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!

I spent two days trapped in my own thoughts, my mind an endless loop of worst-case scenarios. Kristoph’s screams haunted me, his voice replaying over and over in my head. I had no choice—I had to go back.

With shaking hands, I called Harrison.

“I’ll come,” I said, forcing my voice to stay steady.

A low chuckle rumbled from the other end of the line. “Good girl.” His tone sent a shiver down my spine. “I’ll send the location. And remember, come alone. If I see even a hint of a cop, Kristoph dies.”

The call ended, and a message popped up. It was an address—an abandoned factory on the outskirts of the city. I swallowed hard, gripping the phone so tightly my knuckles turned white. This could be a trap. No, it was a trap. But what choice did I have?

At midnight, I arrived at the factory. The air was thick with the stench of rust and oil, and the shattered windows allowed the cold wind to creep in. I stepped inside cautiously, my heartbeat echoing in my ears.

Then I heard it.

A scream—Kristoph’s scream.

I ran toward the sound, my pulse hammering against my ribs. Rounding a corner, I skidded to a halt.

Harrison.

He descended from a zip line like some villain from a nightmare, his black suit crisp and perfect, his smirk dripping with arrogance. Around him, his men formed a tight circle, their expressions unreadable.

“You actually came,” Harrison mused, tilting his head. “I almost thought you’d run again.”

I barely heard him. My eyes locked onto Kristoph, who was slumped in a chair, his face swollen and bloody. His head lifted slightly, and he met my gaze with a weak, desperate look.

My grip tightened around the knife hidden in my pocket.

I had to act fast.

In one swift motion, I pulled out the blade and pressed it against my stomach.

“Let him go, or I swear, I’ll do it.”

The room fell into stunned silence. Harrison’s smirk faded, his eyes darkening as he studied me. I didn’t blink, didn’t waver. If he thought he could keep controlling me, he was wrong.

Then, with a sharp nod, he gestured to his men.

Kristoph was untied and shoved forward. He collapsed onto the floor, groaning in pain. He tried to reach me, but I shook my head.

“Go,” I mouthed.

His lips parted, as if he wanted to argue, but he knew better. He staggered to his feet and ran.

The second he disappeared, Harrison’s grip closed around my wrist like a steel trap. He wrenched the knife from my fingers and tossed it aside.

“You’re coming home,” he whispered.

I swallowed back the bile rising in my throat. I had won this round—but I knew, deep down, this was only the beginning.

The drive back to the mansion was suffocating. Harrison didn’t speak, but I could feel his gaze on me the entire time. Every glance, every moment of silence felt like a reminder that I was still his prisoner.

The moment we stepped inside, Ychan was waiting at the staircase, arms crossed. His sharp eyes raked over me like he was searching for weakness.

“I thought you were dead,” he muttered.

I forced a smirk. “Disappointed?”

He scoffed and walked away.

Days passed, then weeks. I realized something terrifying—Harrison was fixing his public image. Bit by bit, the scandal around him was fading. Investors were returning. People were starting to believe in him again. His power was strengthening.

And I was still trapped.

Months later, I gave birth to a baby girl.

I stared at her, at the small bundle in my arms, feeling something shift inside me. She was so tiny, so innocent. For the first time in a long time, I felt warmth spread through my chest.

I named her Lawrent Del Fuego.

At first, I thought I’d resent her—another chain tying me to Harrison. But as the days passed, I found myself unable to resist loving her. She became my only light in this dark world.

And then, just as I started to believe this nightmare had settled into something bearable, Harrison shattered it all.

One night, he called me into his office.

I walked in cautiously, cradling Lawrent in my arms. “What is it?”

He stood by the window, his back to me. “Our relationship has come to an end.”

I blinked. My heart pounded, confusion swirling inside me. “What?”

I should’ve been relieved. I wanted to be free. But something felt…off.

Before I could process it, Harrison turned around, holding a gun.

I froze.

His eyes were cold. Emotionless.

“I don’t need a wife anymore,” he said simply. Then, with a small smirk, he added, “If you’re confused, this is exactly what I did to my first wife.”

My breath hitched. My hands gripped Lawrent tighter.

This is it.

He cocked the gun.

I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the shot.

Then—

“WHAT THE FUCK?”

A voice exploded from the doorway.

I snapped my eyes open. Harrison’s finger hovered over the trigger, but his gaze shifted to the man standing at the entrance.

The intruder’s face twisted in fury.

“The rumors are true! You’re killing your wives! I’ll tell this to the board, Mr. Del Fuego.”

I sucked in a sharp breath.

This was my chance.

BUT WHO'S THAT?