, my voice fierce. "It's all gone, Lucas. It was a cyber-attack. A deepfake. The studio released a statement this morning. The police confirmed it. You're a victim, not a criminal. The public loves you again. They're already starting hashtags for you."

Lucas let out a long, shuddering breath. He closed his eyes, a tear tracking through the stubble on his cheek. "I thought it was over, Ysabel. I can't... I can't afford to lose this. The fame, the work... it's all I have."

"I know," I whispered, stroking his hair. "I promise you, Lucas. I swear on my life. It will never happen again. No one will ever touch you again, brother."

The next morning, I went home.

The house was quiet. Aiden was at the firm. I walked into the library and locked the door. I pulled out an old flip phone from the back of a safe—a relic from before smartphones, untraceable.

I dialed a number I hadn't used in years.

"Alfred," I said when the line clicked open.

"Miss Ysabel," the warm, gravelly voice of my family's old butler answered. He had served my parents, then me, until Aiden "suggested" we let him go for a younger staff. But Alfred had never really left my service. "It has been too long."

"I need you, Alfred," I said, cutting to the chase. "I need you to dig. I need everything on the Miller family. Antonio, Amber, their parents. Debts, secrets, illegal dealings. And I need everything on Aiden’s connection to them. Financial transfers, property deeds, emails. Everything."

"Consider it done, Miss Ysabel. Is everything alright?"

"No," I said, looking at the bruise fading on my cheek. "But it will be."

For the next week, I played the part.

I was the perfect, doting wife. I wore the dresses Aiden liked. I poured his scotch when he came home. I smiled when he touched me, even though my skin crawled with revulsion. I asked about his day. I pretended the slap never happened.

"See?" Aiden said one evening, kissing my neck as I arranged flowers in the vase—using my forearms more than my hands. "Isn't this better? No fighting. Just us."

"Yes, Aiden," I lied smoothly. "Much better."

"Good," he said. "Because I have a surprise. Dinner tonight. At Le Jardin. Just a small celebration."

"Celebration?"

"For us," he smiled. "For moving forward."

I wore the black silk dress he bought me. I put on the diamond earrings he gave me for our anniversary. I looked like a trophy.

When we arrived at the private room in the restaurant, my blood froze.

We weren't alone.

Sitting at the round table, swirling a glass of red wine, was Antonio.

His arm was in a sling, a prop for sympathy. He looked healthy. Arrogant. He grinned when he saw me, his eyes raking over my body in a way that made me want to shower.

"Ysabel," he drawled. "Long time no see."

I stiffened. I looked at Aiden. "You invited him?"

"We're burying the hatchet," Aiden said, guiding me to a chair. "Amber is joining us shortly. We're going to be a family again, Ysabel. Civilized."

I sat down. I had no choice. Dinner was a torture session. Antonio made crude jokes. Aiden laughed. They talked about "old times" while I stared at my plate, cutting my steak with clumsy, agonizing movements.

"Excuse me," I said halfway through the main course. "I need to use the restroom."

I escaped to the hallway, my heart pounding. I splashed cold water on my face, trying to stop the trembling. I dried my face and turned to leave.

Antonio was standing in the doorway. He had locked it.

"You think you're so special, don't you?" he slurred, stepping closer. He smelled of wine and expensive cologne. "Walking around like you didn't try to ruin my life by trying to send me to jail when I didn't mean to hurt you. You provoke me, and it was for my sister!"

"Get out of my way, Antonio," I said, my voice low.

"Or what?" He laughed. "You gonna scratch me with those paws?"

He lunged. He pinned me against the marble sink, his heavy body crushing mine. His good hand groped at my dress, tearing the silk.

"No!" I screamed. "Get off me!"

I couldn't use my hands. I couldn't push him. I used my knee, driving it up into his groin.

He grunted but didn't let go. He was too heavy. His wet mouth mashed against my neck. "You need to learn your place, bitch."

"Aiden!" I screamed. "Help!"

The door rattled. Then it burst open.

It wasn't Aiden. It was Amber.

"Antonio!" she shrieked.

She ran at us, grabbing his arm. "Stop it! What are you doing?!"

