The real heiress stole her family and husband, forcing her out with nothing. Unexpectedly, she reunited with her childhood rival. She had braced for his mockery, but he proposed instead. This power couple, hiding countless identities, dominated the elite circle, leaving her ex-husband regret.
=====
"Mrs. Gibson, do you have anything to say about your husband showing up at Marilee Jenkins' birthday party today and announcing that he's going to divorce you?"
"People are saying Marilee is Mr. Gibson's first love and the real daughter of your parents, while you're the fake. You've been enjoying her parents' love all this time and married to the man meant for her. Do you feel bad about that?"
The birthday party was crowded, and Alexia Gibson found herself completely trapped.
Reporters quickly closed in on her, pushing cameras and microphones into her face as camera flashes burst from every direction, giving her no space to breathe.
"Your parents just said you're not really their daughter and cut off your money."
"You've been out of work for two years, living as a housewife, so how exactly do you plan to support yourself now? Mrs. Gibson, any comments?"
Alexia just stood there, frozen. Her mind was still spinning from everything she'd just heard.
So this Marilee Jenkins was the real daughter of her so-called parents and her husband's true love.
And her? She was Roger Gibson's wife on paper, but clearly, just a joke to everyone else.
Years ago, the Jenkins couple had pulled her out of some run-down neighborhood overseas, saying she was their long-lost daughter.
But had they really not bothered doing a simple DNA test before welcoming her in?
Why did they only discover the mistake now?
Alexia's body tensed up. Her eyes drifted over to the man standing next to her.
However, Roger's attention was not on her. He was looking at Marilee, as if they were the only ones in the room.
Her voice came out strained as she asked, "Why? You didn't even tell me."
Roger's face was as cold as stone.
"Now you know. That's all that matters. It's over, Alexia. You were never good enough for me. Our marriage? Just a transaction. The only woman I've ever loved is Marilee. And you know why I never touched you after the wedding? Because you disgust me. You're like a spoiled dish--completely unappetizing."
His eyes swept over her from head to toe, full of scorn. Her simple clothes, those outdated glasses--everything about her clashed with the glossy, high-class world he lived in.
Before his harsh words even fully sank in, Alexia lifted her glass and threw the ch**pagne right into his face.
The drink hit him with a loud splash, soaking his face and pricey suit. He just stood there, stunned, as the li**id dripped from his hair and down his face.
"A spoiled dish? You told me you wanted an ordinary housewife. Dad and Mom told me they wanted an obedient daughter, who never outdid anyone!"
Without hesitation, she threw the glass to the floor. The sharp crash instantly silenced the whole room.
Roger's face turned red with embarrassment. His jaw tightened. "Have you lost your mind?"
From the stage, the Jenkins couple yelled at her. "Alexia, this is Marilee's birthday, not a place for your drama!"
People in the crowd rolled their eyes and muttered that she was nuts.
None of them had a clue what she had given up for the two families all these years.
Shoving through the crowd, Alexia made a beeline for the exit. Reporters swarmed after her like a flood.
She shoved past them all, blind to the pouring rain, deaf to the murmurs and judgment surrounding her.
Right now, all she wanted was to get away--far from the noise, the eyes, and the humiliation.
But just as she broke through the crowd and made it outside, a bunch of Marilee's wild fans shoved her hard, and she slipped, landing on the wet road.
Marilee was an A-list star in showbiz. Her birthday party was being livestreamed, and tons of fans had gathered outside.
The second they saw Alexia step out, the crowd lost it, shouting like wild animals who had just found something to attack.
"Alexia, you've got some nerve attending Marilee's birthday party. You've got no shame!"
"You're not even the real daughter. Just go back to whatever dump you came from, or are you too hooked on the Jenkins' money?"
"Roger's going to divorce you, and you still think it's okay to show your face around Marilee? Who do you think you are?"
"Go away already!"
Alexia lay there on the wet street, frozen for a second, while their nasty words echoed all around her.
She let out a dry, bitter laugh. Everything was such a joke. A broken marriage, a cold family, and now they'd left her completely humiliated.
What was the point of pretending for so long? She had kept her head down, put up with everything, and this was what she got in the end?
A wave of helplessness washed over her. She closed her eyes, not even caring anymore as the freezing rain drenched her.
Through the noise and chaos, a flattering voice broke through. "Mr. Mason." The polite greeting was followed by firm, steady footsteps coming closer in the rain.
Moments later, a black umbrella appeared above her, silently cutting through the rain and offering her shelter from the storm.
Chapter 2 Meeting Him Again At Her Absolute Worst
Alexia slowly looked up and met a sharp, intense gaze.
The streetlights flickered in the rain. Waylon Mason stood there, tall and intimidating, with a strong presence that made people uncomfortable.
Behind him was a row of fancy cars parked along the street, catching everyone's eye.
His assistants were standing on both sides of him, and one was holding an umbrella over his head.
But the umbrella Waylon was holding was tilted just to cover Alexia.
Waylon took a slow step forward and leaned in. Before she could react, his fingers reached up and removed the heavy, black-rimmed glasses from her face.
Her bright, beautiful eyes were now fully visible.
He looked down at her with a smirk. "It's been years, Alexia. Look at you--what a mess. Did you finally stop being that love-crazy girl, or are you still dreaming useless dreams?"
Every word cut deeper. Alexia's eyes started to tear up, and the little bit of strength she had left broke down under his harsh voice.
She opened her mouth to retort, but before she could speak, Waylon suddenly picked her up in his arms in front of everyone, protecting her from the rain and everything around them.
He walked toward the black car waiting nearby, carrying her as the bodyguards quickly stepped aside to make way.
All the noise and the rude comments around them faded away.
Everyone just stood there, stunned, watching them leave with shock written all over their faces.
...
Inside the car, Alexia held onto her muddy, soaked dress with trembling hands.
She looked down, her voice rough. "Waylon, why'd you have to show up now?"
Why now...when everything in her life was falling apart?
Waylon tilted his head at her question, then reached out and took her chin in his hand, gently but firmly lifting her face.
His voice was calm, yet carried a cold edge. "Why else? I came to check on the woman I liked the least."
His eyes darkened, a smirk playing on his lips. "So, Alexia, do you remember what I said to you seven years ago?"
Of course she did.
Waylon was the golden child of the Mason family. Her biggest rival back in the day.
The last time they met was at the airport, seven years ago. What was meant to be a goodbye turned into their worst fight.
Waylon always hated how she begged for the Jenkins family's approval and how she held onto Roger like she had no pride.
And she couldn't stand his ego and how he judged everyone she cared about.
Back then, he'd warned her clearly--chasing approval from people who'd never truly accept her would only end in disappointment, leaving her with nothing in the end.
But she was too hopeful to see it. She had told herself, "It's okay if they don't like me now. If I work hard and put them first, they'll accept me eventually."
They wanted her to marry Roger, so she agreed. Her brothers didn't want her getting too powerful, so she acted clueless and average.
But behind the scenes, she was quietly taking out their threats and protecting both the Jenkins and the Gibson families.
As Waylon's fingers held her jaw tightly, her warm tears fell on his hand, running down his knuckles.
His expression wavered. The coldness faded just for a second. Then, he let go.
Alexia's voice shook, still raspy from the rain. "Waylon, you were right. They tossed me aside after exploiting me. For more than twenty years, I gave them everything I had. I was so st**id."
It was a long time before Waylon finally spoke again. "You were not st**id. They just weren't worth it."
But Alexia didn't respond.
He turned to look at her and saw her fast asleep.
Later that night, Alexia suddenly came down with a high fever.
Santino Blake, Waylon's personal doctor, got pulled out of bed by a single call and had to grab his stuff and rush over late at night.
With his years of experience, Santino quickly ran a full checkup. He stood by the bed, looking at Alexia's pale, tired face, and let out a soft sigh.
Chapter 3 Our Luna Is Back
Santino glanced over his shoulder and caught sight of Waylon on the balcony, ci**rette burning slowly between his fingers.
Sm**e curled up in lazy spirals, casting a ghostly veil over Waylon's sharp features, softening them with each exhale.
Waylon rarely sm**ked. Santino could only recall one other time Waylon had smoked like this--two years ago.
Santino stepped outside and joined him.
"She's stable now. She just picked up a chill from being stuck in the rain and took the shock pretty hard. I've given her an injection and some medication--she'll be all right."
A brief pause allowed Santino to scan the night sky.
"I checked the headlines. The Jenkins family didn't just cut her off; they humiliated her for everyone to see--right in the middle of Marilee's birthday party."
Anger edged into Santino's voice. "Hadn't they done a DNA test before taking her back from abroad? This whole thing smells like a setup."
A sudden vibration broke his focus--Alexia's phone was buzzing on the nightstand.
Waylon strode inside, intent on ending the call, but the name flashing on the screen stopped him cold.
A flicker of something dark flashed across his eyes as he picked up and put on the speaker.
Shouting erupted instantly, the caller's anger unmistakable.
"Alexia, you've ignored every call and message. What exactly are you trying to pull? Faking your own disappearance won't help. Tomorrow, you're signing the divorce agreement, and that's the end of it. I've shown enough patience. Stop standing in the way of Marilee and me. You've lived off the Jenkins family long enough."
"If you have any dignity left, walk away for good--it's the least you can do for Marilee. Don't worry about your share--you'll get what's coming. You looked after my grandmother and my mother these past years, fine. But don't overstep. Learn when to quit. Why aren't you answering me? Where are you?"
The stillness that lingered on the line finally made Roger uneasy. His confidence wavered and his words lost their edge.
Santino internally begged for someone to step in and stop what was happening, feeling panic surge as things slipped further from control.
From the moment Roger started speaking, Santino caught the way Waylon's face darkened.
His eyes went cold and every hint of warmth vanished, leaving the atmosphere icy and suffocating. Santino could barely stand, knees threatening to give way.
Waylon's expression turned sharp, his smile edged with cruelty. "So that's the way you speak to her, huh?"
Every mu**le in Roger's body tensed, instincts screaming a warning. His voice grew cautious. "Who are you? Where is Alexia?"
Waylon let his gaze settle on the b*d, where Alexia rested, her breathing faint but even.
His response came as a gentle murmur, almost lost in the tension. "She's asleep."
He let a short silence hang before adding, "And she's right here with me."
The only thing that answered him was the explosive sound of rage through the phone. Roger's voice thundered down the line. "What did you just say? Who are you?"
Amusement glimmered in Waylon's eyes as a low chuckle slipped out. "Relax. You'll figure it out...assuming you live long enough." Without another word, he ended the call.
By morning, the rain had vanished, leaving sunlight streaming through the windows as Alexia stirred awake.
She reached for her phone, greeted by a storm of missed calls and furious messages from Roger.
Without reacting, she scrolled through the flood of texts, then let the device drop onto the sheets. Right now, a hot shower mattered more.
Steam fogged the bathroom mirror as she faced her reflection. Something had changed--her eyes, once dull, now held a spark she hadn't seen in ages.
For the first time in ages, she tried out a smile, and this one actually reached her eyes, genuine and alive.
It felt like a fever had burned away all her confusion, stripping her heart of old pain and fo**ish loyalty to those who never deserved it.
No more playing the fool. No more pretending everything was fine. This sad story was over.
Wrapped in a towel after the shower, she scanned her contacts and paused on a name untouched for years.
Her call barely rang once before chaos exploded on the other end.
"Luna! It's about d**mn time! Tell me--are the rumors true? You're finally getting a divorce?"
Laughter and shouting burst from the background, her friends making no attempt to hide their eavesdropping.
Alexia replied calmly, "Yes, I'm going to sign the divorce agreement today."
Celebration roared through the phone. Whistles, cheers, the clink of glasses--her friends were clearly turning it into a full-blown party.
"Took you long enough to snap out of that trance! No more housewife blues. Our Luna is back!"
"Divorce is the best thing to happen to you! Roger never deserved you. Say the word and I'll handle him myself!"
"And don't get me started on that overrated Jenkins family. If not for you, they'd have collapsed during last year's crash. Luna, we're ready when you are--the Helix Consortium stands with you."
Their laughter and support brought a genuine grin to Alexia's lips. "In that case, I need a ride."
Without missing a beat, a man's voice broke in, buzzing with excitement. "A ride? For your grand return? Name it. I'll send the reigning racing champion to pick you up!"
Chapter 4 Do You Believe Me
The call had barely ended when the soft click of the door caught Alexia's attention, her head snapping up.
There in the doorway stood Waylon, his height casting a shadow, his expression giving nothing away as their eyes met.
Neither of them had anticipated this kind of encounter.
Fresh from the shower, Alexia's hair clung damply to her cheeks, a robe slipping low on her shoulders, skin flushed and eyes still hazy with warmth.
That oversized bathrobe, threatening to slip further, revealed soft lines of skin; the faint scent of shampoo lingered in the air, sweet and impossible to ignore.
Waylon's gaze swept over her, lingering just long enough for her cheeks to flush, before he looked away calmly. "Get ready. Breakfast is on the table."
Moments later, Alexia emerged dressed, met by the aroma of a beautifully arranged breakfast.
Hunger won out over pride; she took her seat without pretense, finishing most of the meal before pausing for breath.
Little was said as Waylon let her eat in peace, only breaking the silence after she'd nearly cleared her plate. "You need a lawyer?"
She set down her coffee cup, eyes meeting his squarely. "So you've heard."
Amusement tugged at his mouth, though his eyes stayed cold. "Is there anyone left who doesn't?"
Alexia tasted the bitterness of the coffee and grimaced for just a moment, though she quickly composed herself. "I can deal with it."
As the words left her mouth, she realized he might think she was too stubborn to admit she needed help.
After all, in most people's eyes, women being dumped were pathetic.
"Do you believe me when I say that?" she asked.
A smirk played on Waylon's face, eyes narrowing with a knowing glint. "Why wouldn't I? Alexia, he's the one who should've fallen apart."
That unwavering gaze held her still, though she managed a small, genuine smile in return. "You've always known how to make a good point."
Once breakfast was done, Alexia got ready to leave.
Reaching the doorway, she stopped and glanced back. "Thank you," she said quietly, her gratitude unmistakable.
There was no chance she'd forget his kindness.
...
Ten minutes had ticked past their appointment, and Roger's patience was quickly wearing thin as he and Marilee waited for Alexia in a private club.
"Why isn't she here yet? Is she refusing to divorce you?" Marilee pressed herself closer to him, sugar in her tone as she pouted.
"You haven't forgotten our shopping plans, right? You promised you'd buy me a gown after this."
Roger hummed in response. The weekend's banquet held by the Chamber of Commerce would be the perfect stage to introduce Marilee--the timing of her comeback couldn't have been more ideal.
Every influential name in town would be present, all eyes fixed on Waylon's much-anticipated return.
Just thinking about Waylon sent a flicker of unease across Roger's face.
The Chamber of Commerce's open support for Waylon right before the election of its new president wasn't exactly good news for the Gibson family.
A sudden uproar near the doorway snapped Roger's focus.
His head turned, and in that instant, it felt as though the atmosphere in the room shifted.
Everyone's attention zeroed in on a single figure gliding inside with effortless grace.
Alexia walked in, her crimson dress hugging every curve, heels whispering over the polished floor. Each stride radiated poise and quiet confidence.
The scarlet hue, that unmistakable glow--she looked like the sunrise brought to life.
With each step Alexia took, Marilee's smile grew tighter, until it disappeared altogether when Alexia claimed the seat across from them.
Roger couldn't hide his shock either; his eyes remained glued to Alexia's artfully made-up features.
"You..." Words caught in his throat, visible in the small, nervous bob of his Adam's apple.
Nobody present could believe this woman was the same person from last night--the awkward glasses, the baggy checkered shirt, the sopping hair.
Yesterday's pitiful girl had been replaced by someone utterly different, confident, unrecognizable.
Nothing about their surprise caught Alexia off guard. Her beauty wasn't news to her; she'd just chosen not to make a show of it.
Childhood lessons had always emphasized modesty, staying out of the spotlight, never inviting too much notice.
Marriage only tightened the leash. Years spent tending to Roger's grandmother and fielding disapproval from a mother-in-law who'd been fed tales of her so-called wild youth.
Not even her hair or the color of her clothes escaped scrutiny. Every detail had been censored into drab submission.
Vibrant dresses never made it to her closet--only baggy, forgettable options filled the shelves.
That chapter, though, was behind her.
With unhurried confidence, Alexia called over a server, ordered a te**ila, and began paging through the divorce agreement--unfazed by the attention.
Marilee recovered her composure first, flashing a sweet smile.
"Alexia, I hope you're alright after yesterday. The reporters caught us all off guard. Someone told me you slipped in the rain. It must have been miserable out there."
Chapter 5 Watching Her Unravel
Patience faded on Marilee's face as she waited for a reaction, but Alexia wouldn't even meet her eyes.
Instead, she directed her attention to Roger. "Is the Gibson fortune going up in flames? This is all I'm worth?"
A shadow crossed Roger's face. "That's what the prenup says, so that's all you're entitled to."
Even before they got married, he'd closed every door to the family's fortune, making sure she'd never find a loophole.
Realizing Alexia was blatantly ignoring her, Marilee butted in, "You're getting more than enough, Alexia. Was it love or money you wanted from Roger, anyway?"
Alexia still refused to acknowledge her, not so much as a glance. "With an amount this pitiful? Hang on to it--you'll need every last cent when the Gibson empire falls apart."
Those words wiped any patience from Roger's face. "Don't push it, Alexia."
Suddenly, Marilee's eyes shimmered with tears and her voice went brittle, as though her heart might break. "Please, Alexia, don't do this to Roger," she whimpered.
The crowd's attention snapped toward her as sobs and sniffles filled the space.
Marilee reached for the delicate pink diamond at her throat.
"Maybe you never knew, but Roger and I have loved each other for years. He gave me this necklace on your wedding day--it's a symbol of his devotion. That cherry blossom garden in your backyard? Roger built it just for me, hoping I'd smile. You stole my life. Everything you have should have been mine. Don't you think it's time you let go and left quietly, without asking for more?"
An uncomfortable hush settled over the room.
It was rare to see a mi**ress acting so brazenly, demanding the wife walk away with empty hands.
Finally, Alexia turned to meet Marilee's eyes, her voice colder than ice.
"I stole your life? Was it me who went to the Jenkins family, begging them to accept me? Was I the one who refused a DNA test and strutted around calling myself their true daughter? Did I chase after Roger, desperate for a marriage?"
Every pointed question shattered the silence, each one sharp enough to cut.
All color drained from Marilee's face, her body rigid beneath Alexia's icy stare.
Not missing a beat, Alexia delivered the final blow. "Go blame your own fo**ish parents."
That snapped the last of Marilee's restraint. "If it weren't for them, you'd still be digging through ga**age. You've been living a luxurious life for twenty years. Without them, you'd be nothing but a pauper."
A sharp laugh spilled from Alexia. Her gaze drifted to the faded needle marks on her wrist. "If this is what luxury looks like, I must have missed out. Pain, though? There was always enough of that to go around."
Disbelief filled Marilee's eyes, her words trembling with contempt.
"Lies. You grew up surrounded by filth--you're nothing but ga**age. If my parents hadn't stepped in, you'd be gone by now. Some gang would have had its way with you and left you in the gutter--"
The rest never left her mouth. A sharp s**p rang out, echoing in the room.
Stunned, Marilee pressed trembling fingers to the swelling red mark, speechless.
A cold smile curved Alexia's lips.
"There's nothing I despise more than people who never learned basic decency. The Jenkins family or not, I'd still be standing here as myself. But you? Without that divorce agreement, you're nothing more than a shameless mi**ress."
Not waiting for a reaction, Alexia hurled the signed divorce agreement straight at Marilee, landing the hit with brutal precision. "Think of it as my parting gift."
Marilee flinched as the edges nicked her forehead, letting out a startled cry. The shock left her shaking, the color draining from her lips.
