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.

Miranda stepped out of the organizer’s office and glanced around the hall, but there was no sign of Samira.

Frowning, she stopped a passing guest to ask if they had seen her. What she heard made her face tighten.

Without a word, she turned and headed straight for the lounge. As soon as she pushed open the door, she found Jean sitting on the couch, arms around Luna, gently comforting her like it was some tragic scene out of a drama. Miranda barely gave Luna a glance.

She cut straight to the point. “Where’s Samira?”

Jean, clearly still ticked off, waved her off. “How would I know?”

Miranda was about to respond when something caught her eye. Her gaze landed on the necklace around Luna’s neck and her face hardened.

She stepped forward quickly and pointed. “Why the hell is that on her?”

Luna flinched, her expression panicked. Jean moved in front of her protectively. “She liked it, so I gave it to her. What’s the big deal?”

Miranda didn’t even blink. She reached out and yanked the necklace off Luna’s neck with a scowl. “This necklace is for the Zaccaro Family’s daughter-in-law. My daughter-in-law. And that’s Samira. Not some girl who’s been dragging your name through the mud.”

Luna gasped and covered her neck, already in tears.

Jean looked stunned for a second, then got defensive fast. “Mom, seriously? Are you letting Samira get in your head too? She’s been awful to Luna from the start!”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He helped Luna to her feet and stormed out of the lounge, fuming. Even in the car, his hands gripped the wheel too tight, his chest rising and falling with frustration.

‘Yeah, Samira used to be sweet when she was younger, but things changed. She changed. Didn’t she?’ Still… the look on his mother’s face.

The conviction in her voice. A tiny part of him started to doubt. ‘What if... Samira wasn’t the one lying?’

Before he could follow the thought, Luna sniffled beside him. “Jean… does your mom hate me? My neck really hurts.”

That snapped his focus back. He reached out and stroked her hair gently. “Don’t worry about her,” he said softly. “I’ve got you. No one’s going to hurt you.”

After calming Luna down, Jean sat in silence for a moment, trying to recall what had been bothering him earlier. But whatever it was, it slipped away. He started the car and took her home.

Once inside, he was about to leave when Luna reached out and gently held his hand. “Jean… how much longer are you going to wait to file for the divorce?”

Her voice was soft and vulnerable, the kind that made people instinctively want to protect her. But instead of sympathy, Jean felt an odd wave of discomfort. His brows drew together and he didn’t even realize it.

Luna noticed the subtle shift immediately. Her heart skipped. She forced her eyes to fill with tears and her bottom lip to tremble. “Jean… you did sign the agreement, didn’t you? Are you… are you hesitating now?”

As expected, her wounded expression hit its mark. Jean's heart tightened and he quickly tried to reassure her, brushing off her fears with a gentle voice, but still, he didn’t mention anything about divorce.

That made Luna uneasy.

She had worked so hard to get back everything that once belonged to her. She had the title, the spotlight, even the Zaccaro necklace. All that was left was Jean. She couldn’t afford for this to fall apart.

“She’s always hated me,” Luna whispered tearfully. “Even when we were kids. She killed my kitten, Jean. You know that, right? You believe me, don’t you?”

Her tears fell harder now.

Jean let out a long breath. He was getting tired of this, but he kept his voice steady. “Luna, I believe you. Okay? I know Samira isn’t easy to deal with… but she’s not the same as before. She’s been through enough.”

He looked away for a moment, then added quietly, “You already have everything you wanted. And Samira… she’s got no one now. I can’t just abandon her like she’s nothing. You understand, don’t you?”

Luna said nothing. Her fists clenched beneath the covers. Before she could argue again, Jean gently laid her down, pulled the quilt up over her and turned toward the door.

As she watched him walk away, something in her cracked. She slammed her fists against the bed, teeth clenched in frustration.

Jean had no clue what was going on. He walked out, his steps quick and stiff, got in the car and suddenly, Samira flashed through his mind.

Without thinking, he grabbed his phone and called the Jourdain Family.

Earlier, back at the lounge, he had told them to send Samira home. But now, something in his chest tightened. He needed to see her.

The call connected. “Has Samira come back yet?” he asked.

The answer came back calm and polite—but it made his stomach drop. “No, sir. She hasn't returned.”

Jean hung up without saying much more and slammed his foot on the gas. He drove straight home. The second he stepped through the door, something felt wrong. The house was quiet.

Dark. Still. “Samira?” he called, walking deeper inside. “Samira? Are you here?”

No answer. He checked the bedroom. Nothing. Tried calling her again. Busy. Again. And again.

The constant beeping made his head spin. His breathing grew shallow and he clutched his chest, trying to calm down.

“She’s just upset,” he mumbled, sitting on the floor, one hand gripping the edge of the couch for balance. “She’ll come back. She always does…”

He tried to believe that. The next morning, he got up, made some coffee and sat down for breakfast. Half-distracted, he scrolled through the news on his phone, until one headline stopped him cold.

Dismembered body found near central alley. Victim’s identity pending. The location hit him first, it was right near last night’s venue.

Then came the jolt in his chest. He rubbed at the ache, assuming it was stress. Maybe he should see a doctor.

He pushed the thought aside and kept waiting. But by afternoon, she still hadn’t come home. She hadn’t gone back to the Jourdain house either.

That was when his phone rang. His heart jumped. He grabbed it, only to see Mom on the screen. Disappointed, he still answered.

“Jean,” she said, her voice cracking, “Samira... she’s gone.”

He froze. His fingers tightened around the phone. His mind went blank. Somehow, he got in the car and drove to the police station. But he didn’t remember the drive. Everything felt slow and far away, like he was underwater.

Inside, the first thing he heard was crying, his mother’s voice, but he couldn’t bring himself to respond. He didn’t even turn his head.

An officer approached quietly. “Mr. Zaccaro? This way, please.”

They led him down a hallway to the morgue. “We haven’t found her head yet,” the officer said carefully, “or parts of her body. But we’ve identified her based on what we recovered.”

Jean stood there, staring at the door, his body heavy, his ears ringing.