Antonio, in his drunken rage, shoved her back. Hard.

Amber flew backward. Her hip connected with the sharp edge of the marble counter with a sickening crack. She crumpled to the floor, screaming in pain.

Aiden appeared in the doorway a second later. He took in the scene—me, disheveled and panting against the sink; Antonio, dazed; Amber, writhing on the floor.

He didn't look at me. He ran straight to Amber.

"Amber!" He fell to his knees. "Are you okay?"

"She pushed me!" Amber sobbed, pointing a shaking finger at me. "Ysabel pushed me! She’s crazy!"

"What?" I gasped. "No! Antonio tried to rape me! She tried to stop him and he pushed her!"

Aiden looked up at me. His eyes were black holes of rage. He didn't believe me. He didn't even care to ask.

"You..." he hissed. "You are poison."

"Aiden, listen to me—"

"Get out of my sight!" he roared. He scooped Amber up in his arms, panic etched all over his face. "Call the car! We’re going to the hospital! Now!"

They left me there in the restaurant bathroom.

My hands were throbbing. In the struggle, I had banged them against the marble. Fresh blood was seeping through the bandages.

I took a taxi to the same hospital they had taken Amber to. I walked into the ER, keeping my head down. A nurse re-dressed my wounds, tutting at the damage. As soon as she was done, I slipped away toward the VIP wing.

I saw Aiden standing outside Room 304. He was talking to a doctor. I pressed myself into a small alcove near the vending machines, just out of sight.

"Is she okay?" Aiden asked. His voice was trembling. I had never heard him sound so scared.

"She had a minor concussion from the fall," the doctor said. "But the ultrasound looks good. The heartbeat is strong. The fetus is perfectly fine, Mr. Smith."

"Thank God," Aiden breathed, leaning his head against the wall. "And the gender? Can you still tell?"

"Yes," the doctor smiled. "It’s a boy."

"A boy," Aiden whispered, a sound of pure reverence. "My son. My heir."

The doctor walked away. Aiden pulled out his phone.

"It’s me," he said, his voice low but carrying clearly in the silent hallway. "The situation has become untenable. Ysabel is out of control. She almost killed my son tonight."

He paused, listening.

"No, I can't just divorce her. She knows too much. And with her brother’s influence... no. We need a permanent solution."

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

"I’ll convince her to go on the trip, and then kill her. Make it look like an accident on the way to the airport. Brake failure. And do the same for Lucas. I don't want him asking questions when his sister dies. Clean slate."

I walked back into the house and looked at my burner phone. Two messages were waiting.

The first was from Alfred.

“The dossier is complete, Miss Ysabel. Bank transfers, medical records, the emails between Mr. Smith and the mechanic. I have everything. It is enough to bury them.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. The weapon was loaded.

The second message was from Nathan.

“Divorce papers are filed now. The loophole is secured. And regarding your other proposition… I’m in. Judge waiting at 10 AM. Don’t be late.”

The next morning, the sun shone brightly, mocking the darkness of my reality. I went down to the kitchen. Aiden was there, sipping his espresso, reading the financial news on his tablet. He looked up when I entered, and his face transformed. The cold indifference was replaced by a mask of deep, pained concern.

"Ysabel," he said, standing up to pull out my chair. "How did you sleep?"

"I didn't," I said honestly.

He sighed, sitting down across from me and reaching for my bandaged hands. I let him take them. I let the man who planned to sever my brake lines hold my fingers.

"I’m so sorry, Ysabel," he began, his voice thick with emotion. "About last night. About the restaurant. I was… I was in shock. I lost my temper. I said things I didn't mean."

"You said I was poison," I whispered, looking down.

"I was angry," he pressed, squeezing my hands. "But I’ve been thinking all night. We can’t go on like this. The stress, the media, the fighting… it’s destroying us. I want to fix this. I want to be the husband you deserve."

I looked up at him. "How?"

"I’ve arranged a trip," he said, his eyes gleaming with the lie. "A retreat in the Swiss Alps. Very private, very exclusive. Just for you. You can rest, heal, get away from the noise. And I’ve arranged for Lucas to go with you. He needs to get away from the scandal too. It will be good for both of you. A fresh start, and I'll go there after days for our anniversary."