Alexia watched the panic unraveling Marilee's composure, noticing the nervous twitch on her face.
Pretending to care, she cocked her head and offered, "Do you need me to call an ambulance for you?"
That question broke whatever restraint Marilee had left. "Why would you ever do that?" she snapped.
Alexia gave her a look laced with fake concern. "It just seems like you're not well at all."
Marilee's voice cracked as she screamed, "I am not sick!"
Even Roger turned, uncertain and uneasy as her shrill denial filled the room.
Unbothered, Alexia let her reply drip with venom, hitting every nerve.
"Funny. People who are actually unwell always insist they're fine. Might be time to book yourself a session with a psychiatrist. And before I forget...cute necklace. But honestly? Junk stones aren't worth much these days."
Marilee's face turned ashen, her fury and humiliation overwhelming her. Without warning, she collapsed straight into Roger's arms.
Anger carved hard lines into Roger's face as he pulled Marilee close, glaring at Alexia.
"I never realized you could be so cruel. Just because you wore my ring, you think you can say whatever you want?"
Before Alexia could offer a comeback, a familiar voice cut through the tension, heavy with mockery.
"Really? That's your angle? Just because she wore your ring, you think you could speak to her like that?"
A collective g**p swept through the crowd, all attention snapping to the doorway.
There, tall and dangerously handsome, a man entered, charm radiating effortlessly with every step.
......
What happens next?
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&5&
The real heiress stole her family and husband, forcing her out with nothing. Unexpectedly, she reunited with her childhood rival. She had braced for his mockery, but he proposed instead. This power couple, hiding countless identities, dominated the elite circle, leaving her ex-husband regret.
=====
"Mrs. Gibson, do you have anything to say about your husband showing up at Marilee Jenkins' birthday party today and announcing that he's going to divorce you?"
"People are saying Marilee is Mr. Gibson's first love and the real daughter of your parents, while you're the fake. You've been enjoying her parents' love all this time and married to the man meant for her. Do you feel bad about that?"
The birthday party was crowded, and Alexia Gibson found herself completely trapped.
Reporters quickly closed in on her, pushing cameras and microphones into her face as camera flashes burst from every direction, giving her no space to breathe.
"Your parents just said you're not really their daughter and cut off your money."
"You've been out of work for two years, living as a housewife, so how exactly do you plan to support yourself now? Mrs. Gibson, any comments?"
Alexia just stood there, frozen. Her mind was still spinning from everything she'd just heard.
So this Marilee Jenkins was the real daughter of her so-called parents and her husband's true love.
And her? She was Roger Gibson's wife on paper, but clearly, just a joke to everyone else.
Years ago, the Jenkins couple had pulled her out of some run-down neighborhood overseas, saying she was their long-lost daughter.
But had they really not bothered doing a simple DNA test before welcoming her in?
Why did they only discover the mistake now?
Alexia's body tensed up. Her eyes drifted over to the man standing next to her.
However, Roger's attention was not on her. He was looking at Marilee, as if they were the only ones in the room.
Her voice came out strained as she asked, "Why? You didn't even tell me."
Roger's face was as cold as stone.
"Now you know. That's all that matters. It's over, Alexia. You were never good enough for me. Our marriage? Just a transaction. The only woman I've ever loved is Marilee. And you know why I never touched you after the wedding? Because you disgust me. You're like a spoiled dish--completely unappetizing."
His eyes swept over her from head to toe, full of scorn. Her simple clothes, those outdated glasses--everything about her clashed with the glossy, high-class world he lived in.
Before his harsh words even fully sank in, Alexia lifted her glass and threw the ch**pagne right into his face.
The drink hit him with a loud splash, soaking his face and pricey suit. He just stood there, stunned, as the li**id dripped from his hair and down his face.
"A spoiled dish? You told me you wanted an ordinary housewife. Dad and Mom told me they wanted an obedient daughter, who never outdid anyone!"
Without hesitation, she threw the glass to the floor. The sharp crash instantly silenced the whole room.
Roger's face turned red with embarrassment. His jaw tightened. "Have you lost your mind?"
From the stage, the Jenkins couple yelled at her. "Alexia, this is Marilee's birthday, not a place for your drama!"
People in the crowd rolled their eyes and muttered that she was nuts.
None of them had a clue what she had given up for the two families all these years.
Shoving through the crowd, Alexia made a beeline for the exit. Reporters swarmed after her like a flood.
She shoved past them all, blind to the pouring rain, deaf to the murmurs and judgment surrounding her.
Right now, all she wanted was to get away--far from the noise, the eyes, and the humiliation.
But just as she broke through the crowd and made it outside, a bunch of Marilee's wild fans shoved her hard, and she slipped, landing on the wet road.
Marilee was an A-list star in showbiz. Her birthday party was being livestreamed, and tons of fans had gathered outside.
The second they saw Alexia step out, the crowd lost it, shouting like wild animals who had just found something to attack.
"Alexia, you've got some nerve attending Marilee's birthday party. You've got no shame!"
"You're not even the real daughter. Just go back to whatever dump you came from, or are you too hooked on the Jenkins' money?"
"Roger's going to divorce you, and you still think it's okay to show your face around Marilee? Who do you think you are?"
"Go away already!"
Alexia lay there on the wet street, frozen for a second, while their nasty words echoed all around her.
She let out a dry, bitter laugh. Everything was such a joke. A broken marriage, a cold family, and now they'd left her completely humiliated.
What was the point of pretending for so long? She had kept her head down, put up with everything, and this was what she got in the end?
A wave of helplessness washed over her. She closed her eyes, not even caring anymore as the freezing rain drenched her.
Through the noise and chaos, a flattering voice broke through. "Mr. Mason." The polite greeting was followed by firm, steady footsteps coming closer in the rain.
Moments later, a black umbrella appeared above her, silently cutting through the rain and offering her shelter from the storm.
Chapter 2 Meeting Him Again At Her Absolute Worst
Alexia slowly looked up and met a sharp, intense gaze.
The streetlights flickered in the rain. Waylon Mason stood there, tall and intimidating, with a strong presence that made people uncomfortable.
Behind him was a row of fancy cars parked along the street, catching everyone's eye.
His assistants were standing on both sides of him, and one was holding an umbrella over his head.
But the umbrella Waylon was holding was tilted just to cover Alexia.
Waylon took a slow step forward and leaned in. Before she could react, his fingers reached up and removed the heavy, black-rimmed glasses from her face.
Her bright, beautiful eyes were now fully visible.
He looked down at her with a smirk. "It's been years, Alexia. Look at you--what a mess. Did you finally stop being that love-crazy girl, or are you still dreaming useless dreams?"
Every word cut deeper. Alexia's eyes started to tear up, and the little bit of strength she had left broke down under his harsh voice.
She opened her mouth to retort, but before she could speak, Waylon suddenly picked her up in his arms in front of everyone, protecting her from the rain and everything around them.
He walked toward the black car waiting nearby, carrying her as the bodyguards quickly stepped aside to make way.
All the noise and the rude comments around them faded away.
Everyone just stood there, stunned, watching them leave with shock written all over their faces.
...
Inside the car, Alexia held onto her muddy, soaked dress with trembling hands.
She looked down, her voice rough. "Waylon, why'd you have to show up now?"
Why now...when everything in her life was falling apart?
Waylon tilted his head at her question, then reached out and took her chin in his hand, gently but firmly lifting her face.
His voice was calm, yet carried a cold edge. "Why else? I came to check on the woman I liked the least."
His eyes darkened, a smirk playing on his lips. "So, Alexia, do you remember what I said to you seven years ago?"
Of course she did.
Waylon was the golden child of the Mason family. Her biggest rival back in the day.
The last time they met was at the airport, seven years ago. What was meant to be a goodbye turned into their worst fight.
Waylon always hated how she begged for the Jenkins family's approval and how she held onto Roger like she had no pride.
And she couldn't stand his ego and how he judged everyone she cared about.
Back then, he'd warned her clearly--chasing approval from people who'd never truly accept her would only end in disappointment, leaving her with nothing in the end.
But she was too hopeful to see it. She had told herself, "It's okay if they don't like me now. If I work hard and put them first, they'll accept me eventually."
They wanted her to marry Roger, so she agreed. Her brothers didn't want her getting too powerful, so she acted clueless and average.
But behind the scenes, she was quietly taking out their threats and protecting both the Jenkins and the Gibson families.
As Waylon's fingers held her jaw tightly, her warm tears fell on his hand, running down his knuckles.
His expression wavered. The coldness faded just for a second. Then, he let go.
Alexia's voice shook, still raspy from the rain. "Waylon, you were right. They tossed me aside after exploiting me. For more than twenty years, I gave them everything I had. I was so st**id."
It was a long time before Waylon finally spoke again. "You were not st**id. They just weren't worth it."
But Alexia didn't respond.
He turned to look at her and saw her fast asleep.
Later that night, Alexia suddenly came down with a high fever.
Santino Blake, Waylon's personal doctor, got pulled out of bed by a single call and had to grab his stuff and rush over late at night.
With his years of experience, Santino quickly ran a full checkup. He stood by the bed, looking at Alexia's pale, tired face, and let out a soft sigh.
Chapter 3 Our Luna Is Back
Santino glanced over his shoulder and caught sight of Waylon on the balcony, ci**rette burning slowly between his fingers.
Sm**e curled up in lazy spirals, casting a ghostly veil over Waylon's sharp features, softening them with each exhale.
Waylon rarely sm**ked. Santino could only recall one other time Waylon had smoked like this--two years ago.
Santino stepped outside and joined him.
"She's stable now. She just picked up a chill from being stuck in the rain and took the shock pretty hard. I've given her an injection and some medication--she'll be all right."
A brief pause allowed Santino to scan the night sky.
"I checked the headlines. The Jenkins family didn't just cut her off; they humiliated her for everyone to see--right in the middle of Marilee's birthday party."
Anger edged into Santino's voice. "Hadn't they done a DNA test before taking her back from abroad? This whole thing smells like a setup."
A sudden vibration broke his focus--Alexia's phone was buzzing on the nightstand.
Waylon strode inside, intent on ending the call, but the name flashing on the screen stopped him cold.
A flicker of something dark flashed across his eyes as he picked up and put on the speaker.
Shouting erupted instantly, the caller's anger unmistakable.
"Alexia, you've ignored every call and message. What exactly are you trying to pull? Faking your own disappearance won't help. Tomorrow, you're signing the divorce agreement, and that's the end of it. I've shown enough patience. Stop standing in the way of Marilee and me. You've lived off the Jenkins family long enough."
"If you have any dignity left, walk away for good--it's the least you can do for Marilee. Don't worry about your share--you'll get what's coming. You looked after my grandmother and my mother these past years, fine. But don't overstep. Learn when to quit. Why aren't you answering me? Where are you?"
The stillness that lingered on the line finally made Roger uneasy. His confidence wavered and his words lost their edge.
Santino internally begged for someone to step in and stop what was happening, feeling panic surge as things slipped further from control.
From the moment Roger started speaking, Santino caught the way Waylon's face darkened.
His eyes went cold and every hint of warmth vanished, leaving the atmosphere icy and suffocating. Santino could barely stand, knees threatening to give way.
Waylon's expression turned sharp, his smile edged with cruelty. "So that's the way you speak to her, huh?"
Every mu**le in Roger's body tensed, instincts screaming a warning. His voice grew cautious. "Who are you? Where is Alexia?"
Waylon let his gaze settle on the b*d, where Alexia rested, her breathing faint but even.
His response came as a gentle murmur, almost lost in the tension. "She's asleep."
He let a short silence hang before adding, "And she's right here with me."
The only thing that answered him was the explosive sound of rage through the phone. Roger's voice thundered down the line. "What did you just say? Who are you?"
Amusement glimmered in Waylon's eyes as a low chuckle slipped out. "Relax. You'll figure it out...assuming you live long enough." Without another word, he ended the call.
By morning, the rain had vanished, leaving sunlight streaming through the windows as Alexia stirred awake.
She reached for her phone, greeted by a storm of missed calls and furious messages from Roger.
Without reacting, she scrolled through the flood of texts, then let the device drop onto the sheets. Right now, a hot shower mattered more.
Steam fogged the bathroom mirror as she faced her reflection. Something had changed--her eyes, once dull, now held a spark she hadn't seen in ages.
For the first time in ages, she tried out a smile, and this one actually reached her eyes, genuine and alive.
It felt like a fever had burned away all her confusion, stripping her heart of old pain and fo**ish loyalty to those who never deserved it.
No more playing the fool. No more pretending everything was fine. This sad story was over.
Wrapped in a towel after the shower, she scanned her contacts and paused on a name untouched for years.
Her call barely rang once before chaos exploded on the other end.
"Luna! It's about d**mn time! Tell me--are the rumors true? You're finally getting a divorce?"
Laughter and shouting burst from the background, her friends making no attempt to hide their eavesdropping.
Alexia replied calmly, "Yes, I'm going to sign the divorce agreement today."
Celebration roared through the phone. Whistles, cheers, the clink of glasses--her friends were clearly turning it into a full-blown party.
"Took you long enough to snap out of that trance! No more housewife blues. Our Luna is back!"
"Divorce is the best thing to happen to you! Roger never deserved you. Say the word and I'll handle him myself!"
"And don't get me started on that overrated Jenkins family. If not for you, they'd have collapsed during last year's crash. Luna, we're ready when you are--the Helix Consortium stands with you."
Their laughter and support brought a genuine grin to Alexia's lips. "In that case, I need a ride."
Without missing a beat, a man's voice broke in, buzzing with excitement. "A ride? For your grand return? Name it. I'll send the reigning racing champion to pick you up!"
Chapter 4 Do You Believe Me
The call had barely ended when the soft click of the door caught Alexia's attention, her head snapping up.
There in the doorway stood Waylon, his height casting a shadow, his expression giving nothing away as their eyes met.
Neither of them had anticipated this kind of encounter.
Fresh from the shower, Alexia's hair clung damply to her cheeks, a robe slipping low on her shoulders, skin flushed and eyes still hazy with warmth.
That oversized bathrobe, threatening to slip further, revealed soft lines of skin; the faint scent of shampoo lingered in the air, sweet and impossible to ignore.
Waylon's gaze swept over her, lingering just long enough for her cheeks to flush, before he looked away calmly. "Get ready. Breakfast is on the table."
Moments later, Alexia emerged dressed, met by the aroma of a beautifully arranged breakfast.
Hunger won out over pride; she took her seat without pretense, finishing most of the meal before pausing for breath.
Little was said as Waylon let her eat in peace, only breaking the silence after she'd nearly cleared her plate. "You need a lawyer?"
She set down her coffee cup, eyes meeting his squarely. "So you've heard."
Amusement tugged at his mouth, though his eyes stayed cold. "Is there anyone left who doesn't?"
Alexia tasted the bitterness of the coffee and grimaced for just a moment, though she quickly composed herself. "I can deal with it."
As the words left her mouth, she realized he might think she was too stubborn to admit she needed help.
After all, in most people's eyes, women being dumped were pathetic.
"Do you believe me when I say that?" she asked.
A smirk played on Waylon's face, eyes narrowing with a knowing glint. "Why wouldn't I? Alexia, he's the one who should've fallen apart."
That unwavering gaze held her still, though she managed a small, genuine smile in return. "You've always known how to make a good point."
Once breakfast was done, Alexia got ready to leave.
Reaching the doorway, she stopped and glanced back. "Thank you," she said quietly, her gratitude unmistakable.
There was no chance she'd forget his kindness.
...
Ten minutes had ticked past their appointment, and Roger's patience was quickly wearing thin as he and Marilee waited for Alexia in a private club.
"Why isn't she here yet? Is she refusing to divorce you?" Marilee pressed herself closer to him, sugar in her tone as she pouted.
"You haven't forgotten our shopping plans, right? You promised you'd buy me a gown after this."
Roger hummed in response. The weekend's banquet held by the Chamber of Commerce would be the perfect stage to introduce Marilee--the timing of her comeback couldn't have been more ideal.
Every influential name in town would be present, all eyes fixed on Waylon's much-anticipated return.
Just thinking about Waylon sent a flicker of unease across Roger's face.
The Chamber of Commerce's open support for Waylon right before the election of its new president wasn't exactly good news for the Gibson family.
A sudden uproar near the doorway snapped Roger's focus.
His head turned, and in that instant, it felt as though the atmosphere in the room shifted.
Everyone's attention zeroed in on a single figure gliding inside with effortless grace.
Alexia walked in, her crimson dress hugging every curve, heels whispering over the polished floor. Each stride radiated poise and quiet confidence.
The scarlet hue, that unmistakable glow--she looked like the sunrise brought to life.
With each step Alexia took, Marilee's smile grew tighter, until it disappeared altogether when Alexia claimed the seat across from them.
Roger couldn't hide his shock either; his eyes remained glued to Alexia's artfully made-up features.
"You..." Words caught in his throat, visible in the small, nervous bob of his Adam's apple.
Nobody present could believe this woman was the same person from last night--the awkward glasses, the baggy checkered shirt, the sopping hair.
Yesterday's pitiful girl had been replaced by someone utterly different, confident, unrecognizable.
Nothing about their surprise caught Alexia off guard. Her beauty wasn't news to her; she'd just chosen not to make a show of it.
Childhood lessons had always emphasized modesty, staying out of the spotlight, never inviting too much notice.
Marriage only tightened the leash. Years spent tending to Roger's grandmother and fielding disapproval from a mother-in-law who'd been fed tales of her so-called wild youth.
Not even her hair or the color of her clothes escaped scrutiny. Every detail had been censored into drab submission.
Vibrant dresses never made it to her closet--only baggy, forgettable options filled the shelves.
That chapter, though, was behind her.
With unhurried confidence, Alexia called over a server, ordered a te**ila, and began paging through the divorce agreement--unfazed by the attention.
Marilee recovered her composure first, flashing a sweet smile.
"Alexia, I hope you're alright after yesterday. The reporters caught us all off guard. Someone told me you slipped in the rain. It must have been miserable out there."
Chapter 5 Watching Her Unravel
Patience faded on Marilee's face as she waited for a reaction, but Alexia wouldn't even meet her eyes.
Instead, she directed her attention to Roger. "Is the Gibson fortune going up in flames? This is all I'm worth?"
A shadow crossed Roger's face. "That's what the prenup says, so that's all you're entitled to."
Even before they got married, he'd closed every door to the family's fortune, making sure she'd never find a loophole.
Realizing Alexia was blatantly ignoring her, Marilee butted in, "You're getting more than enough, Alexia. Was it love or money you wanted from Roger, anyway?"
Alexia still refused to acknowledge her, not so much as a glance. "With an amount this pitiful? Hang on to it--you'll need every last cent when the Gibson empire falls apart."
Those words wiped any patience from Roger's face. "Don't push it, Alexia."
Suddenly, Marilee's eyes shimmered with tears and her voice went brittle, as though her heart might break. "Please, Alexia, don't do this to Roger," she whimpered.
The crowd's attention snapped toward her as sobs and sniffles filled the space.
Marilee reached for the delicate pink diamond at her throat.
"Maybe you never knew, but Roger and I have loved each other for years. He gave me this necklace on your wedding day--it's a symbol of his devotion. That cherry blossom garden in your backyard? Roger built it just for me, hoping I'd smile. You stole my life. Everything you have should have been mine. Don't you think it's time you let go and left quietly, without asking for more?"
An uncomfortable hush settled over the room.
It was rare to see a mi**ress acting so brazenly, demanding the wife walk away with empty hands.
Finally, Alexia turned to meet Marilee's eyes, her voice colder than ice.
"I stole your life? Was it me who went to the Jenkins family, begging them to accept me? Was I the one who refused a DNA test and strutted around calling myself their true daughter? Did I chase after Roger, desperate for a marriage?"
