I didn’t stay in the hospital. I couldn't. The sterile white walls felt like a cage, and the silence was too loud. I needed to see him. I needed to look George in the eye and see if the monster I heard in that hospital room was real.

I pulled my coat tighter around my bruised body, wincing as the fabric brushed against my stitches. The night air was biting, but it was nothing compared to the cold spreading in my chest.

When the taxi pulled up to the estate, my breath hitched.

Lights.

The entire house was ablaze with them. Cars lined the driveway—expensive, sleek cars that belonged to our "friends." Music drifted through the open windows, a lively jazz tune that clashed violently with the grief screaming inside me.

A party?

My baby was dead. I almost died weeks ago. And he was throwing a party?

I pushed open the heavy oak doors.

Laughter hit me like a physical blow. The foyer was filled with people holding champagne flutes, their faces flushed with excitement.

"Happy Birthday, George!" someone shouted from the living room.

His birthday. Of course.

I stepped further into the light, my hospital bracelet still on my wrist, my face pale and devoid of makeup.

The chatter died instantly.

One by one, heads turned. The music seemed to screech to a halt.

George was standing by the fireplace, a glass of scotch in one hand, his other arm draped possessively around Donna’s waist. She was wearing my favorite red dress.

When he saw me, the color drained from his face. His glass slipped from his fingers and shattered on the marble hearth.

"Eliza?" he choked out.

The silence was deafening.

"Surprised?" I asked, my voice hoarse but steady. I walked into the room, the crowd parting for me like I was a ghost.

"Eliza!" Donna gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in a performance worthy of an Oscar. "Oh my god! You’re… you’re here!"

"What are you doing here?" George hissed, stepping away from Donna, his eyes darting around the room at the confused guests.

"It’s my home, George," I said, stopping a few feet from him. "Can I not be at my own husband's birthday party?"

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

"My god, Eliza, you look terrible," Mrs. Vansant whispered, clutching her pearls. "We heard… we heard there was an accident."

"Is the baby okay?" someone else asked.

The question hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

George’s jaw tightened. He looked at me with a warning in his eyes—a silent command to shut up and play the part.

"They told us you were in critical condition," George said loudly, forcing a strained smile. "That you might not make it. We were… we were just preparing for the worst."

"I’m very much alive," I said, locking eyes with him. "Miraculously."

Donna rushed forward, grabbing my hands. Her skin was warm, her perfume cloying. "Oh, thank god! We were so worried, Eliza! I’ve been crying all evening!"

I looked down at her hands, then back at her face. "You recovered quickly enough to put on my dress, Donna."

She froze, her smile faltering. "I… I didn’t have anything to wear… I rushed over when I heard…"

"Eliza," George cut in, his voice sharp. "You’re clearly in shock. You shouldn't be here. You need rest."

He grabbed my arm, his grip bruising, and steered me toward the stairs. "Excuse us, everyone. My wife needs to lie down."

He dragged me up the stairs and into the master bedroom, slamming the door behind us. The moment the latch clicked, his mask fell.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he snarled, turning on me. "You were supposed to be in the hospital!"

"And let me die?" I shot back.

He paused, just for a second, his eyes narrowing. "Die? Don't be dramatic. The doctors were taking care of you."

"Is that what you call it?" I laughed, a broken, hollow sound. "I heard you, George. I heard you tell them to finish me off."

"You were hallucinating from the anesthesia," he dismissed, waving his hand. "You’re hysterical. Look at you, barging in here, ruining my birthday, embarrassing me in front of the board!"

"Embarrassing you?" I screamed. "Our baby is dead, George! Our child!"

"And whose fault is that?" he shouted, stepping into my space.

I recoiled. "What?"

"If you hadn't been so clumsy, if you hadn't been standing so close to the edge, none of this would have happened!" He pointed a finger in my face. "Do you know what you've done? Grandfather is furious! That trust fund was contingent on an heir! Now I have to explain to him why his great-grandchild is dead because his mother couldn't keep her balance!"

I stared at him, my blood turning to ice.

"Is that all you care about?" I whispered. "The money?"

"It's not just money, Eliza! It's my legacy! It's the company!" He ran a hand through his hair, pacing the room. "I married you for this. I put up with you for this. And you failed. You had one job."

"One job," I repeated.

"Yes! To give me an heir!" He stopped and glared at me with pure contempt. "And now look at you. Broken. Useless. What good are you to me now?"

The pain in my chest was unbearable, but strangely, it cleared my head. The tears stopped. The shaking stopped.

I looked at the man I had loved for three years. The man I had defended to my family, to my friends. The man I had almost died for.

And I felt… nothing.

I smiled. It was a cold, sharp thing.

"You're right, George," I said softly.

He blinked, confused by my sudden calm. "What?"

"I'm barren. We lost the child. I'm useless to you now."

I pulled off my wedding ring. It felt heavy in my hand, a shackle I hadn't realized I was wearing.

"So divorce me," I said, dropping the ring onto the nightstand. "Right now."

The ring hit the nightstand with a dull clink, spinning before settling into silence.