A fresh start in a coffin, I thought.

"Switzerland?" I asked, feigning hesitation.

"The jet is fueled," he said. "The car will pick you up at noon. Please, Ysabel. Do this for us. Do this for your brother."

He was so eager. He needed us on that plane—or rather, he needed us in the car on the way to the plane. That was where the accident would happen.

I forced a small, tremulous smile onto my face. "Okay, Aiden. You’re right. We need this. I’ll go."

Relief washed over his face. It was the relief of a man who had just successfully ordered a hit. "Thank you, darling. You won't regret it."

At 11:45 AM, the black town car pulled into the driveway.

I watched from the window as the driver loaded my luggage. I knew that driver. I knew he was on Aiden’s payroll. I knew the brake lines on that car had been tampered with.

"Goodbye, Aiden," I said, standing in the foyer.

He kissed my cheek. "Safe travels, my love. Call me when you get to the airport."

"I will," I said.

I walked out the door. I got into the car.

As we pulled out of the gates, I waited exactly two minutes. Then, I leaned forward.

"Stop the car," I ordered.

The driver met my eyes in the rearview mirror. "Mrs. Smith, we have a schedule to keep—"

"I said stop the car," I said, my voice turning to steel. "Or I will open this door and jump out right now, and you can explain to my husband why his wife is splattered on the pavement before the 'accident' was supposed to happen."

The driver paled. He slammed on the brakes.

"Get out. Leave the keys. Walk away. My butler will pay you better than Aiden was paying you, so leave before I’m playing nice. I’m driving myself."

He panicked, but eventually left. I scrambled into the driver's seat. I didn't drive toward the airport. I didn't drive toward the cliffs.

I drove to the City Clerk’s office. Nathan was waiting on the steps. He looked sharp in a navy suit, his expression unreadable. We walked inside. It wasn't romantic. There were no flowers, no music, no guests. Just a bored judge and a witness Nathan had paid.

"Do you, Nathan Blackwood, take Ysabel Jones to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do."

"Do you, Ysabel Jones, take Nathan Blackwood to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do," I said.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife."

As Nathan signed the certificate, solidifying the union, I pulled out my phone. It was 1:00 PM.

"It's time," I said to Nathan.

He nodded. "Do it."

I opened the group chat I had created. It included the editors of TMZ, The New York Times, The LA Times, and every major gossip blog in the country.

I attached the files Alfred had sent me.

The ultrasound of Amber’s baby dated three months ago.

The emails between Aiden and the deepfake studio.

The security footage of Antonio stabbing my hands.

The bank transfers from Aiden to the hitman.

Subject: The Truth About Aiden Smith.

I hit send.

Ten minutes later, my phone rang.

It was Aiden.

I answered, putting it on speaker so Nathan could hear.

"Ysabel?" Aiden’s voice was tight, anxious. "Where are you? The pilot says you haven't arrived yet. You should have been there twenty minutes ago."

He was checking to see if I was dead. He was waiting for the police report about a car going off a cliff.

"Oh, I'm sorry, darling," I said, my voice light and breezy. "I got a little sidetracked."

"Sidetracked?" His voice pitched up. "Ysabel, are you in the car? Are you on the way to the airport? Why is your driver not answering the phone? Where is your brother?"

"Yes," I lied, looking at the wedding ring on my finger—a simple gold band Nathan had just given me. "I'm on my way. But I had to make a stop first."

"A stop? Why?"

"To leave you something," I said. "For our anniversary. I know it’s a few days early, but I couldn't wait."

"What are you talking about?" Panic was bleeding into his voice now. "Ysabel, just get to the airport now. I'll follow there as soon as possib—"

"I left it with the press, Aiden," I said, my voice dropping the act, turning cold and deadly. "And I sent a copy to the Bar Association. And the District Attorney."

"What?" he whispered, confused.

“You’ll love it, so just wait for it. Happy anniversary, Aiden.”

I hung up and threw my phone.