Every pointed question shattered the silence, each one sharp enough to cut.
All color drained from Marilee's face, her body rigid beneath Alexia's icy stare.
Not missing a beat, Alexia delivered the final blow. "Go blame your own fo**ish parents."
That snapped the last of Marilee's restraint. "If it weren't for them, you'd still be digging through ga**age. You've been living a luxurious life for twenty years. Without them, you'd be nothing but a pauper."
A sharp laugh spilled from Alexia. Her gaze drifted to the faded needle marks on her wrist. "If this is what luxury looks like, I must have missed out. Pain, though? There was always enough of that to go around."
Disbelief filled Marilee's eyes, her words trembling with contempt.
"Lies. You grew up surrounded by filth--you're nothing but ga**age. If my parents hadn't stepped in, you'd be gone by now. Some gang would have had its way with you and left you in the gutter--"
The rest never left her mouth. A sharp s**p rang out, echoing in the room.
Stunned, Marilee pressed trembling fingers to the swelling red mark, speechless.
A cold smile curved Alexia's lips.
"There's nothing I despise more than people who never learned basic decency. The Jenkins family or not, I'd still be standing here as myself. But you? Without that divorce agreement, you're nothing more than a shameless mi**ress."
Not waiting for a reaction, Alexia hurled the signed divorce agreement straight at Marilee, landing the hit with brutal precision. "Think of it as my parting gift."
Marilee flinched as the edges nicked her forehead, letting out a startled cry. The shock left her shaking, the color draining from her lips.
Alexia watched the panic unraveling Marilee's composure, noticing the nervous twitch on her face.
Pretending to care, she cocked her head and offered, "Do you need me to call an ambulance for you?"
That question broke whatever restraint Marilee had left. "Why would you ever do that?" she snapped.
Alexia gave her a look laced with fake concern. "It just seems like you're not well at all."
Marilee's voice cracked as she screamed, "I am not sick!"
Even Roger turned, uncertain and uneasy as her shrill denial filled the room.
Unbothered, Alexia let her reply drip with venom, hitting every nerve.
"Funny. People who are actually unwell always insist they're fine. Might be time to book yourself a session with a psychiatrist. And before I forget...cute necklace. But honestly? Junk stones aren't worth much these days."
Marilee's face turned ashen, her fury and humiliation overwhelming her. Without warning, she collapsed straight into Roger's arms.
Anger carved hard lines into Roger's face as he pulled Marilee close, glaring at Alexia.
"I never realized you could be so cruel. Just because you wore my ring, you think you can say whatever you want?"
Before Alexia could offer a comeback, a familiar voice cut through the tension, heavy with mockery.
"Really? That's your angle? Just because she wore your ring, you think you could speak to her like that?"
A collective g**p swept through the crowd, all attention snapping to the doorway.
There, tall and dangerously handsome, a man entered, charm radiating effortlessly with every step.
......
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&5&
A message lit up Stella's phone, and along with it came a bunch of photos.
Clothes scattered carelessly, two people holding each other tightly, messy b**sheets...
This kind of thing wasn't new to Stella.
One look at the big hand holding that woman's wrist, and Stella knew it was Marc's. Her husband. The same man she'd been married to for four years.
Then her eyes caught the date on the pictures, and her stomach sank. It was the same day as their wedding anniversary.
Marc had promised they'd spend the evening together, but he'd vanished for three days.
All she got was a message from his assistant, saying he had some urgent business to handle.
"Urgent, huh?" Stella let out a cold chuckle. Clearly urgent--in someone else's b*d. She then closed the message and called someone from her contact list.
The person picked up almost immediately.
"Stella," came the voice on the other end.
"I've made my decision to join the classified research project," she said calmly.
A heavy silence stretched on the other end of the line, and then came a sharp, unwavering voice.
"Don't joke around, Stella. Once you're in the classified research project, there's no turning back. You'll be officially listed as missing, and everything about your past will be wiped clean. A new identity will be created for you. So ask yourself--are you really ready to walk away from your family? From Marc?"
Stella's eyes fell on the framed wedding photo hanging nearby.
Marc's promises, which used to sound sweet, now felt cold and empty.
"I've made my decision. I'll come by tomorrow to fill out the forms."
Stella once savored Marc's devotion, yet his covert cruelty cut deep.
Then she deleted her identity, signed onto a classified research mission, vanished without a trace, that same dawn Marc's empire crumbled.
All he unearthed was her death certificate, and he shattered. When they met again, a gala spotlighted Stella beside a tycoon.
Marc begged her to forgive. With a smirk, she said, "Out of your league, darling."
...
&7&
Después de cinco años de casados, mi esposo, Alan Barnes nunca estuvo presente en mi cumpleaños.
No hubo regalos ni bendiciones.
Él decía: "Te he dado el dinero, compra lo que quieras".
Pero cuando se trataba del cumpleaños de su amiga de la infancia, Fiona Jenkins, él comenzaba a prepararlo medio mes antes.
Decía: "Ella es diferente, ella solo me tiene a mí".
Como la única sobreviviente de un incendio accidental, Fiona había recibido su compasión durante más de diez años.
Al ver la foto en redes sociales de Fiona, sosteniendo un pastel y be**ndo el rostro de Alan, dejé un comentario: "Este inútil, te lo regalo".
1
Antes de la medianoche, Alan entró al baño con su teléfono.
Me levanté en silencio, me apoyé contra la pared y pude escuchar su voz cariñosa:
"¿Cómo podría olvidarlo? Debo ser el primero en desearte un feliz cumpleaños".
Al oír eso, una sensación amarga me llenó el corazón, como si algo estuviera desgarrándome por dentro.
Esto había sido así durante cinco años.
Hoy era el cumpleaños de Fiona, y también el mío.
Después de casarnos, él nunca celebró mi cumpleaños conmigo. Siempre estaba ocupado ese día.
Tuvimos peleas y discusiones, pero pensé que este año sería diferente.
Hace medio mes, cuando encargó el pastel, me preguntó:"¿Te gusta este vestido?".
El vestido de tirantes, con es**lda de**ubierta y cola de sirena, brillaba en plata en la pantalla del teléfono.
Bromeé: "¿Pero... en qué ocasión puedo usarlo?".
Él me miró sorprendido: "En tu cumpleaños. Eres hermosa, no te preocupes por lo que digan los demás".
Yo estaba llena de esperanza, esperando que este año fuera distinto.
Porque él siempre había preparado el cumpleaños de Fiona a mis espaldas.
Y en aquel entonces, parecía que no me ocultaba nada, pensé que esta vez sería para mí.
Incluso llegué a pensar en ser una esposa generosa, Y hasta quería invitar a Fiona a celebrar cumpleaños juntas, ya que sus padres ya no estaban.
Pero ahora parece que todo era solo mi ilusión.
A través de la puerta del baño, escuché a Alan hablar de mí con desdén:
"Freya no es una niña, ¿por qué debo mimarla?
Lo más me insiste en que no vaya, más ganas tengo de ir".
Mis uñas me dolían por apretar mis manos y mi corazón se rompió.
¿Acaso era inmoral celebrar el cumpleaños para mí, su esposa?
Alan suspiró profundamente:
"Cada vez es más desagradecida".
No supe qué dijo Fiona, pero Alan pronto se río:
"Mañana te recogeré, recuerda ponerte el vestido".
Al escuchar eso, me sentí totalmente decepcionada.
Mi marido tenía un carácter débil, pero después del matrimonio, parecía haber comenzado su rebelión.
Capítulo 2
Los dos estuvieron hablando por teléfono en el baño hasta medianoche. Cuando volvió a la c**a, me abrazó sin darse cuenta de que lo fría que yo estaba.
Su ronquido comenzó unos segundos después y sentí su aliento en mi frente.
Me giré, manteniendo algo de distancia, mientras miraba mi teléfono, que se iluminaba de vez en cuando: mi familia, amigos, colegas e incluso el banco me enviaron mensajes de felicitación.
Pero él no me dijo nada.
Pasé casi toda la noche en vela. Por la mañana, cuando desayunábamos, Alan me miró fijamente las ojeras bajo los ojos.
"¿No do**iste bien?", me preguntó.
Me quedé en silencio, sin decir nada, observando su cabello perfectamente cuidado y su traje, se veía tan bien arreglado.
Me vi absurda al soltar: "Hoy es mi cumpleaños...".
Él detuvo la mano que sostenía el panqueque por un segundo y luego dijo:
"Te he dado el dinero. Pues cómprate lo que quieras".
De repente, perdí el ap**ito por la comida.
Lo miré con una mezcla de diversión y desaprobación, lo cual lo hizo sentirse culpable e impaciente.
Pero aún intentó ser paciente y dijo: "Basta, Freya.
Fiona es diferente. Ella solo me tiene a mí".
En su tono se notaba toda la ternura y la compasión que sentía por ella.
Cuando Fiona cumplió doce años, hubo un incendio en su casa.
Y sus padres hicieron todo lo posible para protegerla, pero ella terminó siendo huérfana.
Hace cinco años, ya había comprendido cuánto la prefería a Fiona.
Sin embargo, en ese momento, lo amaba tanto.
Si yo lo hubiera sabido, en aquella boda mejor les habría cedido el lugar.
Capítulo 3
En aquella boda, cuando llegó el momento en que Alan debía besarme en la boda, Fiona apareció bajo el escenario con un vestido blanco, tan lastimosa que arrancaba compasión.
Con lágrimas deslizándose por sus mejillas, dijo entre sollozos:
"Alan, ¿también tú vas a abandonarme?".
Las manos de Alan, que me sostenían el rostro, se apartaron de golpe como si hubiera recibido una descarga.
Su amigo Philip Ward corrió enseguida a sacar a Fiona de allí.
Aunque Alan suspiró con alivio y me miró con ternura, aquel b**o que me dio fue fugaz, descuidado, lo bastante superficial para inquietarme.
Con el tiempo, entendí la fuerza de un reencuentro entre dos que habían sido inseparables en la infancia.
La noche de bodas, Alan pasó horas en el balcón hablando por teléfono con Fiona.
Entonces aún no me ocultaba nada.
No importaba lo que él dijera: del otro lado de la línea, ella solo lloraba.
Cuando Alan me miraba, en sus ojos se mezclaban la impotencia y la culpa.
Decía que Fiona era inocente, que tenía la mentalidad de una niña de doce años.
Al principio, yo también sentí compasión por ella.
Si Alan iba a verla, me llevaba con él. Incluso cuando encontraba algo que podría gustarle, lo compraba para regalárselo.
Pero pronto noté su hostilidad.
En uno de los viajes de negocios de Alan, me escribió pidiéndome que la visitara:
"Tiene fiebre alta y se niega a ir al hospital. Yo no puedo dejar lo que estoy haciendo".
Me pidió el favor de cuidarla, y yo crucé la ciudad bajo un aguacero para llegar a su casa. Al abrirme la puerta, su cara se llenó de decepción al verme.
La mesa estaba cubierta de envases de comida rápida y botellas de v**o vacías.
Y al fijarme en la casi transparente pijama blanca que llevaba puesta, comprendí todo de inmediato.
No estaba enferma de fiebre. Lo que tenía era ansias de se**cir a mi marido.
Capítulo 4
Fiona solo mostraba ese capricho infantil con Alan.
Me miraba con desdén y soltaba: "Lo controlas demasiado, eres igual que su madre".
Me empujó a la puerta junto con los regalos que yo misma le había llevado.
Tras la madera cerrada, sus sollozos histéricos se escuchaban con claridad.
Lloraba, se quejaba, le hacía pucheros a Alan.
Más tarde, Philip me confesó que Fiona era el talón de Aquiles de Alan.
De niña, cuando no quiso marcharse al extranjero con sus parientes, Alan se la llevó de casa como si huyeran juntos.
Tres días después, llorando a gritos, fue arrastrada por sus familiares de regreso.
Tiempo después se lo pregunté a Alan, y él, con una sonrisa nerviosa, me dijo:
"Solo estaba jugando con ella, ¿cómo iba a no volver a casa de verdad?".
No me dijo la verdad, pero en aquel momento decidí no desenmascararlo.
Alan venía de una familia acomodada; ni siquiera necesitaba esforzarse demasiado.
Sus padres habían pavimentado cada paso de su futuro: lo único que él debía hacer era plegar las alas.
Philip solía quejarse de eso, le parecía increíble:
"Él no tuvo nunca el valor de rebelarse. Esos tres días lo reportaba todo a su madre, solo Fiona creyó que estaban huyendo".
Alan nunca fue un hombre valiente.
Yo lo amé justamente por eso: porque era previsible, prudente, correcto en cada gesto.
Cuando me cortejó, lo hizo con calma, atento siempre.
Luego v**o la propuesta, el compromiso, la boda.
Sin Fiona, quizá habría seguido siendo el mismo.
Pero esa "costilla" suya despertó la rebeldía que jamás tuvo.
En mi primer cumpleaños tras la boda, estaba de viaje de negocios.
Esperé durante horas su felicitación; al anochecer, dolida, le pregunté: "¿Lo olvidaste?".
Me pidió disculpas una y otra vez al teléfono, nervioso. Decía que de veras se le había pasado.
Pero el segundo, el tercero, el cuarto cumpleaños... siempre coincidía con viajes. ¿Quién elige justo ese día para irse de negocios?
Siguiendo su cuenta de Facebook, encontré pronto la de Fiona.
Fui repasando una a una sus publicaciones, y cada entrada era como una grieta en mi corazón.
El parque de atracciones, el restaurante giratorio, los fuegos artificiales en la bahía...
Todo lo que yo había deseado, los planes que había buscado con ilusión, terminaron convirtiéndose en sorpresas de cumpleaños que Alan le regaló a su querida amiga de la infancia.
Una auténtica desfachatez.
Capítulo 5
El día que me armé de valor para enfrentarlo, Alan guardó silencio todo el tiempo.
Cuando terminé de desahogarme entre gritos y lágrimas, simplemente se levantó y me abrazó.
Me apretó con tanta fuerza que no pude zafarme.
Con una mano me ac**iciaba la espalda, una y otra vez, con suavidad.
Dijo: "Fiona es digna de lástima. ¿No puedes verla como a una niña?".
Sentí que por dentro todo quedaba arrasado.
Su manera de engañarse a sí mismo me resultó casi absurda.
"Tiene veintinueve años, es dos años mayor que yo. ¿Y me dices que la trate como si fuera una niña?".
Sus brazos fueron aflojándose poco a poco: "Freya, ¿tú también vas a empezar con tus berrinches?", soltó con impaciencia.
Juró y perjuró que lo suyo con Fiona no era más que compasión, pura lástima.
Yo no pude evitar preguntar, con miedo en la voz: "¿Y hasta cuándo va a durar esto? ¿Hasta que tenga su propia familia?".
Él me miró con vacilación, pero no dijo nada.
Y ese silencio fue la mejor respuesta.
En esta relación siempre hubo alguien que hacía lo que quería, alguien que lo consentía, y alguien —yo— que solo podía aguantar hasta romperse.
Como ahora, sentada sola frente al enorme pastel de cumpleaños.
Deslicé el dedo por la pantalla y vi la última publicación de Fiona.
Aparecía sosteniendo un pastel con las velas encendidas y dándole un b**o en la mejilla a Alan.
El pie de foto, ambiguo y calculado: "Tú a mi lado, yo a tu lado".
Pensé en mis recuerdos pasados con Alan.
De golpe, los recuerdos de tres años de noviazgo y cinco de matrimonio pasaron ante mis ojos como una película.¿Y qué habían significado realmente?
Entonces entendí aquellas palabras que Alan pronunció al pedirme matrimonio: "Que siempre seamos nosotros".
No hablaba de un "nosotros" compartido, sino de que, a partir de ese momento, su rebeldía solo sería contra mí.
No tenía el valor de enfrentarse a sus padres ni de renunciar a la realidad para perseguir sus de**os... pero sí tenía el valor de humillarme, de condenarme a una relación asfixiante.
Al pensarlo, el corazón se me heló por completo.
Y escribí lentamente bajo la foto: "Quédate con este cobarde, te lo regalo".
Pocos segundos después, mi comentario había desaparecido.
Sonreí con frialdad. ¿Así que para traicionar sí, pero para reconocerlo no?
Sin pensarlo demasiado, compartí la captura en mi propio muro.
Le añadí unas palabras sencillas:
"Dos de**os de cumpleaños: Uno, que ustedes sean ustedes. Otro, que nosotros dejemos de ser nosotros".
Alan respondió enseguida: "Feliz cumpleaños, amor".
Y yo, sin rodeos, escribí: "El aludido está aquí, qué mejor momento para anunciar el divorcio".
......
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&3&
Mon mari, Adrien, m'a traînée à une soirée pour son ex-petite amie, Camille Dubois. Nos cinq ans de mariage n'étaient qu'une mascarade, un contrat qu'il avait signé pour la narguer après qu'elle l'eut quitté. Je n'étais que la femme de paille.
Pendant un jeu de « Sept minutes au paradis », il a choisi Camille. Quand ils sont sortis des toilettes, son rouge à lèvres était étalé et un su**n frais marquait son cou.
Plus tard dans la nuit, Adrien et Camille ont débarqué en trombe chez nous. Il m'a accusée d'avoir volé son collier de diamants valant plusieurs millions d'euros.
Il ne m'a pas crue, même quand j'ai juré que j'étais innocente. Il a appelé la police, qui a, comme par hasard, trouvé le collier dans mon sac à main.
Il m'a regardée avec un dégoût infini. « Je n'aurais jamais dû t'épouser », a-t-il craché. « Tu n'es qu'une racaille de banlieue. »
J'ai été arrêtée sur la parole de la femme qui m'avait piégée. Mes cinq années d'amour silencieux et de dévouement ne signifiaient rien. L'homme dont j'étais secrètement tombée amoureuse ne voyait en moi qu'une vulgaire voleuse.
J'ai passé la nuit dans une cellule de garde à vue glaciale. Le lendemain matin, après avoir été libérée sous caution, j'ai retiré la carte SIM de mon téléphone, je l'ai cassée en deux et je l'ai jetée à la poubelle. C'était fini.
Je leur ferais payer. Je réduirais leur monde en cendres.
Chapitre 1
Les papiers du divorce sont arrivés un mardi. L'enveloppe blanche immaculée reposait sur le comptoir en marbre, mon nom, Chloé Leroy, tapé dans une police stérile. À côté, un autre nom : Adrien de Villiers. Mon mari.
Pendant cinq ans, ce titre m'avait semblé être un costume que je portais. C'était une imposture, un mariage de convenance qu'il avait contracté pour narguer son ex-petite amie mondaine, Camille Dubois, après qu'elle l'eut publiquement largué.
Je me tenais dans un coin de la somptueuse salle de bal, une flûte de champagne intacte à la main.
Puis je les ai vus. Camille Dubois, drapée dans une robe argentée scintillante, glissait vers moi. Ses amies, une volée de femmes tout aussi sophistiquées, la suivaient. L'air s'est épaissi de leur parfum coûteux et de leur mépris silencieux.
« Chloé, ma chérie », la voix de Camille était douce comme de la soie, mais ses yeux contenaient une cruauté familière. « Je t'ai à peine reconnue. Tu es presque présentable, pour une fois. »
Je n'ai pas souri. J'ai juste soutenu son regard. « Camille. »
Une de ses amies a ri, un son aigu et tintant. « Toujours aussi glaciale. On peut sortir la fille de la ville ouvrière, mais on ne peut pas sortir la ville ouvrière de la fille, j'imagine. »
Les mots étaient censés piquer, mais je les avais entendus, ou des versions d'eux, un millier de fois. Ils n'étaient rien.
