Tonight was meant to be special. My son, Landon Hoover, would celebrate his fifth birthday.

He had been waiting eagerly for his father, Dylan Hoover, who had promised to be there with a special gift. Dylan had never been late before, and Landon believed in his father’s promises.

But as the hours ticked by, the excitement in my son’s eyes faded into disappointment. The candles burned down and the cake untouched. Dylan never showed.

The next morning, I learned the truth. Our butler, with a strained voice, revealed that Dylan had chosen to accompany my sister, Karyn Saunders, to her friend’s wedding celebration instead.

As if destiny wanted me to face more pain and sorrow, that day, Landon ran away from school, making him involved in a car accident and died.

At his funeral, I stood alone, Dylan was nowhere to be found.

A few days later, Dylan returned to our home in the Qualifin Hills. Without a word, I shoved our wedding ring into his chest.

“We are done,” I said, my voice cold and steely.

I turned my back on him, on the life I had once cherished, and walked out the door. But as I left everything behind, the nightmare was far from over.

That night, without warning, flames were everywhere in my boutique.

Karyn had set the fire and burned me to death. She was jealous of me, the sister she had stolen everything from, and yet it was not enough.

But the next thing I knew, I was back at the Manor. The day I left it all behind: the ring, the betrayal, and the heartbreak.

A cold resolve hardened in my chest. I muttered to myself, "This time, I will take my revenge."

***

When I opened my eyes, the world outside was still blurry. I blinked a few times before realizing I was in the backseat of a taxi. The driver’s voice cut through the haze of sleep.

“Miss, we have arrived at your destination,” he said gently, glancing at me through the rearview mirror.

I nodded groggily and stepped out, taking my suitcase with me.

As I stood in front of my boutique, a sense of déjà vu washed over me. The last memory I had was being trapped inside my boutique, engulfed in flames, betrayed by my own sister, Karyn.

But at that time, everything was still intact in front of me, untouched by the fire.

“Was it all a nightmare? It felt so real,” I could not help whisper to myself.

After all, I was still in a mourning state for the loss of my only child, Landon.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed, breaking the eerie silence.

I glanced at the screen, a message from my colleagues. It read, [I’m so sorry for your loss, Ghislaine. But Mr. Hoover threatened to terminate our contract if I let you stay over. I hope you are okay.]

Dylan, the most influential man in Frelonia, could do everything he wanted there. So, since I had left our home, he had made sure no one would help me.

As a result, my colleagues, once supportive, had turned their backs on me out of fear of losing their livelihoods.

More messages trickled in, each one apologizing for not being able to offer me shelter. I was on my own.

I checked the time on my mobile, it was 5pm, while the fire in my dream had happened at midnight.

So, I shuddered at the thought, “Real or not, I need to be ready.”

Since Frelonia was no longer my home, I should move away to the next city, starting over where Dylan and Karyn could not find me.

But if the dream was real, if Karyn truly wanted me dead, she would not stop until I died. That was why running was not the first option I could choose at that moment.

I had to face her. Even though I really want to see my child again, I have to try to live to find out the truth behind my son’s accident.

The tragedy happened so fast, not even a trace of the vehicle and the person who hit him was found.

Maybe yesterday I was still grieving, but after everything that happened, I had to bring the perpetrator to justice so that my child could rest in peace.

With a deep breath, I made my way inside the boutique. If I was going to survive tonight, I needed to prepare.

I went upstairs and gathered fabric, enough to fashion an escape rope from the second floor, just in case.

As I worked, I felt a pang in my chest as my eyes caught sight of a framed photo on my office desk, me, Dylan, and Landon smiling happily.

I remembered that night so clearly, on our seventh anniversary dinner, we celebrated it together with Landon.

“Dad, I will turn 5 next month. Can you come?” Landon asked in his sweet voice, hoping that his father would agree to his request.

Dylan, in a promising tone, answered, “Of course, everything for you, sweetheart. I will make a grand birthday celebration and give you many special gifts. Just wait for it.”

I, on the side, just smiled, and did not want to interrupt the conversation.

“Hooray! Pinky promise?” Landon said while raising his little finger.

“Pinky promise,” Dylan answered, intertwining his fingers with Landon's, then he kissed our son's forehead lovingly.

Then, Landon looked at me and said, “Mom, you must promise me, too.”

I nodded before responding, “Sure, I promise.”

