"Stop the w-wedding! Y-You're not Mommy..."

Gasps echoed through the grand hall. I turned, heart hammering, to see Ychan—Harrison’s son—standing in the middle of the aisle, fists clenched, his small body trembling. His face was red with frustration, and his eyes—those same piercing blue eyes as his father—held nothing but raw, desperate anger.

"Ychan," I whispered, forcing a smile. "Come here, sweetheart—"

"You're not my mommy!" he screamed, his voice high-pitched, sharp. He kicked over the flower arrangements beside him, sending white roses tumbling to the floor. The whispers among the guests grew louder. Investors exchanged uneasy glances, their conversations hushed but filled with doubt.

Harrison's grip on my hand tightened. His jaw clenched, the polite mask he wore for the public slipping for the first time. He motioned for his security to handle it, but Ychan fought them off, wailing, crying.

"Take him out of here," Harrison muttered under his breath, barely keeping his fury in check.

But it was too late. The wedding was already in shambles. The guests, now visibly uncomfortable, began rising from their seats. Some left. Investors murmured about reconsidering their deals. Everything—the perfect image we had crafted—was unraveling.

And just like that, Harrison snapped.

"The wedding is rescheduled," he announced, voice clipped, devoid of warmth. "Everyone, leave."

I swallowed the lump in my throat as the crowd slowly dispersed. Cameras flashed, capturing the disaster that unfolded. I could already imagine the headlines: Billionaire’s Wedding in Chaos After Son Rejects Bride!

Harrison barely looked at me as we left the venue.

Silence filled the car as we drove home. The tension was suffocating. I kept my hands folded on my lap, stealing glances at him, but he didn’t say a word.

I had never seen him like this before. It had been less than a year since we went public with our relationship, and in all that time, Harrison was nothing but composed, charming, in control. But now? Now, his knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel too tightly, his jaw locked with suppressed rage.

The moment we arrived at his mansion, he stormed inside without a word. I followed hesitantly, my heels clicking against the marble floor.

Then I heard it—glass shattering.

I rushed into the living room just in time to see him throw another bottle against the wall. His expensive collection of whiskey, now just shards on the floor. His breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling heavily.

“Harrison,” I said carefully, keeping my voice soft. “Let’s talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” His voice was sharp, cold. He poured himself another drink, downing it in one gulp before slamming the glass onto the counter. “They laughed at me. Do you understand that, Willary? Those investors—those people—they saw my weakness today.”

I stayed silent.

His laugh was bitter as he ran a hand through his hair. “That kid—”

“Your son,” I corrected, and his eyes snapped to me.

For a moment, I thought he’d lash out. But instead, he smiled—an eerie, humorless smile. Then, without warning, he grabbed a framed photo from the table—the only picture I had of my parents.

And he smashed it against the wall.

My breath caught in my throat as I stared at the broken frame, my parents' smiling faces now covered in cracks.

"What are you doing?!" I snapped, stepping forward, but he didn’t stop.

"They’re worthless,” he muttered. “Just like that damn kid."

My hands trembled. “Harrison, stop.”

He turned to me, his eyes dark, unreadable. And then, in a voice so chilling, so detached, he said, "I killed them to have you."

WHAT?

I shook my head, instilling to my mind that he was just drunk and... DIDN'T MEAN IT.

The world around me tilted.

I stared at him, unable to process his words. A cold shiver ran down my spine, dread curling in my stomach.

“You’re lying,” I whispered.

But looked like he wasn’t.

He was watching me too closely, waiting for my reaction. There was no regret, no guilt. Just control. Just ownership.

My palm met his cheek before I even realized what I was doing. The slap echoed in the silent room, but he didn’t flinch. He only smirked.

I turned on my heel and walked away, my heart pounding so loud it drowned out everything else.

For days, I avoided him.

I stayed locked in my room, refusing to eat with him, refusing to speak to him. I thought about leaving, but how? I had nothing—no family, no backup plan. Everything I had was tied to him.

Then, one night, my phone rang.

Kristoph, my bodyguard.

His voice was urgent, whispering, "Willary, you need to leave. Now."

My grip tightened around the phone. “W-Why? What’s going on?”

“I overheard something at the company,” he admitted. “Harrison is planning something. He—he wants to inseminate you. To force you to have a child.”

The floor beneath me disappeared.

My stomach twisted as I clutched the phone tighter. “That’s insane.”

Kristoph’s voice was firm. “I’m serious. He’s making sure you don’t leave him. You need to get out—”

A creak outside my door made me freeze.

Someone was there.

Before I could react, a cloth pressed against my mouth.

A sickly-sweet scent filled my lungs, and the world blurred. My limbs felt heavy, my vision darkening.

No—no, this wasn’t happening—

Darkness swallowed me whole.

When I woke up, my head was pounding. My body felt heavy, weak. I tried to move, but my wrists—my wrists were bound.