Mais Camille savait où viser. Elle s'est penchée, sa voix baissant à un murmure conspirateur assez fort pour que tout le monde à proximité puisse entendre. « J'ai vu ta mère l'autre jour. Elle boite toujours à cause de son accident à l'usine, n'est-ce pas ? C'est si tragique. On pourrait croire qu'avec tout l'argent d'Adrien, tu aurais pu au moins lui offrir une prothèse décente. »
Une rage blanche et brûlante m'a inondée. Ma mère était ma limite. La seule chose au monde qu'ils ne pouvaient pas toucher.
Ma main a bougé avant que je puisse réfléchir. Le claquement de ma paume contre la joue de Camille a résonné dans le silence soudain.
Des halètements ont parcouru les spectateurs. La tête de Camille a basculé en arrière, une marque rouge fleurissant sur sa peau parfaite. Pendant une seconde, elle a semblé stupéfaite.
Puis ses yeux se sont rétrécis. Avec un grognement vicieux, elle a attrapé un verre de v*n rouge plein sur un plateau qui passait et a jeté son contenu sur moi.
Le liquide froid a trempé le devant de ma robe, une tache sombre et laide s'étalant sur le tissu pâle. Il a coulé sur le sol, formant une flaque à mes pieds. Je suis restée là, tremblante et humiliée, le v*n collant à ma peau comme une seconde co**he honteuse.
Soudain, une présence était derrière moi. Une grande et coûteuse veste de costume a été drapée sur mes épaules, me protégeant des regards insistants.
« Qu'est-ce qui se passe, bo**el ? »
La voix d'Adrien était basse et dangereuse. Je n'avais pas besoin de me retourner pour savoir qu'il était là. Il apparaissait toujours dans les moments les plus dramatiques. Sa chemise était légèrement sortie de son pantalon, et ses cheveux étaient en désordre, comme s'il avait couru jusqu'ici.
Il s'est placé devant moi, un mur protecteur entre moi et le monde.
Il a fusillé Camille du regard, la mâchoire serrée. « Qu'est-ce que tu as fait ? »
Le visage de Camille s'est immédiatement décomposé. Des larmes ont rempli ses yeux alors qu'elle pointait un doigt tremblant vers moi. « Adrien, elle m'a frappée ! Regarde ! Sans aucune raison, elle m'a juste attaquée. »
Je pouvais voir les rouages tourner dans sa tête, le vieux conflit familier. Sa loyauté envers moi, sa femme, contre l'attraction profonde et toxique de la femme qu'il aimait depuis l'enfance.
Il n'est pas tombé dans le panneau cette fois. Pas complètement. « Dégage, Camille. Maintenant. »
Il a attrapé mon bras, sa poigne ferme, et m'a éloignée de la scène, à travers la foule qui s'écartait, et dehors dans l'air frais de la nuit. Nous avons marché en silence jusqu'à sa voiture, le moteur un faible grognement dans le parking silencieux.
À l'intérieur de la voiture, il a laissé échapper un soupir frustré, passant une main dans ses cheveux déjà en désordre. Il m'a regardée, son expression un mélange de colère et de quelque chose que je ne pouvais pas identifier.
« C'est un jour important aujourd'hui ? » a-t-il demandé, la voix rauque.
Mon cœur, que je croyais transformé en pierre, a ressenti une petite pulsation douloureuse. Il avait oublié.
« C'était notre anniversaire, Adrien », ai-je dit, la voix plate. « Hier. »
Il a tressailli. La culpabilité était évidente sur son visage. « Je suis désolé, Chloé. Je... je me rattraperai. Je t'achèterai tout ce que tu veux. »
C'était tout Adrien. Méticuleux avec les cadeaux et les grands gestes, une performance de mari parfait. Mais émotionnellement, il était un trou noir. Il pouvait se souvenir d'envoyer des fleurs mais oublier la raison. C'était un homme d'une prévenance à couper le souffle et d'une cruauté encore plus à couper le souffle.
Juste au moment où il allait démarrer la voiture, son téléphone a vibré. Il a jeté un coup d'œil à l'écran.
Camille Dubois.
Chapitre 2
Le visage d'Adrien s'est durci en répondant au téléphone, sa voix un faible grognement. « Qu'est-ce que tu veux, Camille ? »
Il a freiné si fort que la voiture a fait une embardée. Je pouvais entendre sa voix frénétique et sanglotante à travers le haut-parleur, même avec le volume bas.
« Ne me menace plus jamais », a claqué Adrien, les jointures blanches sur le volant. « Tu sais que je ne plaisante pas. »
Ses pleurs se sont intensifiés, devenant une plainte désespérée et manipulatrice. C'était un son auquel il n'avait jamais pu résister. J'ai observé la tension dans ses épaules, la guerre sur son visage. C'était un PDG qui pouvait commander des conseils d'administration et écraser des concurrents, mais face aux larmes de Camille, il était impuissant.
Après un long silence tendu, il a soupiré, tout son corps s'affaissant de défaite. « D'accord. Où es-tu ? »
Il a raccroché et s'est tourné vers moi, ses yeux remplis d'excuses qui semblaient aussi creuses que notre mariage. « Chloé, je suis désolé. Elle... elle menace de faire une bêtise. Je dois aller la voir. Tu veux bien venir avec moi ? »
J'ai hésité. Les papiers du divorce étaient sur notre comptoir à la maison. Ma fuite était déjà en marche. Ce n'était qu'une nuit d'humiliation de plus. Une dernière.
« D'accord », ai-je dit, ma voix à peine un murmure.
Nous sommes arrivés au manoir de la famille Dubois pour trouver Camille qui attendait sur le perron, le visage strié de larmes mais les yeux brillants de triomphe. Dès qu'Adrien est sorti de la voiture, elle s'est jetée dans ses bras, s'accrochant à lui comme une liane.
Il s'est raidi, essayant de la repousser doucement. « Camille, arrête. »
Elle s'est juste accrochée plus fort, enfouissant son visage dans sa poitrine. « Ne me quitte pas, Adrien. S'il te plaît. »
Il a regardé par-dessus sa tête, ses yeux rencontrant les miens pour un bref moment d'impuissance avant de finalement céder, ses bras s'enroulant autour d'elle dans un geste de réconfort réticent.
Je regardais depuis le côté conducteur, spectatrice silencieuse et invisible de leur drame sans fin. Mon cœur était comme un bloc de glace dans ma poitrine.
« Chloé », la voix d'Adrien était tendue. « Conduis. »
Ce n'était pas une demande. C'était un ordre. Nous allions à la maison de campagne de ses parents au bord du lac. Ils s'inquiétaient pour elle.
« Adrien, je... »
« Fais-le, c'est tout, Chloé », a-t-il dit, sa voix tranchante d'impatience. Il ne voulait pas se disputer devant elle.
Il est monté à l'arrière avec Camille, me laissant prendre le volant. Je n'étais plus sa femme ; j'étais son chauffeur. L'humiliation me brûlait les entrailles alors que je sentais les yeux du personnel des Dubois sur moi. J'étais l'employée, la remplaçante, le substitut.
J'ai démarré la voiture, mes mains agrippant le volant si fort que mes jointures étaient blanches.
Dans le rétroviseur, je pouvais voir Camille chuchoter à l'oreille d'Adrien, sa main glissant sur sa cuisse.
« Camille, arrête ça », a-t-il prévenu, la voix basse et tendue.
Elle a fait la moue, feignant l'innocence. « J'ai juste froid, Adrien. Serre-moi dans tes bras. »
Mon estomac s'est noué. J'ai serré le volant plus fort, me concentrant sur la route devant moi.
Il m'a jeté un coup d'œil dans le miroir, ses yeux remplis d'une excuse fugace. Ça ne voulait rien dire.
Puis, il s'est retourné vers elle, sa voix s'adoucissant pour prendre ce ton familier et indulgent qu'il n'utilisait que pour elle. « D'accord, Camille. D'accord. »
J'ai laissé échapper un souffle tremblant, un rire amer mourant dans ma gorge. Quelle blague. Ce mariage, ma vie des cinq dernières années. Tout était une blague, et j'en étais la chute.
La famille Dubois interagissait rarement avec Adrien, pas depuis qu'il m'avait épousée. Mais maintenant, alors que nous arrivions à leur immense maison de campagne, ils se sont précipités pour l'accueillir comme un roi de retour.
« Adrien, tu es enfin là ! » s'est exclamée Mme Dubois, le serrant chaleureusement dans ses bras.
« Adrien, je savais que tu n'abandonnerais pas notre Camille », a roucoulé Camille, s'accrochant possessivement à son bras.
Ils l'ont entraîné à l'intérieur, un tourbillon d'affection et de familiarité, me laissant complètement seule.
Je suis restée assise dans la voiture, le moteur éteint, le silence assourdissant. Ils avaient oublié que j'existais.
Quelques minutes plus tard, mon téléphone a vibré. Un texto d'Adrien.
`Tu peux rentrer. Je reste ici ce soir.`
Mes doigts sont devenus engourdis. Il n'avait même pas la décence de me le dire en face. J'étais renvoyée. Congédiée comme une employée dont le service était terminé.
J'ai fixé l'écran, les mots se brouillant à travers un voile de larmes que je refusais de laisser couler. C'était fini. C'était enfin, vraiment fini.
Chapitre 3
En retournant en ville, les cinq dernières années ont défilé dans mon esprit comme un film que j'étais forcée de revoir.
Ma mère, Martine, avait travaillé comme couturière pour l'entreprise textile de la famille de Villiers avant qu'un dysfonctionnement de machine ne la laisse avec un handicap permanent. Nous étions les domestiques. Ils étaient l'élite. C'était la ligne tracée entre nous depuis le jour de ma naissance.
Au lycée privé que je fréquentais grâce à une bourse, cette ligne était un mur. J'étais le cas social, la fille à l'uniforme de seconde main et à l'accent populaire. Camille Dubois, avec ses vêtements parfaits et son sourire cruel, s'assurait que je ne l'oublie jamais.
Elle et ses amies m'avaient coincée dans les vestiaires une fois, me poussant contre les carreaux froids. « Regardez-la », avait ricané Camille en me tirant les cheveux. « Tu penses vraiment que tu as ta place ici ? »
J'étais terrifiée, impuissante.
Soudain, une voix a fendu l'air. « Laissez-la tranquille. »
C'était Adrien. Il était en terminale, un dieu dans les couloirs de ce lycée. Il se tenait là, puissant sans effort, et la bande de Camille s'est dispersée comme des souris. Il ne m'a même pas regardée. Il a juste géré la situation, a signalé Camille pour harcèlement, et est passé à autre chose.
Mais je n'ai jamais oublié. Une graine de béguin a été plantée ce jour-là, une admiration st**ide et sans espoir pour le garçon qui, un instant, avait été mon protecteur.
Je l'ai observé de loin pendant des années. J'ai vu comment il était aux petits soins pour Camille, comment il la poursuivait à travers chaque rupture et chaque caprice. Il était désespérément amoureux d'elle. Je savais que je n'avais aucune chance, alors j'ai enterré ce béguin et me suis concentrée sur mes études. J'ai excellé, consacrant toute mon énergie à ma pa**ion : la conception narrative pour les jeux vidéo.
Des années plus tard, le destin nous a de nouveau réunis. Je travaillais comme serveuse à ce qui devait être le mariage d'Adrien et Camille. Les invités étaient tous réunis, l'orchestre jouait, mais la mariée ne s'est pas présentée.
Camille avait envoyé un texto. Elle s'était enfuie avec un mannequin européen. Ce n'était pas la première fois qu'elle le laissait planté devant l'autel.
J'ai vu Adrien debout, seul, son visage un masque de fureur et d'humiliation. Dans un accès de pure vengeance, il s'est retourné, ses yeux balayant la foule, et ils se sont posés sur moi.
« Toi », a-t-il dit, sa voix dangereusement basse. « Épouse-moi. »
J'étais si choquée que je ne pouvais pas parler. Il m'a proposé un marché. Un mariage contractuel de cinq ans. Il avait besoin d'une femme pour sauver la face, pour montrer à Camille qu'elle ne pouvait pas le briser. Moi, avec mon intelligence discrète et mon milieu non menaçant, j'étais la candidate parfaite.
Et moi, me souvenant du garçon qui m'avait sauvée dans les vestiaires, avec ce béguin longtemps enfoui qui remuait dans mon cœur, j'ai dit oui.
Pendant cinq ans, il a joué le rôle d'un mari parfait. Nous étions des étrangers polis et respectueux partageant une maison. Il s'est assuré que ma mère reçoive les meilleurs soins médicaux, qu'elle soit à l'aise. Il n'a jamais oublié mon anniversaire ou une fête, me présentant toujours un cadeau attentionné et coûteux. En public, si quelqu'un osait me mépriser, il le remettait à sa place avec un regard froid et protecteur.
Je me suis permis d'espérer. Je pensais que peut-être, juste peut-être, cette performance était devenue réelle pour lui aussi.
Puis, il y a six mois, je l'ai entendu parler à son ami dans son bureau.
« Je n'arrive pas à croire que Camille revienne », a dit son ami.
La voix d'Adrien était lasse. « J'ai toujours su qu'elle le ferait. »
« Et Chloé ? Tu vas juste la jeter de côté ? »
J'ai retenu mon souffle, mon cœur battant contre mes côtes.
J'ai entendu Adrien soupirer. « Chloé a toujours été temporaire. C'est une simple remplaçante bon marché, un moyen de passer le temps jusqu'à ce que Camille soit prête à revenir vers moi. Elle connaît sa place. »
Les mots ont brisé mon fantasme soigneusement construit. Une remplaçante bon marché. La vérité était plus froide et plus cruelle que je n'aurais jamais pu l'imaginer. Mes cinq années d'espoir, de dévouement silencieux, se sont transformées en cendres dans ma bouche.
Chapitre 4
Son ami a insisté. « Et le contrat de mariage ? Elle n'obtient rien si c'est toi qui demandes le divorce, n'est-ce pas ? »
« Exactement », a confirmé Adrien. « C'est blindé. Elle ne causera aucun problème. Ce n'est pas son genre. »
J'avais pensé que le contrat de mariage était une formalité, un signe de son côté pratique. Maintenant, je le voyais pour ce qu'il était : une cage conçue pour s'assurer que je partirais sans rien quand il en aurait fini avec moi. La gentillesse, la protection, les cadeaux attentionnés, tout cela faisait partie du jeu. Il ne me protégeait pas ; il protégeait son bien jusqu'à ce qu'il soit prêt à s'en débarrasser.
Mon mariage était un mensonge. Une tromperie méticuleusement élaborée de cinq ans. Et j'étais tombée dedans la tête la première.
Debout là, devant son bureau, une froide résolution s'est installée en moi. Je ne jouerais plus son jeu.
Dans les semaines qui ont suivi, Adrien était à peine à la maison. Il était toujours avec Camille. Son Instagram était une agression quotidienne, un flot constant de photos d'eux ensemble – dans des restaurants exclusifs, en jets privés, à des fêtes somptueuses. Elle s'accrochait toujours à lui, son sourire un rictus triomphant directement adressé à moi. Elle m'a même taguée dans quelques publications, une façon délibérée et publique de remuer le couteau dans la plaie.
La douleur s'est finalement estompée pour devenir un engourdissement sourd et creux. J'ai commencé à faire mes valises, à trier les restes de ma vie avec lui. Au fond de son placard, j'ai trouvé une pile de boîtes. C'étaient les cadeaux que je lui avais offerts au fil des ans – pour son anniversaire, pour Noël, pour nos anniversaires de mariage.
Pas un seul n'avait été ouvert.
J'ai passé la main sur une boîte contenant une montre sur mesure, une montre pour laquelle j'avais passé des mois à économiser et à concevoir avec un horloger de niche que je savais qu'il admirait. Il m'avait fait un sourire poli quand je la lui avais donnée, puis elle avait disparu, apparemment dans ce cimetière de mon affection.
Je ne pouvais même pas pleurer. Le puits de mes larmes était à sec. Tout ce que je ressentais était un vide immense et glacial.
C'est alors qu'il a appelé, sa voix joyeuse, inconsciente.
« Chloé, Camille organise une petite sauterie ce soir. J'ai besoin que tu sois là. »
« Je ne pense pas que ce soit une bonne idée, Adrien », ai-je dit, la voix plate. « Camille et moi ne nous entendons pas. »
Son ton s'est durci instantanément. « Je ne te demande pas ton avis, je te l'ordonne. C'est important. Sois prête dans une heure. »
Il ne se souciait pas de moi. Il voulait seulement que je sois là pour servir un but à Camille, pour être un accessoire dans leur drame tordu.
« D'accord », ai-je dit, un sourire amer aux lèvres. Qu'ils aient leur dernier spectacle.
Il a envoyé un chauffeur. Quand je suis arrivée au penthouse de Camille, la fête battait son plein. Au moment où je suis entrée, la musique a semblé baisser, les conversations ont faibli. J'étais le spectre indésirable à leur festin.
Camille m'a accueillie avec un faux sourire mielleux. « Chloé ! Je suis si contente que tu aies pu venir. »
Adrien, debout près du bar, a à peine jeté un coup d'œil dans ma direction. Il était entouré de ses amis, riant de quelque chose que l'un d'eux avait dit. J'étais une île dans une mer de visages hostiles.
Camille a pris un canapé sur un plateau d'argent. « Oh, regarde ! Du foie gras. Tu ne dois pas en manger souvent d'où tu viens, n'est-ce pas, Chloé ? C'est trop riche pour ton palais ? »
Ses amies ont ricané. L'air était épais de leur condescendance. Mon visage est devenu pâle, mon corps rigide à force de ne pas réagir.
« Ça suffit, Camille », a dit Adrien de l'autre côté de la pièce. Sa voix était tranchante, mais je savais que ce n'était pas pour moi. Il protégeait juste sa propre image, maintenant la façade d'un homme qui défendait sa femme. Une attaque contre moi était une attaque contre son jugement de m'avoir épousée. C'est tout ce que ça a toujours été.
Chapitre 5
Une lueur d'amusement a traversé le visage de Camille. Elle adorait ce jeu, adorait nous monter l'un contre l'autre, avec elle comme prix.
« Allez, tout le monde ! » a-t-elle crié en tapant dans ses mains. « Allons dans la salle de jeux ! »
En passant devant moi, elle s'est penchée, sa voix un murmure venimeux à mon oreille. « Il ne fait que te supporter. Ne l'oublie jamais. »
J'ai serré les poings, mes ongles s'enfonçant dans mes paumes. J'ai suivi la foule dans une pièce qui ressemblait à une salle d'arcade high-tech, avec des stations de réalité virtuelle et un écran massif.
J'ai trouvé une place dans un coin sombre, essayant de me faire aussi petite que possible. Adrien a pris le canapé central, le roi sur son trône, entouré de sa cour.
Puis, à ma grande surprise, il s'est levé et s'est dirigé vers mon coin. Il s'est assis à côté de moi, sans dire un mot. L'espace entre nous était chargé d'une énergie étrange et inconfortable. L'atmosphère de la fête a changé.
J'ai vu le sourire de Camille se crisper de l'autre côté de la pièce. Ses yeux, fixés sur Adrien assis à côté de moi, brûlaient de jalousie. Elle ne pouvait pas le supporter.
Sans perdre un instant, elle a glissé et s'est faufilée sur le canapé, juste entre moi et Adrien, me poussant physiquement sur le côté.
J'ai senti le regard d'Adrien sur moi un instant, mais il s'est ensuite déplacé, se fixant sur Camille. Il le faisait toujours.
Elle était radieuse, tenant la cour, son rire brillant et captivant. Je devais admettre, en la regardant, que je pouvais voir le gouffre entre nous. Elle était née pour ce monde de glamour et de privilèges sans effort. J'étais une imposture.
J'ai pris un verre de whisky sur la table, le liquide ambré promettant un engourdissement temporaire.