I waited for him to scream "Get out." I waited for him to throw my clothes onto the lawn. I was ready for it. I wanted it.

Instead, George laughed.

It was a low, dark sound that scraped against my nerves. He stepped closer, kicking the ring off the table. It skittered across the floor, lost in the shadows.

"Divorce?" he repeated, his voice dangerously soft. "You think I would let you go that easily?"

I frowned, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Why not? You just said I’m useless. I can’t give you an heir. I’m damaged goods. Why would you want to keep me?"

"So you can run to him?" George sneered, his face twisting into a mask of ugly jealousy.

I blinked, the room spinning slightly. "Him? Who are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb, Eliza!" he roared, the smell of scotch on his breath making me gag. "Do you think I wouldn't find out? Do you think I’m that stupid?"

"I don't know what—"

"I know you cheated on me!"

The accusation hung in the air like a guillotine blade.

"Cheated?" I whispered, my voice trembling. "I never… I have never looked at another man since the day I met you."

"Liar!"

He marched to the dresser and snatched up a thick envelope. He threw it at me. It struck my chest, the corners sharp, before spilling its contents onto the bed.

Photographs. Grainy, blurry photos of me. Me having coffee. Me walking out of a building. And in every single one of them, a man was nearby. A tall, indistinct figure with his back turned or his face obscured by shadows.

I stared at the images, my mind racing.

"Who is he?" George demanded, looming over me. "Tell me his name!"

I picked up a photo, my hands shaking. "I… I don't know."

"Don't lie to me!"

"I'm not lying!" I cried, looking closer at the stranger in the picture. "I’ve never seen this man in my life, George! He’s just… he’s just some random person walking by! I don't know who he is!"

"You expect me to believe that?" George scoffed. "You expect me to believe you don't know the man you were sleeping with? The man who fathered that bastard?"

"The baby?" My breath hitched. "Do you really expect me to believe that child wasn't yours?"

"Of course it wasn't mine!" George yelled. "If it weren't for Donna, I would be raising another man's mistake right now!"

"Donna?"

The name was a slap in the face.

"She saw the texts, Eliza. She saw the way you sneaked around. She hired the investigator because she couldn't stand seeing her sister make a fool of me."

"She’s lying!" I shouted, clutching the sheets. "There are no texts! There is no man! George, she’s manipulating you! She wants you for herself!"

"Shut up!"

He grabbed my face, his fingers digging into my jaw.

"You will not leave me," he hissed, his eyes dark voids. "You don't get to walk away to some secret lover. You don't get the easy way out. You’re going to stay right here in this house, and you’re going to suffer. You’re going to regret every single moment you betrayed me."

"George, please—"

"George!"

The bedroom door creaked open. Donna stood there, her hands clasped to her chest, her eyes wide with fake concern.

"George, stop!" she cried, rushing into the room. "You’re hurting her! She’s still recovering!"

She grabbed his arm, pulling him back slightly, but her eyes… her eyes were locked on mine, gleaming with triumph.

"Eliza, are you okay?" she cooed, reaching out to touch my shoulder. "I told George not to be so harsh… I just wanted the truth to come out, I didn't want—"

"Don't touch me!"

The rage inside me, hot and molten, finally erupted.

I didn't think. I didn't plan.

I shoved her.

I put all my weight, all my grief, all my hatred into my hands and pushed her hard.

"Ah!" Donna shrieked.

She stumbled back, her heels catching on the rug. She flailed dramatically, crashing into the vanity table. Perfume bottles and jewelry trays clattered to the floor with a deafening crash.

"Eliza!" George roared.

He rushed to Donna, helping her up as if she were made of glass.

"She attacked me!" Donna sobbed, burying her face in George’s shirt. "I was just trying to help! I was just trying to save your marriage!"

George looked up at me, his face contorted with pure fury.

"You are insane," he spat.

"She’s the insane one!" I yelled, pointing a shaking finger at my sister. "She faked those photos! She hired someone to stand near me! She’s been poisoning you against me for years!"

"Enough!" George bellowed.

He stood up, shielding Donna behind him.

"You want to act like an animal? Fine. I’ll treat you like one."

He walked to the door and ripped the key from the lock.

"You’re not leaving this room," he said coldly. "Not until I say so."

"George, no!"

He slammed the door in my face.

Click.

The lock turned.

I threw myself against the wood, pounding on it with my fists.

"Let me out! George! Open the door!"

Silence.

Then, from the other side, I heard Donna’s voice, low and sweet.

"Don't worry, darling. I'll take care of you. Let her rot in there."

Footsteps faded down the hall.

I slid down the door, burying my face in my hands. I was trapped. My baby was dead. My husband was a monster. And my sister was the devil. They had stripped me of everything—my child, my dignity, my freedom.

But as the tears fell, something else began to rise in the darkness of my heart.

If they wanted a villain, I would give them one.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. My stomach churned, but the thought of food made me nauseous.

The lock clicked again.

I didn't move from my spot on the floor. I watched as the door opened and Donna slipped inside, carrying a tray with a bowl of soup and a glass of water.

"Eliza?" she whispered, her voice dripping with that sickening, sugary concern. "You must be hungry. I brought you something."

