The next morning, the butler quietly approached and said, “Miss, it’s time.”

Samira had gone numb from sitting all night. It took her a few seconds to even register his words. When she finally tried to stand, her legs buckled underneath her. She would’ve hit the floor if the butler hadn’t caught her just in time.

It took almost ten minutes before she could manage to stand properly, leaning against the butler for support as they made their way out. Even walking to the front door felt like a marathon.

When they finally got there, the butler asked gently, “Should I have a car ready for you?”

Samira didn’t hesitate. “Yes, thank you.” Then she added, almost as an afterthought, “You don’t need to call me ‘Miss’ anymore.”

She didn’t plan on coming back. Not ever.

The butler froze, a little caught off guard by that. Before he could say anything, a familiar voice spoke up from behind them. “No need to call a car. I’ll take her.”

Jean. Samira turned, surprised to see him. She hadn’t really believed he would show. But there he was, walking up without a word and lifting her into his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world. He carried her to the car and gently settled her into the passenger seat.

She didn’t speak the entire ride.

Her eyes stayed fixed on the road ahead, expression calm, almost distant. But inside, her mind was busy, already thinking about what she needed to do next, what came after this chapter of her life.

Jean kept glancing at her, uneasy. It wasn’t like her to be this quiet. Usually, she would have said something by now, joked, chatted, anything. But now, nothing. Just silence.

He thought maybe she just needed time. But by the time they were nearly home, she still hadn’t said a word and it was starting to eat at him.

Finally, he caved. “Samira… are you thirsty? There’s water in the glovebox.”

She gave a soft “Mm,” but didn’t move or respond beyond that.

Jean wanted to say more, but just then, they pulled up to the house. Before he could even react, Samira had already opened the door and slowly started to make her way inside, limping slightly.

Jean rushed out, caught up to her and without asking, lifted her again. She didn’t fight him, just let him carry her in and lower her onto the couch.

Still, she said nothing. And Jean couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted for good.

Jean crouched down and gently lifted the hem of her pants. The motion tugged at the wound and Samira winced, sucking in a sharp breath.

“Ah, sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured, visibly flustered. “I’ll be more careful.”

As the scrape came into full view, his expression tightened. Something about seeing it; red, raw, clearly painful, hit him harder than he expected. He didn’t say anything though. Just pulled out the medicine and got to work.

Samira looked down at him in silence. For a moment, her mind drifted. She remembered being little, tripping in the yard, knees all scraped up. Jean had helped her then too, crouched just like this, dabbing ointment and blowing softly to ease the sting.

The sound of a ringtone pulled her out of the memory. Jean glanced at the phone, then stiffened. He gripped it like he was bracing for something. “Samira… I need to take this call, okay?”

In his rush, the cotton swab pressed a little too hard. Samira gasped again, her fingers tightening around the cushion beside her. She lifted her eyes and caught a glimpse of the screen. Luna.

Of course it was.

She didn’t say anything. Just slowly stood up and started making her way to the stairs. Her legs felt like lead, but she didn’t want to sit around listening to him take her call.

She took one careful step at a time. Halfway up, Jean passed her, completely ignoring her struggling up the stairs and disappeared into the study. A minute later, he burst back out with a small bottle in hand.

Samira recognized it. A rare ointment. Powerful stuff. For a second, she thought… maybe it was for her.

But then Jean brushed right past her without so much as a glance. His shoulder bumped her, hitting her already sore knee.

Pain shot through her like lightning. Her leg buckled and she fell. “Ah!”

She hit the ground hard, knees taking the brunt of it. Her vision went white at the edges, ears buzzing like static. For a second, she couldn’t even feel her legs.

Then, through the ringing, she felt a pair of arms around her. Jean’s voice, anxious and breathless, broke through. “Samira? Are you okay? Does it hurt?”

But she couldn’t answer. The pain had swallowed everything else. Jean looked flustered as he bent down to pick her up.

But before he could, his phone rang again. He glanced at it and the second he answered, Luna’s voice came through, sharp and whiny. “Jean, where are you? My knees really hurt… I can’t take it anymore.”

And in that moment, Samira understood. So that was who the medicine was for. Not her. He didn’t bring it for her. He never even thought to.