Avant que le verre n'atteigne mes lèvres, la main d'Adrien s'est refermée sur la mienne, m'arrêtant. « Ne bois pas ça. Tu sais que tu ne supportes pas les alcools forts. »
Sa voix était basse, inquiète. C'était un de ces moments de sollicitude déroutants qui m'avaient gardée accrochée si longtemps.
« Quelle attention », est intervenue Camille, sa voix dégoulinant d'une fausse douceur. « Mais tu te souviens de ce cocktail que tu adorais, Adrien ? Celui avec les amers péruviens rares ? J'ai dû faire jouer tellement de relations pour en avoir une bouteille pour ton anniversaire une année. »
Le visage d'Adrien s'est adouci au souvenir. « Je me souviens. C'était le meilleur verre que j'aie jamais bu. »
« Tu vois ? » a dit Camille, me regardant avec pitié. « Je le connais. »
Les gens autour d'eux ont commencé à murmurer : « Ils ont toujours été faits l'un pour l'autre », « C'est la seule qui le comprend vraiment ». J'étais l'intruse, la cinquième roue du carrosse dans mon propre mariage. Mon visage brûlait de honte.
Camille, sentant sa victoire, a de nouveau tapé dans ses mains. « Jouons à un jeu ! Sept minutes au paradis, mais avec une variante ! »
Les règles étaient simples et co**ues pour une humiliation maximale. Un générateur de nombres aléatoires formerait des paires. Le couple avec le score combiné le plus élevé gagnerait le « privilège » de passer sept minutes ensemble dans les toilettes attenantes.
La foule a rugi, leurs yeux tous tournés vers Adrien et Camille.
Adrien avait l'air intrigué. Un lent sourire s'est étalé sur son visage.
Les chiffres ont clignoté sur l'écran. Adrien a obtenu un 98. Le score le plus élevé. La foule a applaudi. Puis ce fut le tour de Camille. Elle a obtenu un 99. Une correspondance parfaite.
« Elle a triché ! » a crié quelqu'un en plaisantant.
Camille a juste souri, ses yeux rivés sur Adrien, pleins d'un dé**r non dissimulé.
C'était à lui de choisir. Tout le monde regardait.
Je savais ce qu'il choisirait. Je l'ai toujours su.
J'ai commencé à me lever, pour m'éclipser avant l'exécution publique finale de ma dignité.
Mais alors, la main d'Adrien a jailli et a attrapé mon poignet.
Chapitre 6
« Ce n'est qu'un jeu, Chloé », a dit Adrien, la voix basse, mais ses yeux étaient fixés sur Camille. Il a lâché mon poignet et s'est levé.
Il a tendu la main à Camille. Elle l'a prise, son visage rayonnant de triomphe.
La foule a éclaté en acclamations et en sifflets alors qu'ils disparaissaient dans les petites toilettes faiblement éclairées. La porte s'est refermée derrière eux.
J'ai ressenti un choc glacial, comme si un seau d'eau glacée avait été déversé sur ma tête. Mon amour pour lui, mon espoir, ma croyance naïve qu'il pourrait un jour me choisir – c'était un fantasme st**ide et unilatéral.
« Pauvre Chloé », a chuchoté bruyamment une des amies de Camille. « Elle n'a toujours pas compris, n'est-ce pas ? »
Je me suis levée, les jambes tremblantes, et je suis sortie de la pièce. Je n'ai pas regardé en arrière.
Quelques minutes plus tard, la porte des toilettes s'est ouverte. Adrien et Camille sont sortis, le visage rouge. Le rouge à lèvres de Camille était étalé, et sur la peau pâle de son cou, juste sous son oreille, il y avait une marque sombre et violacée. Un su**n.
Cette vision a provoqué une douleur aiguë et physique dans ma poitrine.
Je me suis dirigée directement vers la porte d'entrée. « Je ne me sens pas bien », ai-je réussi à dire à un ami d'Adrien à l'air confus. « Je rentre à la maison. »
Adrien m'a vue partir, mais il n'a pas bougé. Il m'a juste regardée m'en aller, son expression indéchiffrable, tandis que Camille enroulait ses bras autour de son cou.
J'ai appelé un VTC, les lumières de la ville défilant floues par la fenêtre. Le ciel était sombre et lourd, assorti à la tempête en moi.
Mon téléphone a vibré. Un message vidéo d'un numéro que je ne reconnaissais pas. De Camille.
J'ai appuyé sur play.
C'était eux, dans les toilettes. La caméra était tremblante, mais l'image était claire. Ils s'em**assaient, un ba**er désespéré et affamé. La vidéo a capturé leur conversation.
« Pourquoi l'as-tu épousée ? » la voix de Camille était un murmure haletant contre ses lèvres.
Adrien s'est reculé, son visage gravé d'une douleur qui semblait presque authentique. « Tu m'as quitté, Camille. Qu'est-ce que j'étais censé faire ? »
« Vas-tu divorcer d'elle ? » a-t-elle insisté, ses mains emmêlées dans ses cheveux. « Vas-tu revenir vers moi ? »
Il a fermé les yeux, un long soupir rauque s'échappant de ses lèvres. « Tu sais que je ne peux rien te refuser. Tu m'as toujours possédé. »
La vidéo s'est terminée.
J'ai fixé l'écran noir, mon reflet un fantôme pâle aux yeux creux. Mon cœur, mon mariage, mon monde entier venaient d'être pulvérisés en poussière. Un goût amer m'est monté à la gorge.
Camille a envoyé un autre message. `Il est à moi. Il a toujours été à moi.`
Je n'ai pas répondu. J'ai juste regardé les lumières de la ville défiler, ne ressentant rien.
Quand je suis rentrée dans notre penthouse froid et vide, je suis allée directement à la salle de bain. J'ai retiré l'alliance de mon doigt, le simple anneau d'or qui avait autrefois semblé si lourd de promesses. Sans une seconde de réflexion, je l'ai laissée tomber dans les toilettes et j'ai tiré la chasse. Je l'ai regardée tourbillonner et disparaître dans le siphon.
J'ai sorti mes valises du placard et j'ai commencé à faire mes bagages. Mes larmes avaient disparu, remplacées par une résolution froide et dure. J'en avais fini. J'étais libre.
Juste au moment où je fermais la dernière valise, la porte d'entrée s'est ouverte.
Adrien et Camille se tenaient dans l'embrasure. Le visage d'Adrien était sombre, orageux. Camille se cachait derrière lui, pleurant de façon dramatique.
« Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas ? » ai-je demandé, la voix stable.
Les yeux d'Adrien étaient comme des éclats de glace. Il a pointé un doigt vers moi, sa voix tremblant de rage.
« Tu es une voleuse, Chloé. »
Il a fait un pas vers moi. « Le collier de diamants de Camille a disparu. Celui que sa grand-mère lui a donné. Il vaut des millions. Rends-le, ou j'appelle la police. »
Je l'ai dévisagé, mon sang se glaçant. « Je n'ai rien pris. »
Il ne me croyait pas. Je pouvais le voir dans ses yeux. Le manque de confiance total et absolu.
Mon cœur me faisait mal d'une douleur si profonde qu'elle était presque physique. « Adrien, je n'ai jamais voulu une seule chose de ta famille. Tu le sais. »
Une lueur de doute a traversé son visage alors qu'une larme s'échappait de mon œil. Il a vacillé une seconde.
Mais alors Camille, la manipulatrice en chef, s'est remise à sangloter. « Chloé, s'il te plaît, rends-le simplement. Il signifie tellement pour moi. Ma grand-mère me l'a donné sur son lit de mort. »
J'ai arraché mon bras de son contact. « Je t'ai dit que je ne l'avais pas pris ! »
Camille a trébuché en arrière, s'effondrant sur le sol dans un tas de faux désespoir. Elle a levé les yeux vers Adrien, ses yeux grands et suppliants. « Adrien, tu connais son milieu. Sa mère... » Elle a laissé la phrase en suspens, l'implication claire et venimeuse. Les gens de mon monde étaient avides. Désespérés. Des voleurs.
Mon visage est devenu glacial. « Qu'est-ce que tu as dit sur ma mère ? »
Camille a vu son avantage. « Je dis juste que tu devrais peut-être faire fouiller chez elle aussi par la sécurité. Les gens comme ça... »
C'en était trop. C'était la ligne à ne pas franchir.
Je l'ai giflée. Plus fort cette fois. Le son a été comme un coup de feu dans la pièce silencieuse.
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Après une aventure d'un s**r, elle est tombée enceinte et a épousé un Alpha, un homme froid et distant, qui était à l'origine son beau-frère. Il ne l'avait jamais désirée. Lorsque sa sœur, parfaite en apparence, est revenue, elle a signé l'accord de divorce en silence et est partie. Mais lorsque son prétendant est apparu, son ex-mari l'a frénétiquement plaquée contre le mur en criant : « Tu ne peux être qu'à moi ! »
=====
"Seraphina !" La voix angoissée de ma mère au téléphone m'a brutalement tirée du sommeil.
"Maman ?" ai-je répondu, la gorge serrée. Cela faisait dix ans qu'elle ne m'avait pas contactée, sauf pour m'annoncer de mauvaises nouvelles.
"Ton père... il a eu des difficultés à respirer", a-t-elle commencé par dire. Puis, sa voix s'est brisée et elle ajouté : "On l'a agressé."
Un nœud s'est formé dans mon estomac et une terreur glaciale m'a submergée.
"Quoi ?!"
"Oh, Sera, il est entre la vie et la mort !" a sangloté ma mère, anéantie.
J'ai immédiatement repoussé les couvertures et j'ai quitté le lit.
"Envoie-moi l'adresse de l'hôpital", lui ai-je dit d'une voix vacillante. "Je serai là dès que possible."
J'ai essayé de ne pas faire de bruit en descendant l'escalier, pour ne pas réveiller mon fils, Daniel.
La lumière qui filtrait sous la porte du bureau de mon mari, Kieran, indiquait qu'il veillait encore. En tant qu'Alpha de la meute, les responsabilités ont toujours pesé lourd sur ses épaules.
Et pour être honnête avec moi-même, une rancune tenace m'a visée tout autant.
Une faute vieille de dix ans nous liait encore l'un à l'autre. Une faute qu'il ne m'a jamais pardonnée.
Alors, je n'ai pas voulu le déranger.
Lorsque je me suis installée au volant, les larmes coulaient déjà le long de mes joues.
Mon père a toujours été invincible, un roc inébranlable. Il a été un colosse dans mon cœur, même s'il n'a jamais voulu de moi comme fille. Même s'il m'a détestée.
Mais, je n'ai jamais pu imaginer qu'on pouvait me l'arracher de cette manière...
J'ai appuyé sur l'accélérateur.
À mon arrivée à l'hôpital, ma mère et mon frère se tenaient assis devant la salle d'opération, immobiles comme deux statues brisées.
Ma po**rine s'est serrée. Allait-il vraiment mourir, ce géant de mon enfance ?
Je suis restée en retrait, incapable d'avancer davantage. Leur mépris m'a exilée il y a longtemps.
Depuis cette nuit, dix ans plus tôt, ils m'ont effacée comme si je n'avais jamais existé. Pour tous, ils n'ont plus qu'une fille maintenant : Celeste.
Devais-je d'ailleurs être ici ?
Cela faisait dix ans que nous étions séparés en de mauvais termes. Depuis, toute communication avec la famille est passée par Kieran, même après la naissance de Daniel.
Mon père a été clair : il ne voulait plus jamais me voir.
Voudrait-il vraiment me voir maintenant ?
Et s'il ne le voulait pas ? Que faire si sa rancune était toujours là ?
J'ai hésité, le cœur battant la chamade... jusqu'à ce qu'un bruit sec, celui des portes de la salle d'opération, ne vienne trancher mes pensées.
Le médecin en est sorti, en train de retirer ses gants.
"Docteur !" Je me suis élancée vers lui avant même de pouvoir m'en empêcher, la voix tremblante et j'ai demandé : "Comment va mon père ?"
L'expression sur son visage a déjà trahi ce qu'il avait du mal à exprimer.
"Je suis désolé. Nous avons fait tout ce qui était en notre pouvoir... mais ses blessures étaient bien trop graves."
J'ai porté ma main à ma bouche, retenant le sanglot qui montait dans ma gorge.
"Est-il... décédé ?" Ethan, mon frère, m'a à peine regardée avant de s'adresser au médecin, la voix rauque.
"Pas encore", a répondu le médecin en secouant lentement la tête. "Mais, il ne passera pas la nuit. Il a demandé à voir sa fille."
Instinctivement, j'ai fait un pas en avant, puis je me suis figée.
Sa fille.
Cela ne pouvait pas être moi. Après plus de dix ans d'indifférence et de ressentiment, la fille que mon père mourant souhaitait voir ne serait jamais moi.
Le rire qu'Ethan m'a adressé a été glacial : "Dix ans après, et notre famille paie encore pour tes fautes !"
Je me suis tournée vers lui, les larmes coulant sur mes joues. Une décennie s'est écoulée depuis la dernière fois que je me suis trouvée si proche de lui, depuis qu'il m'a à peine regardée.
Le temps a forgé en lui un véritable Alpha : il a eu des épaules plus larges, une mâchoire carrée. Une certaine dominance qui émanait de lui en vagues puissantes.
Mais, la haine dans son regard ? Elle est restée identique.
Mon cœur s'est tordu violemment, comme si des griffes déchiraient ma chair.
"À cause de toi", a-t-il grondé avant de poursuivre : "Celeste est partie loin. Par ta faute, elle ne peut pas être ici. À cause de toi, Papa va mourir avec son dernier vœu inassouvi."
"Oui, tout est ma faute", ai-je répondu. Mon rire était amer, chargé de décennies de douleur, après toutes ces années, je reste la première à être blâmée. "Personne ne se soucie de la vérité, ni de ce que je peux ressentir !"
Mes larmes ont jailli, mon éclat a figé Ethan pendant un instant. Mais, tout aussi rapidement, sa voix est devenue tranchante comme une l**e :
"Ce que tu ressens ? Tu as volé le fiancé de ta sœur et tu oses parler de ce que tu ressens ?"
Mes ongles se sont enfoncés profondément dans mes paumes, rouvrant cette vieille cicatrice hideuse.
Dix ans auparavant, pendant la Chasse de la Lune de s**g, je venais d'avoir vingt ans : l'âge où chaque loup-garou trouve son âme sœur.
Après une vie entière à être ignorée, j'ai désespérément cherché ce lien si précieux.
Enfant, j'ai naïvement espéré que ce pourrait être Kieran. Mais ensuite, il est tombé amoureux de la parfaite, de l'éclatante Celeste, la préférée de toute la Meute des Frostbane. Et, j'ai vite compris ma place.
Qui étais-je ? La fille défectueuse de l'Alpha, incapable même de se transformer. Une moins que rien.
Ma meute et même ma propre famille m'ont à peine prêté attention, comment Kieran aurait-il pu s'intéresser à moi ? Je n'ai jamais pensé pouvoir changer quoi que ce soit.
Mais, cette nuit-là, quand j'ai appris ses fiançailles imminentes avec Celeste, la douleur m'a transpercée plus profondément qu'aucune griffe. Pour la première fois, je me suis laissée noyer dans l'al**ol.
Je m'attendais à me réveiller oubliée dans un coin sombre. Je n'aurais jamais imaginé me retrouver n*e dans le l*t de Kieran. L'al**ol a embrouillé mes sens.
Cette nuit est restée une mosaïque de souvenirs éclatés.
Avant que je puisse reconstituer les événements, Celeste a fait irruption, son cri a déchiré la pièce en voyant la scène.
Puis, ce fut le chaos : les sanglots hystériques de Celeste, les excuses pleines de culpabilité de Kieran, les chuchotements venimeux de la meute, mes explications balbutiantes... tout cela s'est tu sous la gi**e retentissante de mon père sur ma joue.
"Je regrette de t'avoir mise au monde !"
Les conséquences se sont déroulées dans une horreur silencieuse. Kieran a porté le corps inconscient de Celeste à l'infirmerie. Ethan a rugi contre les curieux de la meute.
Les pleurs étouffés de ma mère. Et, les yeux de mon père. Déesse, ce regard de pur dégoût.
Je savais depuis toujours qu'il me méprisait, mais c'était avec une telle intensité que cela m'a coupé le souffle.
"Je n'ai pas...", ai-je commencé, mais mon murmure est mort, inaudible. Personne ne m'a écoutée. Personne.
Du jour au lendemain, je suis devenue le sujet de conversation favori de la meute.
Là où ils s'étaient autrefois moqués de ma transformation inexistante, ils m'ont traitée de "tr**née", comme si c'était une bénédiction pour eux.
Même les Omégas de bas rang ont commencé à me bloquer dans les couloirs sombres, leurs mains et leurs in**ltes devenant audacieuses.
Les femmes échangeaient des regards en murmurant "voleuse de mari" comme une in**lte lorsqu'elles me voyaient passer.
Le poids de tout cela a été écrasant. Quand les admirateurs de Celeste ont laissé des menaces de mort gravées sur ma porte, j'ai rassemblé mes affaires et j'ai fui sous une nouvelle lune.
J'avais l'intention de disparaître à jamais... jusqu'à ce que les nausées matinales commencent. Jusqu'à ce que le médecin annonce ma gr**sesse à tout le Conseil du s**g.
C'est la seule raison pour laquelle Kieran m'a épousée. C'était un homme honorable, un Alpha qui n'abandonnerait jamais son héritier.
Pourtant, cela a déchiré ma famille.
Mes parents et mon frère ont commencé à me détester d'avoir brisé le cœur de Celeste.
La meute de Kieran, les NightFang, m'a détestée parce que je n'étais pas la Luna qu'ils voulaient. Et, Celeste a été si enragée qu'elle est partie vivre à l'étranger.
"Tu as tout gâché !" La voix accusatrice d'Ethan a interrompu mes pensées. Le poison dans son regard m'a transpercée profondément. Inchangé après une décennie.
Le s**g a fait de nous des frères et sœurs, mais Ethan ne m'a jamais traitée comme sa sœur. Celeste a été la seule sœur qu'il a chérie. Il m'a haïe de l'avoir chassée.
Mais, était-ce entièrement ma faute ? J'ai peut-être été faible et ordinaire, mais jamais au point de sé**ire délibérément le fiancé de ma sœur.
Pourtant, ils s'en sont fichés. Ils avaient juste besoin de quelqu'un à blâmer.
"Tu vois ça ?" Mes mains ont commencé à trembler et ma voix s'est durcie comme le givre de l'hiver.
"On n'a jamais écouté ma voix. Mon existence n'a jamais compté. Alors dis-moi, Maman, si tu n'as jamais voulu de moi, pourquoi ne m'as-tu pas simplement étouffée dans mon berceau ? Pourquoi prétendre que je comptais encore assez pour m'appeler ici ?" ai-je continué en me tournant vers elle, la gorge serrée.
"Comment oses-tu parler à Maman de cette façon ?!" a rugi Ethan, ses canines s'allongeant.
"Épouser Kieran ne t'a pas transformée en Luna par magie. Ce titre a toujours été destiné à Celeste !"
"Je n'ai jamais voulu tout cela !" ai-je rétorqué, l'amertume emplissant ma voix.
"J'étais prête à disparaître. Vous auriez pu laisser Celeste et Kieran avoir leur cérémonie d'accouplement parfaite et faire comme si je n'avais jamais existé !"
Les lèvres d'Ethan se sont tordues en un rictus moqueur.
"Ne joue pas les martyrs", a-t-il répondu. "Tu savais très bien que Kieran n'abandonnerait jamais son enfant."
"Ethan !" a dit ma mère, son commandement portait encore l'écho lointain de son ancienne autorité de Luna, bien qu'elle ne soit plus qu'épuisement et chagrin.
"Assez. Nous ne gaspillerons pas les derniers moments de ton père avec cette vieille querelle."
Elle n'a même pas pu me regarder en ajoutant : "Va voir ton père."