At the time, I was so blissfully unaware of the truth that lay beneath his charming exterior. After all, we had been married for seven years. We also had known each other since college.

I never imagined my sister, Karyn, could harbor feelings for Dylan and kill me in the end.

The truth was, I had seen them together, too many times to ignore. But Dylan always brushed it off, claiming he was just helping her with her modeling career.

I did not care back then. After all, the Hoover family was Karyn’s agency's biggest sponsor.

But on the night Dylan was supposed to come to Landon’s birthday, everything became clear. Neither of us were more important than Karyn in his life.

In the nightmare, Karyn also had confirmed everything.

“You want to know why Dylan is so eager to marry you?” she sneered; her eyes gleaming with malice as two of her bodyguards restrained me.

Karyn’s fingers pinched my chin as she leaned closer to explain, “It is because you are useful to the Hoover family. Without you, their textile company would not be as powerful as it is. You were never more than a tool to them, my dear sister.”

Her words had struck me like a lightning bolt, but I refused to believe it completely. I could not. There had to be a misunderstanding between me and Dylan.

But Karyn had proven everything. She had played me Dylan’s voice recording, the final blow to my heart.

“If you love me, why are you marrying my sister?” Karyn had cooed in her syrupy tone, the one that made men fall at her feet.

Dylan's voice, sweet and sickeningly soft, something I had never heard before, "Honey, it is just business.

"When I met her in our senior year, I knew right away her design talent would be very useful. I could not let it go to waste. Sure enough, after helping her open the boutique, she gave me everything. Even the profits I get today are 70% because of her talent."

“But you guys even had a kid,” Karyn pouted again.

Dylan just laughed lightly while explaining, “I have to give an heir to the Hoover family, honey. You do not have to worry about that, okay?”

At that moment, all the illusions I had held about Dylan shattered.

He did not even care about Landon at all. That was why when Landon died, there was no sadness on his face at all.

Had Landon and I been nothing but tools for his business?

Tears streamed down my face. The world around me blurred as Karyn’s smirk twisted into focus.

It was then that I realized I had fallen to her plan. Soon, a dizzy feeling overtook me. Karyn had drugged me.

When I finally woke up, I was tied to a chair in my own boutique, flames licking the walls around me. No way out. I burned alive.

As I remembered that scene, I hurried around the boutique, grabbing scissors and sharp objects, hiding them strategically in places Karyn would not notice.

I muttered to myself, “I hope this works,” as I placed a pair of scissors under a stack of fabrics near where I would be tied up.

My mind suddenly thought of the question I never knew the answer to, “Will Dylan marry Karyn for real after she killed me?”

Thinking of that, my blood boiled as I recalled what had happened just that morning.

Dylan had finally returned home after days with Karyn in tow, clearly drunk from yet another night of partying. The smell of alcohol clung to her, and her laughter was sloppy and careless.

As soon as Dylan saw me, he said nonchalantly. “Oh, Ghislaine, good to see you are downstairs. Get Karyn some water.”

For the first time, I refused. “Why should I do it?”

He blinked, as if stunned by my defiance. “It is your sister. How could you ignore her?” he asked in confusion.

"Bring her to the guest room she usually sleeps in. Our room is fine too," I sneered, the bitterness in my voice unmistakable.

Karyn had always used her fear of being alone as an excuse to crash at our house, even though I had given her my old college apartment. At first, I felt responsible, but then I saw it as an alibi, nothing more.

Dylan sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Fine, I will take her to our bedroom later,” he said, laying her down on the sofa for that time, then going to get her a glass of water.

Watching them, I felt sick. The casual ease with which they carried out their charade, right in front of me. My heart hardened.

I went upstairs, grabbed a suitcase, and began packing my things. There was no love left between us, nothing worth fighting for. It was time to leave.

When I came back down, suitcase in hand, I saw Karyn draped across Dylan’s shoulder, her head resting on him like a spoiled child.

He stroked her hair, whispering softly, “You will feel better after you drink some water.”

“I just want to sleep,” she purred, her fingers slowly unbuttoning his shirt. Then, with a sly smile, she asked, “Will you sleep with me?”

I froze. I had not expected her to go that far.

But Dylan did not push her away. He did not even flinch. It was clear that it was not the first time.

Rage surged through me, hot and unrelenting. Without a word, I walked straight toward Dylan, took off our wedding ring, and threw it at him.

