I lifted my head a little. The first snow of the year was falling, quiet and soft, landing on my hair, my shoulders.

The snow came down harder, blinding. I could barely keep my eyes open. Then everything went black. The last thing I heard was someone shouting.

“Mr. Vanderbilt, she passed out!”

David didn’t even look over. “Wake her up. She’s not done kneeling.”

I jolted when ice water was thrown on my face. It stole the air from my lungs. I gasped and coughed until my chest burned.

Inside the ward, Roxanne was clinging to David, crying like the world had ended.

“The babies… they’re gone,” she whispered. “I lost them.”

David held her, his hand gentle in her hair, “It’s okay. We can have more. I won’t let this be for nothing.”

She touched her stomach and broke down harder. “I have nothing left. No title, no child, no place. What’s the point of me even living? Maybe I should just end it.”

“Don’t talk like that,” he said sharply.

She pulled back and looked at him through her tears. “David… can I take her place? Can you make me your wife instead? Just leave Isabella. I’m tired of being called the other woman because of her.”

I heard the pause. Thick. Heavy.

Then the door opened again.

“Sir,” the bodyguard said nervously. She collapsed again. She’s not responding.”

David finally walked out. He looked down at me lying in the snow. My skin was white, my lips blue, my dress soaked and sticking to my body. I must have looked dead already.

“Call a doctor,” he ordered. “Now. Just make sure she doesn’t die.”

That was all.

Even like this, I was still only something to punish, not someone to protect. All those years I spent loving him, believing in him, had turned me weak and foolish.

…

I woke up because something cold hit my arm. A sharp sting. I gasped and tried to move, but my body felt heavy like I was waking up from a bad dream that would not end.

“Mr. Vanderbilt! She’s awake.”

That was when I realized I was not in a hospital.

I was on a yacht.

The floor beneath me swayed gently. The sound of water surrounded us. When my vision cleared, I saw them. All of them. David stood near the railing, face stiff. Roxanne was wrapped in layers, leaning against him like she could collapse any second. My parents were there too, standing close, their faces tight with anger.

And then I saw my son.

Ryle was kneeling beside me.

His small hands were shaking as he clung to my sleeve. His eyes were red and swollen from crying. He kept bowing his head again and again.

“I’m sorry,” he kept saying in a tiny voice. “I’ll be good. I won’t be bad anymore. Please don’t hurt my mom. Please.”

My heart cracked open.

I tried to sit up, but before I could say his name, my mother stepped forward and slapped me hard across the face. My head snapped to the side. I tasted blood.

“You evil thing,” she screamed. “You killed your sister’s babies!”

My father followed. His fist came down on my shoulder, then my back. I curled up instinctively, arms over my head, hearing nothing but my own breath and Ryle crying.

“How could you do this to Roxanne?!” my mother shouted again. “You were always jealous! Always cruel.”

Roxanne sobbed loudly, clinging to David. “Please stop,” she cried, shaking. “I don’t want her punished like this. I just wanted peace. I just wanted my babies back.” She cried so hard she could barely stand.

David raised his hand. “Enough.”

They finally stepped back.

Someone shoved a small urn into my trembling hands. It was cold. Too light.

“Do it,” David said. “Scatter the ashes. Apologize properly.”

The wind was strong as I was dragged to the edge. My hands shook so badly I almost dropped it right away. I could barely stand. My legs felt like they might give out.

Roxanne stepped closer, crying softly. “Isabella, please. Let my babies rest.”

The urn slipped from my hands.

Silence.

Then screaming.

“You useless monster!” my mother shrieked.

Before I could react, my father grabbed Ryle.

“Go get it!” he yelled.

He threw my son over the railing. I screamed his name. My body moved before my mind could catch up. I ran. I did not think. I did not breathe. I jumped.

The water was freezing. It swallowed me whole.

I saw Ryle for a second. His small body was sinking. His arms flailed.

"Mom!"

"Ryle!"

I kicked. I reached. My lungs burned. My arms felt weak. The waves pulled us apart.

“Send a boat!” David ordered. His voice cut clean through the wind. “Get both of them out.”

I was barely holding Ryle. My arms felt like they were tearing. Every wave dragged us down again. I kicked because I had to. Because if I stopped, he would sink.

Another voice yelled back, “Sir, Roxanne collapsed!”

I heard her scream my name. Weak. Fragile. Perfect.

David swore. Footsteps rushed. Someone shouted that the helicopter was ready, blades already roaring above us.

“Take her to the hospital now,” he said, fast and sharp. “She can’t lose consciousness out here.”

I wanted to laugh. I wanted to scream.

Before he left, he turned back to the sea.

“Keep searching,” he told his men. “They’re not dead. Isabella swims well. The kid too. They’re probably trying to run. Trying to get away from me.”

Run? Me?

I could barely breathe.

Water burned my throat. My arms shook so hard I thought they would snap. Ryle coughed, small hands clawing at my neck.

“It’s okay,” I tried to say, but it came out as bubbles. “Mom’s here.”

The waves did not care.

Above us, the helicopter lifted, carrying Roxanne away like she was made of glass. Below, the sea pulled us down like we were nothing.

DAVID'S POV

Roxanne was asleep when I got her back to the hospital.

She looked small on that big bed. Pale. Fragile. Like she might shatter if the lights were too bright. I sat beside her and held her hand, careful, gentle. Her skin was warm. Mine felt cold.