Elle m'a évitée du regard, comme si ma simple vue lui causait de la douleur. Ethan m'a lancée un dernier regard venimeux avant de s'affaler dans un fauteuil.
M'armant de courage, j'ai poussé la porte.
La peur m'a presque étouffée, la peur de revoir cette déception familière dans ses yeux une dernière fois. Mais, quand je l'ai vu allongé là, l'homme que j'ai passé ma vie à craindre et à vouloir satisfaire...
L'homme imposant de mes cauchemars a disparu. Le père qui m'avait autrefois semblé invincible gisait désormais immobile, la po**rine enveloppée de bandages, le visage livide.
Les yeux qui brûlaient toujours de mépris quand ils se posaient sur moi... n'ont plus rien laissé transparaître.
Les larmes ont coulé sur mon visage. Pourquoi cela faisait-il si mal ?
Cet homme, ce colosse qui m'a haïe depuis le moment où j'ai révélé que j'étais dépourvue de loup.
Qui a regardé Celeste avec fierté, et moi avec honte.
Le souvenir de notre dernière rencontre me déchirait encore le cœur.
Il n'y a eu aucun mariage pour Kieran et moi. Pas de célébration. Juste la poigne de fer de mon père forçant ma main à griffonner mon nom sur le papier du mariage.
"Maintenant tu as obtenu ce que tu voulais", a-t-il grondé, son pouvoir d'Alpha étouffant l'air entre nous. "À partir d'aujourd'hui, tu n'es plus ma fille."
Je n'ai jamais pleuré avec une telle violence qu'à ce moment-là... Je n'ai jamais supplié avec un tel désespoir.
Mais tout ce que j'ai récolté, c'est son dos figé comme une statue, et sa dernière in**lte venimeuse :
"Ta naissance a été une erreur, Seraphina. Ose montrer ton visage à nouveau, et je te jure que tu ne connaîtras plus jamais un instant de bonheur."
Il a tenu sa promesse.
Cette ma**diction a empoisonné chaque moment de ma vie, tandis que mon "honorable" mari a transformé notre mariage en une cage dorée par son silence interminable et son mépris.
J'aurais dû tous les haïr, cette famille, ce destin.
Mais, lorsque les doigts de mon père se sont mis à trembler faiblement sur les draps, mon cœur traître a eu un sursaut. Avant même de réfléchir, je me suis retrouvée à ses côtés, serrant sa main glacée.
"Papa ?" Ma voix a tremblé, imprégnée d'une lueur d'espoir dangereuse.
Ses lèvres pâles se sont entrouvertes légèrement, comme s'il peinait à former des mots.
Mais, avant qu'il n'ait pu parler...
BIIIIP !
Le moniteur cardiaque s'est mis à biper. La ligne à l'écran s'est aplatie.
"NON !" me suis-je écriée à pleine gorge. Il ne pouvait pas partir, pas comme ça.
Pas avant que je voie le pardon dans ses yeux. Pas avant que nous puissions défaire les nœuds liant nos cœurs.
La porte s'est ouverte avec fracas. Ethan et Maman m'ont écartée du lit, me projetant au sol.
"Il est parti..." Maman s'est effondrée contre Ethan, son corps a été secoué de violents sanglots : "Mon âme sœur... mon Alpha... !"
La douleur d'Ethan l'a étouffé silencieusement, jusqu'à ce que son regard se soit fixé sur moi. Son loup a fait surface, crocs découverts.
Maman a vite attrapé son bras, mais sans cela, j'étais sûre qu'il m'aurait mise en pièces.
"Vipère !" a-t-il craché. "Quelle que soit la parcelle de bonheur à laquelle tu t'accroches, je te l'arracherai."
Un rire creux a résonné dans mon esprit. Pourquoi étaient-ils tous si obsédés par l'idée de me voler un bonheur que je n'ai jamais connu ?
Le docteur est entré, murmurant à ma mère : "Luna, nous devons préparer les funérailles d'Alpha Edward."
J'ai avancé d'un pas automatique dans le couloir, l'âme en lambeaux, les larmes coulant sans retenue.
À l'arrivée de l'élite de la meute, personne ne m'a prêté attention, comme d'habitude.
Mais, leur indifférence m'a à peine affectée. Je suis restée immobile devant la chambre où reposait le corps de mon père, incapable de réaliser qu'il ne rouvrirait jamais les yeux.
Jusqu'à ce que la voix de Kieran brise le silence.
"Mes plus sincères condoléances, Margaret", a-t-il dit en prenant les mains de ma mère, incarnant parfaitement le gendre dévoué. "Soyez rassurée, j'aiderai Ethan à organiser tout cela."
Le clair de lune, filtrant par les fenêtres, a illuminé ses larges épaules, les mèches argentées à ses tempes ont encore renforcé l'aura d'un Alpha au sommet de sa puissance. Pas un cheveu ne dépassait, malgré cette convocation nocturne.
Le redoutable Alpha de la Meute des NightFang.
Sa simple présence a suffi à imposer le respect.
"Ta présence me réconforte, Kieran", a répondu ma mère en sanglotant, tout en s'accrochant à son bras.
Alors qu'il l'étreignait, ses yeux sombres et perçants ont rencontré les miens par-dessus son épaule, pour se détourner aussitôt, comme s'il avait aperçu une tache sur le mur.
"Que s'est-il passé exactement ?" a-t-il demandé en se tournant vers Ethan. "Comment Edward a-t-il pu être attaqué ?"
La mâchoire d'Ethan s'est crispée.
"Une patrouille de routine à la frontière. Mais ces ma**its loups solitaires sont venus plus nombreux que jamais, armés d'armes en argent."
Sa gorge s'est serrée alors qu'il luttait pour contrôler ses émotions.
"C'était une embuscade. Mon père n'avait aucune chance."
Les sanglots renouvelés de ma mère ont une nouvelle fois fait écho dans le couloir.
Kieran a serré l'épaule d'Ethan.
"Les loups solitaires paieront pour cela", a-t-il juré.
Je me suis tenue à la périphérie, une étrangère au cœur de la tragédie de ma propre famille.
Eux trois, Maman, Ethan et Kieran, étaient unis dans leur chagrin, formant un cercle indestructible auquel je ne pouvais accéder.
"J'ai envoyé quelqu'un chercher Celeste", a soudainement ajouté Ethan. "Elle ne devrait pas tarder à arriver."
"Oh, ma pauvre fille !" a sangloté Maman, la tête enfouie dans les mains. "Manquer les derniers instants de son père comme ça..."
Mon regard s'est posé involontairement sur le visage de Kieran. Nos yeux se sont croisés de nouveau.
Son expression est restée impénétrable, froide, observatrice, totalement dépourvue de chaleur.
Dix ans à partager son lit, et il m'a toujours semblé aussi lointain qu'une galaxie. Je n'ai jamais pu atteindre son cœur.
Maintenant, avec le retour de Celeste, une terrible vérité a écrasé mon cœur comme un poids de fer : j'étais sur le point de perdre ma seconde famille. C'était presque inévitable.
Si ma louve vivait en moi, elle aurait laissé échapper un gé**ssement sourd.
J'ignorais si je pourrais survivre à la tempête qui s'annonçait, mais une chose brûlait plus fort que la peur : peu importe ce qui allait se passer, personne ne me prendrait mon fils.
Personne.
Chapitre 2 POV DE SERAPHINA--FROID ET VIDE
Le silence fragile s'est brisé lorsqu'un cri perçant a résonné dans le couloir stérile.
"Papa ! Où es-tu ?"
Toutes les têtes se sont tournées simultanément.
Mon cœur a chuté lorsque Celeste est apparue, ses cheveux dorés volant derrière elle, ses joues rougies par sa course précipitée.
Ses yeux bordés de larmes, elle conservait une beauté à couper le souffle.
Après dix ans, l'apparition soudaine de ma sœur m'a frappée comme un coup physique.
Je me suis tournée presque instinctivement vers Kieran, dont la bouche s'est entrouverte, fixant Celeste comme si elle était un rêve qu'il craignait de voir s'évanouir.
Le dé**r brut dans ses yeux a suffi à répondre à la question qui me hantait depuis une décennie : son cœur n'a jamais été mien.
"Dites-moi que je ne suis pas en retard", a supplié Celeste, sa voix brisée.
Quand aucune réponse n'est venue, ses genoux ont fléchi.
Kieran s'est déplacé avec une rapidité surnaturelle. Il l'a rattrapée avant qu'elle ne touche le sol, la serrant contre sa poitrine, tandis que ma mère et mon frère se sont précipités pour l'entourer.
Leurs membres entremêlés et leurs sanglots partagés ont composé le portrait parfait d'une famille, une famille à laquelle je n'ai jamais appartenu.
Cette pensée m'a serré la gorge. J'ai perdu mon père, moi aussi. Ne méritais-je pas de faire mon deuil ?
Mais, c'était le monde de Celeste. Cela l'a toujours été.
Dès ses premiers pas, tout le monde l'a regardée, admirée, aimée.
Tandis que Celeste brillait, je suis devenue une ombre.
Et maintenant, alors que ses sanglots remplissaient la pièce, j'étais devenue invisible.
La sortie m'a appelée.
Il valait mieux partir avec le peu de dignité qui me restait, plutôt que d'attendre leur rejet inévitable.
Pas une seule tête ne s'est retournée lorsque je me suis éclipsée discrètement.
laissant des traces salées sur mes joues.
Mais, le vide douloureux dans ma po**rine ? Il semblait destiné à durer éternellement.
Ma première étape a été d'aller dans la chambre de Daniel, pour prendre de ses nouvelles.
J'ai été surprise de voir de la lumière sous sa porte, et, en l'ouvrant doucement, j'ai trouvé mon fils de neuf ans, recroquevillé sur lui-même, les genoux serrés contre sa po**rine, formant une petite forteresse face au monde.
"Maman ?" a-t-il dit, sa voix à la fois frêle et pleine d'une sagesse au-delà son âge.
Je me suis assise au bord de son lit en forme de voiture de course.
"Chéri, pourquoi ne dors-tu pas encore ?"
Il a mo**u sa lèvre inférieure, hésitant.
"Il y a quelque chose qui ne va pas avec Papi Edward, n'est-ce pas ?" a-t-il demandé.
L'air a quitté mes poumons.
Comment annoncer à cet enfant perspicace que l'homme qui lui avait appris à suivre les traces des cerfs l'été dernier n'était plus là ?
J'ai caressé son genou recouvert par son pyjama.
"Mon cœur, il y a eu... un accident ce soir. Papi a été blessé..."
"Il est mort", m'a-t-il coupé.
Le chuchotement de Daniel a résonné avec une certitude troublante.
Puis le coup final : "Notre lien... il s'est brisé."
Ma main s'est figée.
À neuf ans, il n'aurait pas dû être capable de ressentir la rupture des liens au sein de la meute.
Et pourtant, il manifestait cette sensibilité de loup que j'avais tant espéré qu'il hériterait un jour.
Un soulagement s'est mêlé à l'émerveillement, il ne serait pas comme moi.
Il ne porterait pas la honte d'être l'enfant raté de l'Alpha, un loup-garou dont le loup ne s'était jamais manifesté.
"Viens ici, mon petit garçon courageux."
Je l'ai serré contre moi, respirant son odeur de sirop d'érable et de sueur enfantine.
Aussi désastreuse qu'ait été cette Chasse de la Lune de s**g, je ne regretterai jamais le miracle qu'elle m'a apporté.
Daniel était la seule chose pure dans ma vie, le seul cœur à m'aimer sans condition.
En ajustant la couverture à motifs de vaisseaux spatiaux sur ses épaules, il a tourné vers moi ses yeux empreints de tristesse, ceux de Kieran en miniature.
"Toi et papa serez toujours là, n'est-ce pas ?"
La question m'a transpercée.
Je lui ai caressé les cheveux du bout des doigts, comme je le faisais quand il luttait contre le sommeil étant bébé.
"Oh, mon cœur..."
Comment lui expliquer que son père n'avait jamais vraiment été à moi ?
Que la façon dont Kieran avait regardé Celeste ce soir, comme un soleil levant après une décennie d'obscurité, était un regard qu'il ne m'avait jamais adressé ?
Que leur étreinte dans le couloir de l'hôpital avait été plus in**me que toutes celles que nous avions partagées en dix ans de mariage ?
"Maman n'ira nulle part", ai-je promis, déposant un ba**er sur son front soucieux.
"Ton papa et moi t'aimons plus que tout", lui ai-je murmuré. "Rien ne changera jamais cela."
Son sourire endormi m'a bouleversée.
"Bonne nuit, Maman."
"Fais de beaux rêves, mon cœur", ai-je répondu.
J'ai déposé un dernier ba**er sur son front, m'attardant un peu trop longtemps avant de m'éclipser.
Les lumières fluorescentes de la cuisine ont bourdonné pendant que je fouillais le réfrigérateur.
Les bouteilles en verre se sont entrechoquées... puis se sont immobilisées lorsque j'ai entendu la porte d'entrée.
Kieran.
Déjà de retour à la maison.
réconforter. À renouer avec elle.
Il s'est déplacé dans la maison plongée dans l'obscurité telle une ombre, ses larges épaules remplissant le cadre de la porte de la cuisine.
La lumière de la lune soulignait les angles aigus de son visage alors qu'il balayait la pièce du regard, un regard vide. Toujours vide.
Le ronronnement du réfrigérateur a résonné entre nous lorsqu'il est passé près de mon épaule.
Son parfum de cèdre et de pluie m'a enveloppée pendant un battement de cœur traître avant de se dissiper, pendant qu'il décapsulait une bouteille d'eau.
"Tu... veux manger quelque chose ? Tu as manqué le dîner." Ma voix semblait trop faible dans le silence.
Rien.
Juste le mouvement de sa gorge lorsqu'il a bu, les muscles tendus sous la barbe que je n'ai jamais eu le droit de ca**sser.
Le bruit de la bouteille écrasée touchant la corbeille de recyclage m'a fait sursauter.
Il s'est appuyé contre le plan de travail, la tête penchée comme Atlas portant le monde.
Je connaissais cette danse par cœur, dix ans à parler à un fantôme.
"Je vais juste...", ai-je balbutié en me dirigeant vers la porte.
"Seraphina."
Mon nom dans sa bouche a toujours été un choc.
C'était comme être plongée dans l'eau glacée.
Je me suis retournée lentement.
La lumière de la lune sculptait des ombres sous ses pommettes, son expression toujours aussi impénétrable.
"Il faut qu'on parle !"
Ses mots murmurés ont éveillé une peur glaciale en moi.
Sa main a agrippé le comptoir, ses jointures blanchies par la tension.
Pas de préambule. Pas de ménagement.
Juste l'efficacité brutale de Kieran, comme toujours : "Je veux divorcer."
Dix ans.
Dix ans que j'ai attendu que cette hache tombe.
C'était étrange comme cela m'a encore surprise avec la même intensité.
Chapitre 3 POV DE SERAPHINA--TOUT CE QUE JE VEUX
Peu importait que je l'aie aimé depuis notre enfance, bien avant que Celeste ne le remarque.
Peu importait que je lui aie donné un fils.
Dès qu'elle est revenue, je suis redevenue invisible, comme je l'ai toujours été à ses yeux.
Celeste était le diamant étincelant, éblouissant tout le monde au point qu'ils ne voyaient même pas le simple caillou à ses pieds.
Je l'ai toujours su.
Alors, pourquoi avais-je l'impression que mon âme venait de se déchirer en deux ?
"C'est à cause de Celeste, n'est-ce pas ?" ai-je questionné. Ma voix est restée étrangement calme.
Je connaissais déjà la réponse, mais une partie masochiste de moi avait besoin de l'entendre.
J'avais besoin qu'il enfonce le couteau plus profondément.
Les yeux de Kieran ont brillé, c'était la première vraie émotion qu'il m'ait montrée depuis des années.
"Non", a-t-il lâché d'un ton tranchant, la mâchoire serrée. "Bien sûr que non."
Menteur.
Il a passé une main dans ses cheveux brun foncé, laissant échapper un souffle brusque.
"La mort d'Edward m'a juste rappelé que la vie est trop courte pour être gâchée par une erreur."
Une erreur.
J'aurais préféré le co**eau.
J'aurais préféré qu'il crie le nom de Celeste plutôt que de réduire notre mariage, et notre fils, à un simple regret.
Je n'ai pas pu m'empêcher de rire.
Le son a été déchirant, hystérique, s'échappant de ma gorge alors que Kieran me regardait comme si j'avais perdu la raison.
Peut-être l'avais-je effectivement perdue.
J'ai ri parce que l'alternative était de hurler. Et, je ne voulais pas lui donner ce plaisir.
Mon regard a parcouru les traits de cet homme que je connaissais, et pourtant que je ne connaissais pas du tout.
Cet étranger que j'ai aimé pendant dix-huit ans sans qu'il ne me voie jamais vraiment.
Qui était le plus à plaindre : lui ou moi ?
Il aimait Celeste, et néanmoins, l'honneur et une seule erreur l'avaient enchaîné à un mariage qu'il n'avait jamais dé**ré.
Que nous avaient concrètement apporté ces dix dernières années ?
Si ça n'avait pas été pour cette nuit-là, si nous n'avions pas été forcés dans cette union sans amour, ses yeux auraient-ils jamais eu une étincelle de chaleur pour moi ?
Nous n'étions jamais censés en arriver là.
Bien que je n'aie jamais pu regretter Daniel, ce soir-là, j'étais prête à disparaître.
J'aurais dû courir plus loin.
Je n'aurais jamais dû franchir les portes de cette clinique.
Je n'aurais jamais dû leur annoncer la gr**sesse.
Je m'étais dit que rester, endurer, c'était pour le bien de Daniel. Je me suis forcée à accepter cette version.
Mais maintenant, je ne pouvais plus me mentir.
Quelle sorte de vie lui avais-je offerte, avec des parents dont les cœurs étaient distants comme des océans ?
Pendant l'absence de Celeste, Kieran avait joué le rôle du père dévoué.
Mais, maintenant qu'elle était revenue, la frêle façade de notre mariage allait s'effondrer.
Je ne voulais pas laisser mon fils voir sa mère devenir la risée de tous.
"Très bien", ai-je répondu finalement, le rire s'éteignant sur mes lèvres.
Les sourcils de Kieran se sont levés. Attendait-il des larmes ? Des supplications ? Voulait-il me voir me briser ?
Tant pis pour lui. Il n'aura rien de tout ça.
Toute ma vie, les gens ont espéré ma reddition. Mais, je refusais de leur donner une once de ma douleur de plus.
Quand je quitterai ce mariage, je n'emporterai que deux choses :
Ma dignité.
Et, mon fils.
"Je veux la garde exclusive de Daniel."
Sa surprise s'est transformée en fureur.
"Il n'en est pas question ! C'est mon fils !"
"C'est aussi le mien !" ai-je rétorqué avec colère.
"Tu ne peux pas enlever l'héritier de la meute à son Alpha !" La voix de Kieran a tremblé de rage à peine contenue.
"Et toi, tu ne peux pas arracher le cœur d'une mère de sa po**rine !"
Mes mains ont tremblé, mais ma voix est restée ferme. Très ferme.
"Je ne veux ni de ton argent, ni de tes biens. Rien de tout ça. Je veux juste mon fils."
Daniel était ma seule lumière dans ce monde misérable. Si Kieran me l'enlevait...
Je ne pourrais pas le supporter.
"Et le plus important... Toi et Celeste aurez de nouveaux enfants", ai-je ajouté. Je dois avouer que ces mots m'ont arraché le souffle.
Rien que l'idée qu'elle lui donne les petits que je n'ai jamais pu lui offrir a fait souffrir ma po**rine comme si j'avais une plaie récente.
Mais, pour Daniel, je supporterais tout. Même ça.