The moment his phone rang again, Jean froze. Then Luna’s voice came through loud and clear. “Jean, where are you? My knee’s killing me. It really hurts…”

Right then, Samira understood. The ointment, the rush, the concern, it hadn’t been for her. It never was. Jean's focus snapped back to his phone and the hand supporting her was gone in an instant.

“Hang in there, Luna. I’m on my way!” His footsteps echoed down the stairs, growing softer until they vanished completely.

Samira stayed where she was, curled slightly on the floor, palms flat against the cold ground. Her eyes closed as she breathed through the pain.

Tears slipped silently down her cheeks and for the first time, she couldn’t tell if it was her body that hurt more, or her heart.

It was half an hour before she managed to push herself up again. Moving slowly, she made her way to her room.

Not long after, her phone rang.

“Ms. Jourdain,” a calm voice reported on the other end. “Everything is ready. The body’s prepped and all the points are set. Just waiting for your word.”

She exhaled softly. “Alright. Prepare a new ID for me. I’ll make my move in three days.”

Three days. That was all she needed. Then she would finally be out of here for good. The thought made her chest feel a little lighter.

Jean didn’t come back during those three days. Samira didn’t ask. She already knew where he was and with whom.

On the fourth day, just as she was wrapping things up, he walked in. She was in the middle of clearing out old photos, tossing them into a box, one by one. She wasn’t taking much. And she definitely wasn’t taking memories.

Jean stepped in with a brightness in his eyes she hadn’t seen in a long time. He walked right up to her and gently grabbed her hand.

“Samira, how’s your knee? Is it still bothering you? Let me check.” He bent down, about to lift her pant leg, but she stopped him.

“It’s fine. Healed up already,” she said flatly. He didn’t push, just nodded, looking around as if searching for something.

Then he asked, almost too casually, “By the way… where’s the necklace? The one my mom gave you when we got married?”

Samira paused. The necklace… Miranda had given it to her personally. It was one of those symbolic pieces passed down to the Zaccaro daughters-in-law.

Jean had never even mentioned it before. Not once. She studied his face for a moment but said nothing about it. “It’s in the study. Inside the safe.”

“Great,” he said quickly. “Mom wants to get it cleaned. I’ll just take it over and bring it back in a couple days.”

After today, Samira wouldn’t be the Zaccaro Family’s daughter-in-law anymore. The necklace didn’t belong to her now and honestly, she didn’t care enough to question Jean’s excuse. Whether it was a lie or not, she just didn’t have the energy to dig into it.

Jean took the necklace and left soon after, quick, like he couldn’t wait to be gone.

Later that afternoon, Miranda called. “Samira, come with me to the charity gala tonight,” she said, her voice as warm as always. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Samira remembered that gala from her previous life, how she had said yes to Miranda’s invitation, walked into the venue… and found Jean and Luna there, together.

That night had ended in flames; pain, humiliation and eventually, death. But tonight, she was going again.

Not because she hadn’t learned her lesson, but because she had. This night was a piece of the puzzle she couldn’t skip.

In the evening, Miranda sent a car. For all her faults, Miranda had always treated Samira with kindness. Even after everything that happened when she was a child, Miranda never backed away from her.

An hour later, the car pulled up in front of the venue. Samira stepped out and immediately spotted Miranda waiting by the entrance. She walked over and Miranda pulled her into a gentle hug.

But when she leaned back, her eyes dropped to Samira’s bare collarbone. “Why aren’t you wearing the necklace I gave you?” she asked, puzzled.

Samira’s heart skipped just for a beat, just long enough to know Jean had lied. But again… she wasn’t surprised.

“I forgot,” she said casually, as if it didn’t matter. Because it didn’t. Miranda let it go and led her inside, introducing her with a proud smile to everyone they passed.

“This is my daughter-in-law,” she said over and over. Samira noticed the awkward looks. The polite smiles. The not-so-subtle glances.

Everyone here knew Jean had come with someone else. She was still the wife, sure, but in name only. She lowered her gaze and let a faint, sarcastic smile touch her lips.

A few minutes later, Miranda excused herself to speak with the event organizer and told Samira to look around.

As she walked through the glittering hall, it felt like déjà vu. Same place. Same faces. Same script. Only this time, she wasn’t the naive woman from before.