"Get out," I rasped, not looking at her.

"Please, Eliza," she sighed, setting the tray on the nightstand. She sat on the edge of the bed, smoothing her skirt—my skirt. "I just want us to be happy. I want to help you accept the reality of the situation."

"The reality?" I looked up, my eyes burning. "The reality is that you’re sleeping with my husband."

"We’re in love," she said simply, as if discussing the weather. "George and I… we connect. He needs someone who understands him. Someone who can give him what he needs."

"You mean a son?" I spat. "You mean the heir I couldn't give him because he almost killed me?"

"Shh," she soothed, reaching out. "Don't be like that. You should just be honest with yourself. You were never right for him. You were always too… fragile."

"I was his wife!"

"And you cheated on him," she said, her eyes wide and innocent.

"You know that's a lie! You faked those photos! You hired someone!"

"Does it matter?" Donna shrugged, the mask finally slipping. A slow, cruel smirk spread across her lips. "He believes me. That’s all that counts."

"You whore," I whispered, the venom in my voice surprising even me.

Donna’s smirk widened. She stood up and walked over to me, looking down like I was a stain on the carpet.

"Call me whatever you want, Eliza. But the truth is, he wants me now. You’re barren. You’re empty. A broken vessel with nothing to offer. Why would he keep a car that can’t run when he has a brand new model right here?"

She placed a hand on her stomach, a gesture that made my blood boil.

I forced myself to breathe. In and out. I wouldn't let her see me break. I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of my tears.

I stood up, wincing as my stitches pulled, and faced her.

"You might be right," I said, my voice deadly calm. "He might want you. He might sleep with you. But look at where we are, Donna."

"What?" she frowned.

"He locked me in here because he won't let me go," I said, stepping closer until I was inches from her face. "He said it himself. He won't divorce me. Which means, as long as I breathe, I am Mrs. George Caldwell. I am the wife."

I poked her chest hard.

"And you? You’re just the mistress. You’re the dirty little secret he keeps on the side. You’re the placeholder until he gets bored. And trust me, Donna, he always gets bored."

Donna’s face flushed red. Her composure cracked.

"You think a piece of paper makes you special?" she hissed. "He hates you!"

"He hates that he can't control me," I shot back. "And he hates that he still needs me for something. Otherwise, I'd be dead already."

Donna glared at me, her hands balling into fists. Then, she spun around and marched to the door.

"Enjoy your soup, Mrs. Caldwell," she sneered. "I'm going back to bed. With your husband."

She slammed the door. The key turned in the lock.

The night dragged on, a sleepless blur of shadows and pain. But when the sun finally broke through the heavy curtains, the lock turned again.

George walked in.

"Good morning, Eliza," he said, placing a fresh cup of coffee on the bedside table as if he hadn't held me prisoner for the last twelve hours.

I sat up, pulling the duvet to my chin. "George?"

"I trust you've calmed down," he said, adjusting his cufflinks. "You were quite hysterical yesterday. It was… concerning."

"I… I was upset," I said carefully, testing the waters.

"Understandable. Losing the baby… it’s hard on a woman’s mind," he said dismissively. He checked his watch. "Look, Grandfather’s 80th birthday dinner is tomorrow night. It’s a milestone. We need to make an appearance, and we need to bring a gift."

He looked at me, his eyes hard.

"I’m going into the city to pick something out at the auction house. You’re coming with me."

"I am?"

"Yes. We need to present a united front. No more rumors." He paused, his expression darkening. "Donna is coming too."

My fingers clenched under the sheets. "Donna?"

"She has an eye for these things. And frankly, Eliza, after the way you treated her last night, you owe her an apology."

I stared at him. "You want me to apologize to the woman who is sleeping with you?"

"I want you to apologize to my sister-in-law for physically assaulting her!" George snapped, his mask slipping for a fraction of a second. "If you can't do that, if you can't be civil, then maybe you really do belong in a psych ward."

He waited, challenging me. He expected me to fight. He expected the tears, the screaming, the "it's not fair."

But the Eliza who fought for fairness died in that hospital bed.

I took a deep breath. I forced the corners of my mouth up. It felt unnatural, like stretching plastic, but I held it.

"You’re right, George," I said softy.

He blinked, taken aback. "I am?"

"Yes. I was… out of my mind with grief. I shouldn't have pushed her. She’s family." I looked down, feigning shame. "I’d love to come. I want to make it right."

George studied me for a long moment, searching for the crack in my armor. When he didn't find one, he smiled—a smug, victorious smile.

"Good girl," he said, patting my head like a dog. "I knew you’d see reason."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out my phone.

"Get dressed. We leave in an hour. And Eliza? Don't make me regret giving this back."

He tossed the phone onto the bed and walked out, leaving the door unlocked.

I waited until his footsteps faded before I grabbed the phone. My hands were trembling, not with fear, but with adrenaline.

I turned it on. Dozens of missed calls from my mother, from friends I no longer trusted. I ignored them all.

There was only one message that mattered.

It was from a number saved simply as Nico.

I opened the text.

I’ll see you soon, future wife. Be ready for me.