Panic shot through me as I blinked rapidly, my vision adjusting.

And then I saw him.

Harrison.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching me. Calm. Smug. Like he had already won.

I struggled, but the ropes cut into my skin.

His lips curled into a slow smile.

"Congratulations, my wife," he murmured. "You'll be a mom now."

SHIT!

I sat across from Harrison, my hands trembling under the table as I clenched my fists. The betrayal burned inside me like a raging fire, but I had to stay composed. I needed to hear it from him directly.

"You promised me, Harrison," I said, my voice laced with controlled anger. "We agreed—I’m not ready for a child yet. I have a future ahead of me. I’m supposed to represent our country in the pageant!"

He leaned back in his chair, swirling the whiskey in his glass with a lazy smirk. "And I found a replacement candidate for you."

His words hit me like a slap. My breath hitched as I stared at him, my pulse pounding in my ears. He didn’t even hesitate. I was nothing more than an asset to him—a tool he used and discarded at his convenience.

"You had no right," I hissed, my nails digging into my palm.

Harrison exhaled loudly, as if I was exhausting him. "The investors wanted to see an heir, Willary. A real one. They need proof of our stability, of our legacy. If I didn’t do something, they would’ve pulled out of their contracts. Do you understand what that means?"

I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. "So this was never about love. You never cared about me. You just needed a pretty face to keep your business afloat."

His silence confirmed everything.

The months that followed felt like a slow death. I watched my dreams slip through my fingers, replaced by a life I never asked for. My growing belly was a constant reminder of my captivity. Harrison used me as the face of his new pharmaceutical line, parading me around as if I were the perfect example of a glowing, expectant mother. I felt like a fraud.

Late at night, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, trapped in a nightmare I couldn’t escape. Harrison had taken everything from me—my freedom, my dreams, my dignity. But I wouldn’t let him take my will to fight.

One evening, after another event where I had to smile for cameras while Harrison played the doting husband, I made my decision. I would leave.

I approached him in the study, my heart pounding. "I want out," I said, meeting his cold gaze. "I want to break up."

His expression didn’t change. Instead, he took a slow sip of his drink before setting it down with a quiet clink. Then, without warning, he struck me across the face.

I gasped, staggering backward, my cheek stinging from the impact. Tears welled in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.

"You’re not going anywhere," he said, his voice chillingly calm. "You belong to me."

From that moment on, things only got worse. He barely spoke to me unless it was for appearances. He was colder, more distant, and yet, I knew he was watching my every move.

Desperate, I turned to the only person I could trust—Kristoph.

"You need to find out everything about Harrison," I whispered over the phone, my voice trembling. "I need to know what I’m dealing with."

Kristoph hesitated, but then agreed. "Be careful, Willary. He’s more dangerous than you think."

I played my role perfectly, pretending to be the obedient wife. I smiled when I needed to, dressed the way Harrison wanted, spoke only when spoken to. It was suffocating, but it kept him from suspecting anything.

And then, my moment came.

A press conference was scheduled to promote Harrison’s company. It was going to be a grand event, with reporters, investors, and media coverage. This was my chance.

Kristoph arranged everything in secret. He hired people—individuals who had been wronged by Harrison, those who had been waiting for their own moment to expose him.

On the day of the press conference, Harrison handed me a script filled with praises for his company and its "vision for the future." I smiled at him, feigning submission, and took the papers.

When we stepped onto the stage, cameras flashed, and the crowd buzzed with anticipation. I took my place beside Harrison, microphone in hand.

I was about to speak when suddenly, the doors burst open.

Shouts filled the room. Reporters scrambled, cameras pointed toward the commotion. My heart pounded as I saw a group of people holding signs, their voices echoing through the hall.

"Save Ms. Willary Frecén from a demon!"

The crowd gasped, confusion rippling through the attendees. I turned to Harrison, and for the first time, I saw something in his eyes—fear.

Then, a voice rang out, cutting through the chaos.

"Harrison killed his first wife!"

The entire room fell into stunned silence.

I felt my knees weaken, my head spinning as the words sank in.

Harrison… killed his first wife?

I turned to face him, my mouth dry, my breath shallow. His face was pale, his grip tightening around my wrist as if to stop me from reacting.

But it was too late.

The truth was finally out.

I gasped. “I...Is that true?" I whispered.

The press conference erupted into chaos. People shouted, cameras flashed wildly, and security scrambled to contain the situation. Before I could even process what had just happened, Harrison grabbed my wrist and yanked me toward the exit.

"We’re leaving. Now," he hissed through gritted teeth.

I barely had time to react as he pulled me through the panicked crowd. My heart pounded violently in my chest. The accusations still rang in my ears—Harrison killed his first wife. Was it true?

We rushed outside, where a black car was already waiting. Harrison shoved me inside, slamming the door behind him. The vehicle sped off, leaving behind the chaos we had caused.

As soon as we were far enough, I reached for my phone, my hands trembling. I dialed Kristoph’s number the moment I could.