Even asleep, she was crying.

“David…” she murmured, barely audible. “Don’t leave me. I’m scared.”

My chest tightened. I leaned closer, lowering my voice. “I’m here. Rest. You’re safe.”

But my mind would not shut up.

The sea kept crashing in my head. Over and over. Isabella’s face right before she jumped.

I eased my hand out of Roxanne’s grip and stepped into the hallway. The moment the door closed, I called my assistant.

“Any news?” I asked.

There was a pause. Too long.

“Sir… we’re still searching. The waves are rough. It was dark. We added more boats, but—”

“Don’t stop,” I snapped. “She didn’t drown.”

I pressed my fingers to my forehead. “Isabella can swim. She’s strong. She’s done this kind of thing before.”

And Ryle.

My jaw clenched.

“She didn’t jump to die,” I said, more to myself than him. “She jumped because Ryle was in the water. She was saving him. She always does that.”

The image burned behind my eyes. My father in law was shoving Ryle forward. The splash. Isabella not even hesitating before jumping in after him.

“She wouldn’t leave the boy,” I said. “She’s probably keeping him afloat somewhere. Looking for a way out.”

I hung up and stood there longer than I meant to. Snow was piling up outside the window. White. Silent. Cold.

...

The next morning, I made sure Roxanne was watched closely and drove home alone.

The house felt wrong the second I stepped inside.

Too quiet.

“Belle?” I called.

Nothing.

“Ryle?” My voice echoed back at me.

I walked faster. The living room looked normal at first. Furniture untouched. Her coat still hanging where she always left it. Shoes lined up neatly by the door.

Then I stopped.

The wall.

Empty.

Every photo was gone. Wedding photos. Family pictures. The ones with Ryle sitting between us, grinning with his missing teeth. The frames were still there. Clean. Bare.

My chest tightened hard.

I grabbed the servant. “Where are the photos?”

They hesitated. “A few days ago, sir. After Madam came back… she ordered all pictures with you and the young master burned. She watched them herself. She said none were to be kept.”

My ears rang.

Burned?

She used to dust those frames every morning even before she got kidnapped. Scold anyone who touched them. She said they were proof we existed.

I walked into the bedroom. The closet was full. Her clothes still there. Dresses. Coats. Even the white ones she loved.

She took nothing.

Only erased us.

My phone rang.

Roxanne.

Her voice was weak, trembling. “David… where are you? I woke up and you weren’t here. I dreamed about the babies. I’m scared.”

I looked around the empty house again. At the photos that used to prove I had a family.

“I’m on my way,” I said automatically.

But my grip on the phone tightened.

Isabella was gone. Ryle was gone. And for the first time, I did not know if they would ever come back.

Still, one thought stayed sharp in my mind.

I would find them.

No matter where they ran.

…

Roxanne crashed into my chest the moment I stepped back into the hospital room.

She was shaking hard, crying like the world had ended. Her fists clutched my coat, knuckles white. I wrapped my arms around her and held her steady, one hand rubbing her back, slow and firm. That was what I did. I kept things from falling apart.

But my head was somewhere else.

She looked up at me, eyes red, lashes wet. “David… you’re distracted. Are you thinking about them?”

I felt her body tense. “You still haven’t found my sister and Ryle, have you? Are they… alive?”

My jaw locked. I hated questions I could not answer.

“No updates yet,” I said. “My people are still searching.”

Her face folded instantly. Tears spilled faster. “This is my fault,” she whispered. “If I wasn’t there, Isabella wouldn’t have jumped. She wouldn’t have done something so extreme.”

I tightened my hold on her. “Stop blaming yourself,” I said low. “We already lost the twins. That’s enough pain for one body to carry.”

Then I added, slower, firmer, “She jumped because Ryle was in the water. She was saving our son. That’s all.”

Roxanne nodded against my chest, quiet now. I felt the slightest shift in her breathing, like something passing behind her eyes. I ignored it.

Inside, I was already doing the math.

Isabella was not weak. She was terrifyingly strong. She used to slice through water like it belonged to her. She nearly made the national swim team back then. And Ryle? He trained young. Too young. But he was fast, disciplined.

“They didn’t drown,” I said more to myself than her. “They swam away. She doesn’t want to face me yet. That’s why there’s no call.”

Isabella had always been intense about family. About me. About our son. She loved too hard. That kind of woman did not vanish easily.

I lifted Roxanne’s chin gently. “Rest,” I told her. “You’ve been through hell.”

....

For the next two days, I stayed by her side. Made sure she ate. Made sure the room stayed warm. Made sure no reporters got close. I handled everything.

But at night, when the lights dimmed and the hallways went quiet, my mind turned on me.

I kept seeing Isabella’s face on the yacht. Not angry. Not desperate.

Resolved.

I told myself she would come back soon. She always did. She was dramatic sometimes. Emotional. She wanted me to chase her, panic a little.

Fine. It worked.

By the third morning, I was sitting outside the operating wing, elbows on my knees, fingers tapping without rhythm. I did not even notice I was doing it until someone stopped in front of me.

A man in a suit. Calm. Professional. Dangerous in a quiet way.

“Mr. Vanderbilt,” he said. “I’m Mrs Vanderbilt’s lawyer.”

I looked up slowly.

He handed me a folder. “These are the divorce papers she prepared. Everything is ready. She just needs your signature.”

My eyes dropped to the folder.

Divorce?