J'ai observé Kieran attentivement, son expression était indéchiffrable dans la lumière tamisée de la cuisine. Finalement, il a hoché la tête brièvement et avec raideur.
"D'accord. Tu auras la garde complète de Daniel."
C'était un piège. J'en étais très certaine. Il a accepté trop facilement.
Pas un seul refus. Pas un mot pour contredire ce que j'ai dit à propos de lui et Celeste. Il préférait toujours une famille avec elle, n'est-ce pas ?
Et la partie la plus pathétique ? Une partie folle et désespérée de mon cœur a encore espéré.
Attendait encore qu'il dise quelque chose, n'importe quoi pour prouver que notre mariage n'a pas été qu'une peine de prison pour lui.
J'ai appuyé mes paumes sur mes yeux brûlants. Par la Déesse, qu'est-ce qui n'allait pas chez moi ?
Je ne pouvais plus me permettre d'espérer. Pas ce soir. Si je ne partais pas bientôt, j'allais m'effondrer ici même sur les carreaux froids.
Puis Kieran a attrapé mon poignet.
Il s'est raclé la gorge maladroitement, sa main chaude posée sur ma peau.
"Nous pouvons attendre après les funérailles pour finaliser tout ça, si tu le souhaites."
L'espace d'un instant, j'ai failli le croire. J'ai presque pensé que c'était de la bonté.
Si seulement il m'avait montré cette attention une fois en dix ans.
J'ai arraché mon bras.
"Pas besoin d'attendre. Ce n'est pas comme s'il y avait grand-chose à dissoudre, tu ne m'as même pas donné de marque lors de l'accouplement."
C'était la seule chose qu'il a refusée quand on s'est mariés.
Ça, et m'aimer.
"Ton loup n'est jamais venu", a-t-il dit la nuit de notre mariage, sa voix soigneusement neutre.
"Une marque d'accouplement te causerait seulement de la douleur alors qu'on..."
Qu'on allait divorcer.
Il n'a pas terminé sa phrase, mais on savait tous les deux. Tout comme on savait la véritable raison, cette marque appartenait à Celeste pour lui. Comme toujours.
La vérité amère s'est installée dans ma poitrine : il avait planifié cette fin depuis le début.
Quelle différence cela faisait-il maintenant ?
Que ce soit par pitié ou préméditation, le résultat était le même, mon cou restait sans ma**ue, mon cœur brisé, et Kieran s'en irait libre.
Le front de Kieran s'est plissé davantage.
"Seraphina, pas besoin d'amertume. Notre mariage était une erreur, j'espère seulement qu'on pourra avancer chacun de notre côté."
Sa voix s'est adoucie, cette pointe de pitié me donnant la nausée.
"Tu mérites..."
"Oh, épargne-moi tout ça."
Je me suis détournée avant qu'il ne voie comment sa pitié me blessait plus profondément que sa colère.
"Ne t'inquiète pas, j'ai économisé suffisamment pour pouvoir subvenir à mes be**ins et à ceux de Daniel. Tu seras libre dès demain."
La surprise sur son visage a presque été comique.
Avait-il vraiment pensé que j'allais me battre pour lui ? Supplier ?
Oui, je l'aimais.
Je l'aimais encore.
Mais, après dix ans à essayer de réchauffer son cœur, j'ai fini par comprendre une chose : aucune chaleur ne pouvait faire fondre un glacier qui ne voulait pas bouger.
Et, maintenant que Celeste était revenue ?
Pensait-il que je me berçais d'illusions à croire que j'avais encore la moindre chance ?
Pourquoi écraser ce qu'il me restait de fierté juste pour flatter l'ego d'un Alpha ?
J'ai appris ma leçon.
Une décennie dans ce mariage sans amour a été bien plus que suffisante.
J'ai fini de me battre pour des gens qui ne me voulaient pas.
Mes pas étaient engourdis alors que je montais les escaliers, les souvenirs de Kieran sont apparus comme des sp**tres devant mes yeux :
Le sourire éclatant qu'il m'avait adressé quand nous nous étions rencontrés enfants.
Moi, cachée dans l'ombre lors de sa première victoire à la Chasse.
La douleur qu'avait ressentie mon cœur quand il avait déposé la couronne de la victoire sur la tête de Celeste, ses lèvres trouvant les siennes dans un doux ba**er.
Le flou des verres d'al**ol lors de l'annonce de leurs fiançailles.
Cette nuit catastrophique qui avait tout commencé.
Puis, la naissance de Daniel, ses premiers pas, chaque étape importante depuis...
À mi-chemin de l'escalier, la voix endormie de Daniel a résonné dans ma tête :
"Toi et Papa serez toujours là, n'est-ce pas ?"
Mon cœur s'est serré.
Mon Dieu. Comment allait-on lui dire ?
J'ai fait volte-face, ma résolution d'un instant se fissurant.
"Comment... comment expliquer cela à Daniel ?"
Il s'est arrêté, son verre d'eau à mi-chemin.
"Je m'en occuperai", a-t-il simplement répondu.
Bien sûr qu'il avait déjà anticipé cela aussi.
Mes poings se sont serrés.
"Et, tu n'as pas à t'inquiéter pour les finances", a-t-il ajouté d'un ton raide. "Daniel est toujours mon fils. Je prendrai en charge ses dépenses, ainsi que les tiennes."
Je n'ai pas réussi à lire son expression.
Après dix ans, ce que je connaissais le mieux restait son visage impassible. Rien d'autre.
Mais cette fois, j'ai refusé de gaspiller de l'énergie à le déchiffrer.
Demain, une fois les papiers signés, on serait des étrangers.
Comme il le souhaitait. Je me suis tournée sans répondre.
La porte de la chambre a doucement claqué derrière moi, puis la digue a cédé.
Des sanglots silencieux ont secoué mon corps alors que je glissais au sol, le chagrin de la journée m'accablant enfin.
Quelque part en bas, le plancher a grincé. Kieran préparait sans doute déjà ses bagages.
Il imaginait probablement déjà Celeste dans cette maison, en train d'élever mon fils.
Ma main a volé à ma gorge immaculée, là où ses dents auraient dû être.
Là où une marque d'accouplement aurait dû nous sceller ensemble.
"Ça va aller, Sera", me suis-je murmurée dans l'obscurité creuse, mes bras serrés autour de mes côtes tremblantes. "Tu vas t'en sortir."
Pour mon fils, je survivrai à tout.
Chapitre 4 POV DE SERAPHINA--POURQUOI CETTE PRÉCIPITATION
Je suis revenue du bureau de l'avocate, l'âme en pièces.
En franchissant la porte d'entrée, j'ai ressenti une sorte d'anxiété étrange. Peut-être parce que je savais que c'était l'une des dernières fois que je serais ici.
J'ai parcouru le hall du regard en observant attentivement chaque détail : la photo de Daniel bébé sur la cheminée, le portrait de Kieran pris lors de son investiture en tant qu'Alpha, la photo de Daniel et moi pour ses cinq ans.
Il n'y avait aucune photo de Kieran et moi. Étonnant.
Je me suis directement dirigée vers le bureau de Kieran.
Je suis partie tôt ce matin, ne voulant pas tomber sur lui et avoir une conversation gênante sur le divorce imminent. J'ai aussi évité Daniel, je crois.
Comment aurais-je pu regarder ses yeux innocents et lui expliquer que sa famille volait en éclats ?
"Je ne... comprends pas."
Je me suis arrêtée devant le bureau de Kieran en entendant la petite voix confuse de Daniel.
La porte était légèrement entrouverte, et j'ai aperçu Daniel assis sur une chaise en face du bureau de Kieran.
Kieran, en face de lui, regardait notre fils avec une tendresse qu'il ne m'avait jamais montrée.
Il s'est penché en avant et a pris les mains de Daniel dans les siennes. "Papa et maman ne vont plus vivre ensemble, mon grand."
"Mais... pourquoi ?" La lèvre inférieure de Daniel s'est mise à trembler. "C'est parce que tu n'aimes plus maman ?"
Je me suis crispée. Comment Kieran allait-il répondre à cela ? Il n'allait certainement pas dire à notre fils qu'il n'aimait plus sa mère. Mais la seule autre option était de mentir.
Kieran a poussé un soupir et s'est levé de son siège. Il s'est mis à côté de Daniel et lui a de nouveau pris les mains, s'accroupissant à hauteur de notre fils.
"Tu sais, ta maman m'a offert le plus beau cadeau du monde", a-t-il dit. Il a tendu la main et a doucement tapoté la tête de Daniel. "Toi. Et pour ça ? Je l'aimerai toujours."
J'ai senti mon cœur se serrer. Pendant dix ans, j'avais désespérément voulu entendre ces mots de la part de Kieran, et je les entendais enfin, alors que je tenais les papiers du divorce dans mes mains.
Mais, je savais ce qu'ils voulaient vraiment dire : Kieran ne m'a épousée que parce que je lui ai donné Daniel.
Il n'a supporté ma présence pendant une décennie que parce que j'étais la mère de son héritier. C'était une preuve de plus que notre mariage était à sens unique.
Son véritable amour, inconditionnel, était réservé à Celeste.
Un sanglot étouffé m'a échappé.
Kieran s'est tendu, il a levé la tête d'un mouvement vif et instinctif, ses yeux dorés se plissant en direction de la porte.
"On n'espionne pas les conversations des autres", a-t-il dit calmement en se redressant.
La voix de l'Alpha, celle qui faisait automatiquement s'incliner les membres de la meute.
J'ai pris une grande inspiration et j'ai poussé la porte.
"Maman !" Daniel s'est levé et s'est précipité vers moi, m'enlaçant par la taille.
"Bonjour, mon chéri." J'ai em**assé son front.
"Est-ce que c'est vrai ?" a-t-il demandé en me regardant avec ses grands yeux brillants.
J'ai caressé sa tête.
"Je..."
"Danny, laisse ta mère et moi seuls, d'accord ? Va aider le chef à préparer le dîner."
Daniel a fait la moue. "Mais..."
"Maintenant." Ce simple mot avait toute la force d'un ordre.
J'ai serré son épaule pour le rassurer. "On en reparlera à la maison, mon chéri. Vas-y."
Daniel a poussé un soupir et est sorti, les épaules légèrement affaissées.
J'ai refermé la porte derrière moi.
Le regard de Kieran s'est posé sur les papiers dans ma main. Il a affiché une expression étrange.
"Je suppose que ce sont les documents ?"
J'ai hoché la tête, sentant soudain une nervosité monter en moi.
"Mon avocate a rédigé l'accord, précisant les termes de la garde."
Je me suis avancée et j'ai posé les documents sur le bureau. "Tout est clairement défini : les horaires de visite, les vacances, les décisions concernant l'éducation."
Kieran a ouvert le dossier et en a sorti les documents. Il a froncé les sourcils, concentré, tandis que ses yeux parcouraient les pages.
"Euh, j'ai aussi rencontré un agent immobilier qu'elle m'a recommandé", ai-je poursuivi en joignant mes mains devant moi.
"Elle m'a montré une jolie maison à environ trente minutes d'ici. Elle est entièrement meublée, prête à emménager, et le prêt est très raisonnable. C'est sur un territoire neutre, donc tu pourras venir à n'importe quel..."
"Pourquoi cette précipitation ?"
Je me suis arrêtée, fronçant les sourcils face à Kieran.
"Pardon ?"
"C'est moi qui ai demandé le divorce." Il a posé les papiers sur le bureau.
"Et te voilà déjà avec des plans de déménagement et des documents légaux avant même que l'encre soit sèche. Tu comptais les jours ?"
La vérité me brûlait la langue, oui, chaque jour des 3 652 jours de notre mariage.
Cependant, reconnaître cela ne ferait que lui fournir des arguments supplémentaires à exploiter contre moi dans le conflit relatif à la garde que je redoutais tant.
Kieran s'est moqué de mon silence en constatant que je demeurais silencieuse, puis il s'est installé confortablement dans son fauteuil.
"Laisse-moi l'adresse de ta nouvelle maison", a-t-il dit. "Mon fils et moi allons dîner, puis je l'enverrai chez toi avec une copie signée des papiers."
La fermeté de sa voix a détruit mon espoir d'un dernier repas en famille. Bien sûr, le grand Alpha Kieran ne daignerait pas partager un repas avec sa future ex-femme.
J'ai quitté le bureau de Kieran, le vide dans ma po**rine s'agrandissant.
Je n'avais pas pu dormir la nuit dernière après avoir appris la nouvelle, alors j'avais utilisé ce temps pour emballer toutes mes affaires.
On ne m'avait jamais vraiment donné une chance de faire de cet endroit mon chez-moi, alors tout ce que je possédais tenait dans deux valises.
Après avoir chargé ma voiture, au lieu de partir, je suis restée assise sur le siège conducteur.
J'ai contemplé la maison devant moi, me remémorant tous mes souvenirs. Ceux que j'avais partagés avec Daniel étaient lumineux et colorés, empreints d'amour et de rire.
Cependant, les souvenirs liés à Kieran étaient obscurs, sombres et vides. Chaque conversation maladroite, chaque geste retenu, chaque sourire qu'il réservait à quelqu'un d'autre.
La sonnerie stridente de mon téléphone a interrompu mes pensées. Le nom de ma mère qui s'affichait sur l'écran m'a glacé le s**g.
Deux appels en l'espace de quelques jours après une décennie de silence ? L'univers se moquait explicitement de moi.
"Bonjour, maman", ai-je dit en m'efforçant de paraître joyeuse. "Comment vas-tu ?"
Elle a ignoré les politesses, comme toujours. "Est-ce que c'est vrai ?"
Mes doigts se sont resserrés autour du téléphone.
"Qu'est-ce qui est vrai ?"
"Que tu divorces enfin de Kieran."
J'ai eu le souffle coupé. Bien sûr qu'elle savait. Kieran avait probablement appelé Celeste la nuit dernière.
"Oui", ai-je répondu en serrant les dents.
Le soupir de soulagement de ma mère m'a transpercé le cœur plus profondément que n'importe quelle lame. Un véritable soulagement, b*n s**g.
"C'est pour le mieux", a-t-elle dit. "Ce mariage était une erreur dès le départ. C'est...c'est la correction que nous attendions tous."
Je suis restée bouche bée. Une larme de trahison a coulé. Quel genre de mère se réjouit de la peine de cœur de sa propre fille ?
La réponse m'est venue rapidement et amèrement : celle qui a toujours voulu que son autre fille gagne.
J'ai raccroché sans un mot et éteint mon téléphone avant qu'elle ne puisse enfoncer davantage le couteau dans la plaie.
À ce moment-là, la porte d'entrée s'est ouverte et Daniel est sorti. Kieran le suivait, un grand sac de voyage à l'épaule.
J'ai froncé les sourcils. Impossible que toutes les affaires de Daniel tiennent dans ce sac.
Kieran voulait faire passer un message : même si nous déménagions, la maison de Daniel se trouvait toujours ici.
Daniel m'a vue dans la voiture, et ses yeux se sont illuminés. Je suis sortie de la voiture alors qu'il se précipitait vers moi, et je l'ai serré dans mes bras.
"J'ai dit que je l'amènerais", a rétorqué Kieran, s'approchant de moi.
"Je suis désolée, je voulais juste..."
"C'est ainsi que ça va se passer ?" Il m'a coupé sèchement la parole.
"C'est déjà assez dur que tu éloignes mon fils de moi, mais maintenant tu empiètes aussi sur mon temps avec lui ?"
La petite main de Daniel a tiré sur la manche de Kieran. "Papa... C'est bon.» Sa voix était douce, mais ferme. "On se verra demain. À l'enterrement de grand-père."
Kieran a serré sa mâchoire si fort qu'elle aurait pu se briser. Pendant une seconde, j'ai cru qu'il allait protester, mais il a expiré bruyamment et ébouriffé les cheveux de Daniel.
"Oui. À demain, mon champion." Il m'a jeté un regard glacial et méprisant. "Sois sage avec ta mère."
Il m'a tendu le sac de sport et est rentré sans dire un mot.
J'ai ravalé la boule que j'avais dans la gorge et j'ai chargé le sac en silence. Daniel s'est installé sur le siège passager sans rien dire, ses yeux trop sages m'observant attentivement.
En démarrant, je me suis forcée à ne pas regarder en arrière, ni la maison, ni la vie que je n'avais pas réussi à construire.
Deux minutes après avoir démarré, Daniel a fouillé dans son sac à dos et a sorti un sandwich un peu écrasé.
"Tu n'as pas dîné", a-t-il simplement dit en me le tendant.
Les larmes que j'avais tant essayé de retenir ont fini par couler.
"Daniel...", ai-je dit, la voix cassée. "Tu me détestes ? Pour ça ? Pour t'avoir éloigné de ton père ?"
Il y a réfléchi avec une maturité qu'aucun enfant de neuf ans ne devrait posséder. Mon cœur s'est arrêté, se préparant au choc.
"Non", a-t-il répondu en tripotant sa ceinture. "Je sais que tu étais souvent triste. Peut-être que maintenant, tu pourras être heureuse."
Un sanglot m'a échappé. La route est devenue floue. Sa petite main s'est glissée dans la mienne, la serrant fort.
"Ne pleure pas, maman." Son murmure était plein de promesses. "Tu m'as moi. Je te rendrai heureuse."
J'ai posé mes lèvres sur ses doigts, goûtant le sel et l'espoir. Peu importe si Kieran ne m'a jamais aimée.
Ce garçon remarquable m'aimait d'un amour entier et inconditionnel, et à cet instant, c'était suffisant.
Plus que suffisant.
Chapitre 5 POV DE SERAPHINA--LES FUNÉRAILLES
Encore une nuit blanche.
Je trouvais ça ironique : cela faisait des années que je ne partageais plus mon lit avec Kieran, mais le silence inhabituel de cette nouvelle maison me semblait plus assourdissant que n'importe quelle absence.
Chaque fois que je fermais les yeux, les fa**ômes de ce qui aurait pu être défilaient sous mes yeux.
À trois reprises, je suis allée discrètement dans le couloir pour voir comment allait Daniel, seulement pour le trouver paisiblement endormi sous sa couette Star Wars, sa respiration profonde et régulière.
Je remercie la lune pour ces petites grâces. Cette maison modeste manquait peut-être de la sécurité imposante du manoir de l'Alpha, mais je la remplirais d'assez d'amour pour compenser.
Lorsque les pâles rayons de l'aube ont enfin traversé mes rideaux, j'ai senti une boule dans mon estomac.
Aujourd'hui, nous enterrerions mon père.
Je me suis habillée lentement, chaque mouvement empreint d'angoisse. Ce n'était pas le chagrin qui me paralysait, notre relation était morte bien avant que son cœur ne s'arrête de battre.
Non, c'était le fait de devoir faire face aux regards critiques de ma famille, de me tenir face à un cercueil avec Kieran alors que nos papiers de divorce étaient encore frais.
Ex-mari. Ce terme a touché une corde sensible chez moi.
La porte de Daniel a grincé lorsque je l'ai poussée. J'ai eu le souffle coupé. Il était là, déjà vêtu du petit costume noir que nous avions choisi ensemble, ses petits doigts maniant avec dextérité sa Nintendo Switch.
"Salut, maman", a-t-il dit avec un léger sourire.
Les larmes ont commencé à me piquer les yeux. Où était passé mon bébé ? Le garçon qui me regardait avait la mâchoire carrée et le regard perçant de Kieran.
Un rappel vivant de tout ce que j'avais perdu et de tout ce que j'avais gagné.
"Regarde-toi", ai-je murmuré en lissant son col. "Tu as tellement grandi."
La tristesse a assombri son visage, mais il s'est ressaisi et a mis la console de jeux vidéo sur le côté. "Allons-y", a-t-il chuchoté, redressant les épaules, affichant un courage forcé.
Mais lorsque l'ancienne église de pierre est apparue à l'horizon, le courage de Daniel a vacillé. Ses doigts sont devenus blancs alors qu'il serrait fort la poignée de la portière.