Samira stood by herself at the table, quietly minding her own business, when Luna showed up—hooked onto Jean’s arm like some prize she had just won.

It didn’t take long for Samira to notice the necklace hanging around Luna’s neck. Her necklace. The one Jean had taken from her just that morning.

It was impossible to miss. That piece wasn’t just jewelry, it meant something. It had always symbolized the status of the Zaccaro Family’s daughter-in-law.

And now Jean had handed it over to Luna himself, like he was making some sort of official announcement.

Samira didn’t react. She didn’t cause a scene or go stomping over to demand answers. Not this time. She had done that once before and became the joke of the evening. She had learned.

Instead, she just stood there, quiet, detached. Watching them like someone flipping through a memory they didn’t care to revisit.

Even though she hadn’t gone near them, she still stood out. And Jean noticed. His gaze caught hers from across the room and something in his chest twisted.

Her expression didn’t hold anger. No heartbreak. Just... distance. Like she wasn’t even part of this mess anymore. Just an outsider, watching it unfold. Before he knew it, he had walked up to her.

Samira didn’t move. She didn’t ask him why he came over. She didn’t even look surprised. Her eyes met his with a calm indifference.

But then Luna stepped in, her voice shaking. “Samira… I didn’t mean to upset you. Please don’t hurt me…”

Samira blinked, confused. ‘What is she talking about?’

Jean’s jaw tightened immediately. He turned to Luna, already scowling. “Did she do something to you again?”

Again. That word hit like ice in her chest. Of course. Of course that was what he would think. Before Samira could say a word, Luna pulled out her phone and showed Jean a string of messages. Her name was at the top of the chat.

The messages were ugly. Threats. Promises that if Luna didn’t leave Jean alone, she’d disappear for good. But Samira had never sent them.

Still… she had seen this move before. Luna had pulled this same stunt when they were kids. It worked back then too.

Jean stared at the screen, his hands shaking slightly as he gripped the phone. When he finally looked up at Samira, his face was full of fury.

“You’re unbelievable,” he hissed. “You’d go this far? You really want to kill someone over love?”

Samira didn’t even flinch. She just stared back at him, tired. Like she couldn’t believe he still didn’t get it. Samira stood there, silent, as the sting on her cheek burned hotter than the wine in her glass.

Jean had slapped her. In public. No hesitation, no questions asked, just rage. Because Luna gasped and pulled at her own dress like she was in danger.

She hadn’t even touched her. Samira didn’t know what shocked her more, Luna’s theatrics or Jean falling for it instantly. Again.

She tasted blood in her mouth, but maybe it was just the bitterness welling up from somewhere deeper.

Jean glared at her like she was something rotten he couldn’t wait to throw away. “You’ve gone too far, Samira. I’m done making excuses for you. Go back to your family’s house. I’ll come pick you up in two days. Think long and hard before then.”

He didn’t even wait for her response.

Instead, he pulled off his suit jacket, wrapped it gently around Luna’s shoulders and led her away like a hero protecting the damsel.

Samira just stood there, feeling like the ground beneath her had cracked wide open. It was humiliating. She had done nothing, not this time. And yet, here she was, once again cast as the villain in a play she hadn’t auditioned for.

So this was what it came to. He didn’t see her. Not who she really was. Not who she had ever been. Just Luna’s sister. A threat. A nuisance.

She could’ve yelled. She could’ve screamed that it was all fake, that Luna had set her up just like she used to when they were kids. That this was history repeating itself.

But there was no point. Jean never believed her back then. And clearly, he didn’t now.

So instead, she quietly reached for a fresh glass of wine, ignoring the stares, the whispers, the burn on her cheek. She raised it lazily in the air, as if toasting something only she could see.

Her voice was quiet, barely louder than a whisper. “I hope you’re happy, Jean. And I hope I can finally start living… really living, without you.”

She took one last sip from her glass, then set it down gently on the table. No drama. No second glance. Just like that, Samira turned around and walked away, calm, composed, done.

She didn’t rush. She didn’t look back. Whatever they’d had… it was over long before this moment.

Tomorrow, the news of her “death” would explode online. People would talk. There would be shock, whispers, a hundred theories. But none of it would matter. Because Jean was no longer part of her story.