“We are done,” I said coldly, my voice like ice.

Before I could walk out the door, Karyn interrupted, her voice dripping with false innocence, “Ghislaine must be angry because you did not come to Landon’s birthday, Dylan. After all, you had to accompany me to my friend’s wedding.”

Her voice had that irresistible charm, the kind that made men weak.

Dylan, always quick to soothe her, responded in his usual calm tone, “Do not worry, Karyn. I know my priorities. We can throw another birthday party later, but a wedding? That’s a once-in-a-lifetime event.”

Another birthday party? My mind raced with fury. Landon would never have another birthday; his life stopped at five years old.

Karyn, completely unfazed, added, “But you promised to come, Dylan. Now Landon must dislike me even more. I’m afraid he will bite me again like before.” She spoke with no remorse, no recognition of the pain she had caused.

She was as if toying with that, like Landon’s life was just a game.

The last time Landon bit her was when he was two. A harmless act by a child who did not know better. But even then, I was certain he would not have done it without reason.

Before Dylan could say another word, I stormed forward, my hand flying across Karyn’s face.

The slap echoed through the room, a release of all the rage I had suppressed for years. It was the first time I’d ever raised a hand to her too.

Since then, I was always trying to keep the peace, always bending under the weight of family expectations. Karyn was the favorite after all.

But her mocking was too far.

What I did not expect, Dylan immediately pulled Karyn behind him, his eyes narrowing as he glared at me. “What the hell are you doing? She’s your sister!” he yelled.

Ignoring his anger, I fixed my gaze on Karyn. I said, my voice low and seething, “Watch your tongue. It does not matter that we share blood. You have no right to speak about my son like that.”

Karyn, recovering quickly, stepped forward and slapped me twice, her sharp nails raking across my skin. Her slap felt familiar, the same way our mother used to hit me whenever Karyn cried as a child.

Growing up, I was always the one who had to study harder, achieve more. Meanwhile Karyn, the beauty, was the star of the family.

While I was working for scholarships, she was being signed to modeling agencies. Our mother adored her, constantly praising her looks while reminding me I should have to use my brain if I wanted any chance at success.

I remember one night, our mother sneered at me, “If it were not for your brains, Ghislaine, you would not be anything. Try harder than Karyn, or you will always be in her shadow.”

It was not until I met Dylan and brought him into the family that things changed. Suddenly, I was useful.

The day I introduced him, my parents started treating me equally. They needed me because of him, but Karyn never stopped being the favorite.

I never imagined that the sister who always got what she wanted would go after the one thing that was mine. Karyn had always been jealous, even when she had her own boyfriend.

She used to tease Dylan, hanging onto him, pressing herself against him like a spoiled child, asking for favors.

“If the Hoover family sponsors me, my career will skyrocket,” she would say, batting her lashes. “After you marry Ghislaine, you will sponsor me, won’t you?”

She would cling to his arm, her body close, her voice sweet. “I will appreciate it so much, Dylan. Maybe I can even help promote the Hoover business.”

Dylan, with his stupid blush, would stammer, “Sure, Karyn.”

The memory only fueled my anger.

Ignoring the stinging pain on my face, I grabbed Karyn’s hair and yanked her down to my level.

“How dare you,” I spat, pulling harder.

Karyn shrieked and yanked at my hair in return, her nails digging into my scalp. “How dare you hurt me!” she screamed.

“You started it,” I hissed back.

Dylan finally stepped between us, prying my fingers from her hair. “Stop it! Ghislaine, I know you have always been jealous of Karyn, but this is not the way.”

His words hit me like a punch. Jealous? Of her?

I laughed bitterly; my voice filled with venom. “Jealous? Is that what you think? Maybe we should end this right now. What’s left, anyway?”

Dylan sneered, “You want a divorce? Fine. Go ahead. It’s you who needs me, after all. Leave.”

“That’s exactly what I was doing.” I turned to grab my suitcases; my heart numb.

But as I reached for the one filled with Landon’s belongings, Dylan grabbed it from my hand.

“This one stays. Landon is mine,” he said coldly.

Dylan's voice was sharp and dismissive when he ordered the butler, "Go pick up Landon from school, and do not let him see Ghislaine again."

The butler hesitated, a look of confusion clouding his face. "Sir, your son, Landon Hoover… he passed away the day after his 5th birthday,"