He answered on the first ring. "Willary, what the hell is happening?!"

"That’s what I want to know!" I whispered, glancing at Harrison, who sat beside me, his jaw clenched, his fingers drumming impatiently against his thigh. "Why did the people you hired say that? Why accuse him of murder?"

Kristoph hesitated before responding, his voice turning grave. "Because it’s true."

The air was sucked from my lungs.

"You need to run," he continued urgently. "Now. Those people I hired… they used to work for him. They told me everything. Harrison planned his wife’s death himself."

The blood drained from my face. My stomach twisted in horror. I opened my mouth to say something—anything—but before I could, a cold breath ghosted against my ear.

"Who are you talking to?"

My entire body froze.

Slowly, I turned my head, my breath hitching. Harrison was staring at me, his eyes dark with suspicion.

My heart dropped. He heard everything.

Before I could react, he grabbed the phone from my hand, pressing it against his ear. "Kristoph," he greeted in a dangerously low tone.

I heard Kristoph curse on the other end before the call ended abruptly.

Harrison turned back to me, his expression unreadable. But then, his face twisted into something terrifying—pure, unfiltered rage.

"You set me up," he growled. "You planned all of this."

My throat went dry. "Harrison, I—"

"After everything I’ve done for you, this is how you repay me?" He was shouting now, his voice echoing in the confined space of the car. "I gave you everything, Willary! Everything! And you dared to humiliate me in front of the world?!"

I shrank back against the seat, but there was nowhere to go.

That night, he locked me inside a massive bedroom.

Days passed. I wasn’t allowed to leave. I wasn’t allowed to talk to anyone. My only companion was my growing belly, a cruel reminder that I was trapped.

I should have been thankful that Harrison never laid a hand on me. Maybe it was because I was pregnant, or maybe it was because he still had some twisted attachment to me. Either way, I knew my time was running out.

Then, one morning, someone new entered my prison.

A woman in a crisp white uniform stepped inside. She was tall, poised, with sharp eyes that barely glanced in my direction.

"I’m Missy," she said curtly. "I’ll be taking care of you from now on."

I should have been relieved, but there was something cold about her, something distant. It didn’t take long for me to realize she was here under Harrison’s orders. She wasn’t my ally—she was my warden.

For days, she barely spoke to me beyond basic instructions. I knew I had to act fast.

And then, an opportunity came.

Harrison left for a business trip. It was now or never.

The next morning, I pressed a hand against my stomach and groaned in pain, doubling over on the bed. Missy’s eyes widened slightly, but she kept her distance.

"I… I think something’s wrong," I gasped. "Please. I need a doctor."

Missy hesitated. Then, after a long pause, she pulled out her phone and made the call.

An hour later, I was rushed to the hospital.

As soon as I was inside a private room, a doctor entered to check on me. She was young, with sharp but kind eyes, her ID reading Dr. Scott.

Missy stood by the door, arms crossed.

I took a shaky breath and turned to the doctor. "Please," I whispered desperately. "I need to talk to you alone."

Dr. Scott frowned.

"The patient needs privacy," she finally said.

Missy hesitated before finally stepping out of the room.

As soon as the door shut, I grabbed Dr. Scott’s hand. "Help me escape," I pleaded. "Please, I beg you."

She inhaled sharply. "You don’t know what you’re asking."

"I do," I whispered. "And I will do whatever it takes to protect you from Harrison’s wrath. Please."

She hesitated, her eyes searching mine. Then, after a long, agonizing moment, she nodded.

"We need to act fast."

We devised a plan.

Dr. Scott faked an emergency. She called the nurses, claiming I needed immediate transfer to another room. In the chaos, she smuggled me into the delivery room.

Hours passed. The tension was suffocating.

Then, she made the call.

"Missy," she said, her voice steady, "fetch Mr. Del Fuego immediately. His wife is in critical condition."

Missy obeyed without question.

The moment she was gone, Dr. Scott pulled me toward the fire exit.

"Go," she urged. "Run and don’t look back."

I met her gaze, my throat tight. "I promise, no one will know you helped me."

Without another word, I bolted.

The cold night air hit my skin as I sprinted into the darkness. I didn’t stop until I reached a small, run-down apartment at the edge of the city. There, I hid for an entire week, too afraid to make a move.

I tried calling Kristoph every day. No answer.

And then, one night, my phone rang. My hands trembled as I picked up.

"Kristoph?" I breathed.

But instead of his voice, a deep chuckle echoed through the line.

My blood turned to ice.

"My dear wife," Harrison’s voice purred, sending chills down my spine. "Where are you?"

I covered my mouth, my body shaking.

"Will you come back here," he continued, his tone dark and dangerous, "or shall I torture Kristoph to death?"

The line went dead.

My breath came in ragged gasps as I clutched the phone to my chest.

I had made my escape…

But Harrison was already hunting me down.

HE HAD KRISTOPH!