"Hé." J'ai tapoté ses épaules tendues. "Parle-moi."
Quand il s'est retourné, les larmes qu'il retenait dans ses yeux m'ont brisé le cœur.
"On n'a pas eu le temps de lui dire au revoir... Est-ce que ça veut dire que Grand-père ne sait pas qu'on l'aimait ?"
Sa question m'a transpercé le cœur comme une da**e en argent.
Si l'absence de mon père était devenue ma normalité, Daniel avait perdu son partenaire préféré en histoires et son fournisseur secret de biscuits.
J'ai posé ma paume sur son cœur qui battait à tout rompre. "Grand-père est juste là, mon cœur." Ma voix a tremblé.
"Et là." J'ai tapoté doucement sa tempe. "Tant qu'on se souvient de lui, il n'est jamais vraiment parti."
Daniel a expiré bruyamment, relâchant une partie de la tension qui raidissait son petit corps. "D'accord."
"Prêt ?"
Son signe de tête m'a donné toute la force dont j'avais besoin. Ensemble, nous sommes sortis de la voiture.
Les portes de l'église nous ont engloutis dans une foule de personnes en deuil : les membres de la meute dans leurs habits noirs les plus élégants, des alliés des territoires voisins, et quelques humains associés qui avaient fait affaire avec mon père.
L'air était chargé de condoléances murmurées et de l'odeur écœurante des lys.
Ma famille était assise comme des rois sur le premier banc. La tête de ma mère reposait contre l'épaule d'Ethan, tandis que Celeste...
Mon Dieu.
Même dans le deuil, ma sœur semblait tout droit sortie d'un magazine.
La lumière du soleil à travers les vitraux illuminait ses parfaites boucles blondes, sa robe de créateur épousant des courbes qui m'avaient toujours fait paraître garçon manqué en comparaison.
"Daniel, chéri !" Ma mère a ouvert grand les bras lorsqu'on s'est approché, pas pour moi, jamais pour moi, mais pour le petit-fils qui portait le nom des Blackthorne. Seul le petit-fils comptait.
Je suis restée là, abasourdie, à regarder Daniel se blottir dans ses bras, son petit corps disparaissant sous sa dentelle noire.
Il ne restait plus qu'une place libre, coincée entre Celeste et le bout du banc.
Le regard glacial de ma sœur s'est posé sur moi. Une décennie s'était écoulée, et pourtant sa haine n'avait pas diminué.
Elle s'est un peu déplacée lorsque je me suis assise, la soie de sa robe frottant contre le banc comme l'avertissement d'un serpent.
Essayant de ne pas penser à la famille qui ne voulait pas de moi, j'ai laissé mon regard errer dans la salle, pour finalement se poser sur une autre famille qui ne voulait pas de moi.
Les Blackthorne occupaient le côté opposé de l'allée, les larges épaules de Kieran dessinant une silhouette imposante aux côtés de ses parents.
Leona Blackthorne a pincé ses lèvres lorsqu'elle a remarqué que je la regardais.
Tout comme ma famille m'avait rejetée, les Blackthorne refusaient de m'accepter. À leurs yeux, j'étais l'épouse légale de Kieran, pas sa Luna.
Sa mère, Leona, portait toujours le titre de Luna, même après que le titre d'Alpha ait été transmis à Kieran.
Maintenant, elle me regardait froidement. Je suis sûre qu'elle a été ravie d'apprendre la nouvelle du divorce. La tache sur sa famille avait enfin disparu.
Une petite main chaude est venue se glisser dans la mienne. Daniel s'était dégagé de l'étreinte de ma mère et formait désormais une barrière vivante entre moi et Celeste. Ses doigts ont serré les miens, comme pour me dire silencieusement "Je suis là."
J'ai serré en retour sa main, puisant de la force dans cet enfant remarquable qui n'aurait jamais dû être celui qui se montrait courageux.
Les accords mélancoliques de l'orgue ont annoncé le début de la cérémonie. Juste quelques heures encore. Je pouvais tenir jusque-là. N'est-ce pas ?
***
Je devais reconnaître que Celeste avait un sens du timing impeccable.
Elle a attendu pendant toute la cérémonie. Elle a attendu pendant la cérémonie au cimetière, pendant que nous jetions chacun une poignée de terre sur le cercueil de notre père.
Elle a attendu jusqu'à ce que la foule se disperse, ne laissant que Daniel et moi regarder les pompes funèbres commencer leur travail solennel.
"Comme c'est aimable de ta part de proposer de l'aide pour les préparatifs des funérailles." Sa voix a transpercé mon deuil comme une l**e d'argent.
Je me suis crispée sans me retourner. "Je le pensais vraiment." La douleur creuse dans ma po**rine s'est intensifiée.
Mon seul message de soutien était resté sans réponse, le silence de ma mère en disait long. Avec le retour de Celeste, j'étais encore plus inutile.
Le rire de Celeste débordait d'ironie. "Comme si quelqu'un accepterait quoi que ce soit de ta part."
Le vent portait son parfum écœurant de jasmin alors qu'elle s'approchait. "Dix ans, ma sœur", a-t-elle sifflé. "Dix ans que tu as joué à la dînette avec ma vie. Mais je reprends ce qui m'appartient : ma famille, ma position..."
Son souffle a réchauffé mon oreille. "Mon Kieran."
J'ai failli rire devant la tombe de mon père.
C'était absurde, Celeste les avait toujours tous possédés. Leur amour, leur loyauté, le cœur de Kieran... Rien de tout cela ne m'avait jamais vraiment appartenu pour que je puisse les perdre.
"Bon retour à la maison", ai-je murmuré à la terre fraîchement retournée. Aujourd'hui, il s'agissait d'honorer mon père, pas de mener des combats que j'étais vouée à perdre.
Celeste gagnait toujours.
Le crissement du gravier a signalé son départ. Je n'avais pas besoin de regarder pour savoir qu'elle était directement allée vers Kieran.
Je pouvais parfaitement imaginer le visage de Leona s'illuminer, les bras de Kieran s'ouvrir instinctivement.
Quand Daniel s'est déplacé à côté de moi, j'ai vu la confirmation du coin de l'œil : Celeste était blottie contre la po**rine de Kieran comme si c'était sa place, souriant par-dessus son épaule.
"Maman ?" La petite main de Daniel a trouvé la mienne. Mon garçon courageux, qui se tenait entre moi et le monde. "Je peux aller voir Mamie ?"
Le regard suppliant de Daniel m'a fait fondre. Malgré leur rejet, Daniel méritait de connaître sa famille.
"Bien sûr, mon chéri." Je l'ai em**assé longuement sur ses cheveux avant qu'il ne s'éloigne en courant.
De l'autre côté de la pelouse, j'ai regardé Christian prendre Daniel dans ses bras avec une aisance paternelle, tandis que Leona bichonnait son costume.
Au moins, ils l'aimaient, la seule bonne chose qui ressortait de ce mariage factice.
Maintenant seule, j'ai dû faire face à ce gouffre béant dans la terre, reflet du vide de ma vie.
"Adieu, Papa", ai-je murmuré au vent, mes larmes coulant autant pour le père que j'avais perdu que pour la fille qu'il n'avait jamais vraiment vue.
Je me suis éloignée de la tombe de mon père, mes talons s'enfonçant dans la terre molle alors que je me dirigeais vers le refuge de ma voiture.
J'attendrais là, seule, invisible, jusqu'à ce que cette affligeante cérémonie soit terminée.
J'étais à mi-chemin de la tombe lorsque le chaos s'est installé.
La minute d'avant, c'était un après-midi sombre, seulement marqué par des sanglots étouffés.
La minute d'après, c'était un cauchemar de grognements et de cris, alors que des loups solitaires sortaient de la lisière de la forêt comme des ombres avec des dents.
Daniel.
Son nom était une prière sur mes lèvres alors que je me suis retournée, scrutant la pagaille.
Le loup de mon frère protégeait notre mère, ses crocs dégoulinant de s**g.
De l'autre côté de la clairière, l'imposante silhouette dorée et brune de Kieran protégeait Celeste... évidemment.
Personne ne m'a considérée. Personne ne se souvenait de la fille sans loup, de la compagne défectueuse, de la cible facile.
Les loups solitaires, eux, l'ont remarqué.
Des yeux jaunes se sont braqués sur moi tandis que des silhouettes décharnées se sont approchées furtivement, les narines dilatées par l'odeur de ma peur.
"Daniel !" Mon cri a percé la cacophonie. Où était-il ? Qui...
Un poids oppressant est venu s'abattre sur mon dos, les griffes lacérant ma peau. Je suis tombée lourdement au sol, le monde vacillant tandis que je tentais de reculer.
Au-dessus de moi, un loup solitaire affamé se dressait, sa salive nauséabonde éclaboussant mes joues alors qu'il grognait.
C'était la fin. Après tout ce que j'ai vécu, j'allais mourir à genoux dans la boue.
Mon regard a parcouru désespérément le chaos. Mon épaule était en feu, un liquide chaud et épais ruisselait le long de mon dos, mais tout ce qui comptait, c'était Daniel.
Le loup solitaire a foncé sur moi.
J'ai silencieusement supplié la divinité qui m'écoutait de me laisser le voir une dernière fois...
......
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&5&
She was married to him, but the whole world treated her as an interloper. One day, she stopped explaining, stopped begging, stopped trying to prove anything. She walked away and left him right where everyone thought he wanted to be. People cheered for him. But behind closed doors, that untouchable man was the one who broke first, on his knees, begging her not to leave.
=====
Lily sighed as she finished another late night at the office-covering for Jenny, who had called in "sick" yet again. But when she finally dragged herself home and scrolled through social media, her stomach twisted.
There was Jenny, co**tail in hand, laughing with a group of friends at some trendy b*r.
Of course. The realization stung. Jenny had never been her friend. Behind that sweet smile, she had been seething with envy over Lily's work ethic-and worse, spreading vicious rumors that Lily was sleeping with their boss, David.
None of them knew the truth: she wasn't his mi**ress. She was his wife.
Lily was used to the whispers, the sideways glances. She had learned to swallow the bitterness.
But as she got ready for bed, her phone buzzed with a breaking news alert-a gossip headline splashed across the screen:
"Billionaire CEO David Hardison Reunites with Ex-Girlfriend Marina at Exclusive Gala-Are Sparks Still There?"
Her breath hitched. A photo beneath the caption showed David, devastatingly handsome in his tuxedo, standing close to the stunning socialite. Too close.
Unlike the office rumors, this wasn't just petty gossip. This was David. Her husband. The man who, after five years of marriage, still looked at her with polite detachment rather than love. Except on the bed.
A sob tore from her throat as the dam inside her broke. She crumpled onto the edge of the bed, tears streaming down her face. How could it still hurt this much?
Lily had loved David Hardison from the moment she first saw him.
Nine years ago, fresh out of university, she had joined Hardison Corp with starry-eyed ambition-only to have her breath stolen the instant David strode past her desk.
Sharp suit. Colder eyes. A presence that commanded every room, every glance, every foolish heart.
Including hers.
But he'd been Marina's.
Everyone knew he had been Marina's.
Still, Lily stayed and became his secretary. She learned the rhythm of his moods, the way his jaw tightened before he fired someone, the rare, fleeting smirk when a deal went his way.
And five years ago, when Marina vanished without a trace-leaving David shattered-Lily was the one who picked up the pieces.
Literally.
That night at the b*r, David had been a wreck. Wh**key-soaked and hollow-eyed, he gripped her wrist like she was the only thing keeping him from drowning.
Her heart shattered. But she knew her place. She was just his secretary.
She drove him home, tending to him with quiet efficiency, careful not to overstep.
But as she turned to fetch a fresh towel, he pinned her against the wall and ki**ed her with a feverish, bruising intensity-as if she were someone else.
Lily tried to resist. But the raw agony in his eyes broke her. And so, she let him take her-rough, reckless.
And when she woke the next morning-na**d, ac**ng, his scent still on her skin-he stood by the window, sm**e curling from his ci**rette as he tossed a contract onto the rumpled sheets.
"Read it. Sign it."
Her fingers shook as she lifted the paper.
Marriage Contract.
Terms: Wife in name only. No emotional attachments. No expectations.
Duration: Until Marina returns.
Lily's throat closed. "Mr. Hardison, you don't owe me anything. Last night was-"
A dark chuckle cut her off. He turned, and the look in his eyes froze her bl**d.
"Don't flatter yourself. This isn't about responsibility." He crushed his ci**rette, his voice merciless.
"My mother wants me to be married. She likes you. And I need a placeholder."
"You'll be my wife on paper only. You'll have everything-except my heart. You'll never be Marina."
The words hung between them, sharp as a bl**e.
Lily knew the rules and she'd never hold his heart. But four years of loving him in silence had carved hope too deep to ignore.
Maybe, whispered the fo**ish part of her, if I stay long enough, he'll see me.
So she signed.
And for five long years, she learned the torment of being a placeholder.
By day, she was his flawless secretary-polite, professional, invisible.
By night, she was his warm body in the dark-a silent substitute for the woman he truly wanted.
And every time he gr**ned "Marina" into her skin, Lily died a little more.
Lily's fingers trembled as she adjusted the straps of her silk nightgown, the ch**pagne-colored fabric clinging to her cu**es.
She had bought it weeks ago, imagining David's reaction-Would his eyes darken? Would he finally see her?
A key turned in the front door.
Her breath hitched.
David strode in, his tailored suit jacket slung over one shoulder, tie loosened. The scent of his cologne-sm**y sandalwood and sin-flooded the room before he even spotted her.
Then his gaze locked onto her, and his steps faltered.
A muscle twitched in his jaw. "What's this?"
Lily lifted her chin, her pulse racing. "Five years today."
A beat of silence. Then his mouth curled-not in a smile, but a challenge. He closed the distance in three strides, his fingers tangling in her hair, tilting her head back.
"Expecting a celebration?"
Before she could answer, his mouth crashed down on hers.
She gasped as he backed her against the wall, his hands sliding down to grip her thighs, hitching her up until her legs wrapped around his waist.
"David-"
"Quiet." His voice was rough, his breath hot against her throat as he b*t down where her pulse fluttered. "You wanted my attention? You've got it."
Every rational thought evaporated. This-the way he manhandled her, the growl in his voice-was the David she craved. The one who burned the world down for what he wanted.
And for tonight, she was what he wanted.
When he carried her to the b*d, she arched into him, her legs sissored around his waist.
"Look at me," he demanded, pinning her wrists above her head.
Her breath came in shallow pants as she obeyed. His eyes were black with l**t, but beneath it-was that something else? A flicker of. recognition?
Hope flared in her ch**t-
Then he claimed her hard. Lily arched against him, meeting his th**sts with a desperation she had never allowed herself before.
Maybe tonight. Maybe this time-
His breath hitched, his rhythm faltering-a telltale sign.
With a final snap of his h*ps, and then, on a ragged exhale: "Marina."
The name punched through Lily's ch**t like a bl**e.
As if summoned, David's phone rang-Marina's custom tone, a lilting piano melody Lily had come to dread.
David rolled off her in an instant, grabbing the phone.
His voice, moments ago rough with de**re, softened into something tender. "Hey. Yeah, I'm here."
Lily lay frozen, she watched his back-the taut mu**les, the faint scars she had traced with her lips a thousand times-as he paced to the window, his laughter low and in**mate. "Miss me already?"
The contrast was cruel. With Lily, he was all sharp edges and demands. With Marina, he melted.
When he hung up, the silence was suffocating. Lily sat up, clutching the ruined silk to her ch**t.
"She's back." Not a question.
David didn't look at her. "We reconnected last month."
Last month. While Lily had been marking their anniversary on the calendar like a f**l.
She swallowed the bile rising in her throat. "I'll pack my things. I can be out of the penthouse by-"
"Stay." He finally turned, his expression unreadable. "Marina doesn't like used spaces. She won't come here."
Used. The word lodged in Lily's heart like a shard of glass.
Her fingers dug into the mattress, nails scraping against silk as she watched him dress with mechanical efficiency-tie knotted with military precision, cufflinks snapped into place.
He didn't glance back. Didn't hesitate. The front door clicked shut with surgical finality.
Five years of marriage.
Not even a "thank you."
She was a placeholder, temporary solution. And now that his real love had returned?
It was time for her to step aside.
Chapter 2
The master bedroom smelled like him-that intoxicating blend of sandalwood and cold indifference. Lily stood in the doorway, her suitcase wheels catching on the threshold like a final protest.
Five years.
Five years of stolen moments in this gilded cage.
They had f**ked against every surface-the mahogany desk, the shower glass, the very spot where her knees now threatened to buckle. But they had never m**e l**e. Not once.
Her packing took less than ten minutes.
How pathetic, that a marriage could be undone faster than the time it took David to choose a tie each morning. The suitcase-bought new for their honeymoon, still faintly dusty from disuse-gaped open like a wound.
She filled it only with what she had brought: a few books, the pearl earrings her mother left her, the silk nightgown he had once torn off her without looking at the color.
The study smelled of his Cuban ci**rs and betrayal.
There, in the top drawer where he kept his wh**key and co**oms, lay the divorce papers. Prepared before they got married. A contingency plan for Marina's inevitable return.
Lily signed without trembling. The pen glided smoothly as the kn**e he had slid between her ribs for half a decade.
She had come to him willingly.
She left with equal resolve.
No tears. No dramatics. Just the quiet unraveling of a dream she should have abandoned the first time he had whispered another woman's name into her hair.
The front door clicked shut behind her.
Rain lashed the pavement as she hailed a cab. The droplets streaked the windows like the tears she refused to shed.
"Where to?" the driver asked.
The question froze her.
Leave. Just leave. That had been her only thought. But now, faced with the reality-she had nowhere to go.
No home. No family.
Her mother had died bringing her into this world. Her father's remarriage had brought only a stepmother whose mistreatment cut deeper than cruelty. Her childhood had been a nightmare.
The only peace she had ever known were those fleeting years with David-years she now realized were just another kind of solitude.
She had severed ties with her own family for him, unwilling to let their dysfunction touch his world.
And what had it earned her?
A divorce paper signed before marriage. A husband who used her merely as a s*x toy.
"Where to?" The driver's voice sharpened as horns blared behind them.
Panic tightened her throat. Then, before she could think-
"Noa's apartment. 27 Willow Lane."
The name escaped like a confession. Noa, her best friend since high school.
The woman who had gripped her shoulders the day she signed that contract marriage, eyes blazing: "You'll regret this, Lily. He'll destroy you."
And like a f**l, she had laughed it off.
Now, with the divorce papers heavy in her bag and the taxi meter counting away her old life, Lily finally believed it.
The clock ticked 12:17 AM when Lily appeared at Noa's doorstep. Rainwater dripped from her hair onto the welcome mat-Noa's joke gift from last Christmas: "Go Away Unless You Have W**e."
Her knuckles hovered, trembling.
The door flew open before she could knock.
Noa stood there in rumpled pajamas, her sleep-mussed braids swinging as she jerked fully awake.
"Jesus Christ, Lily-" Her voice cracked when she saw Lily's shattered expression, the death-grip on her suitcase. "You look like you walked out of a f**king horror movie."
Lily's attempt at a smile twisted into something broken. "I didn't... know where else..." The words dissolved like sugar in wh**key.
Noa didn't ask. She just yanked her inside, kicking the door shut with her bare foot.
"You're f**king freezing." Her hands-always warm, always steady-rubbed Lily's icy arms. "Where's your coat? Scratch that-where's your common sense?"
The suitcase thudded to the floor. Lily stared at it, numb. Five years of marriage reduced to one wheeled carry-on.
Noa swore under her breath and manhandled her onto the couch. "Move and I'll duct tape you here." She vanished into the kitchen, banging cabinets with unnecessary violence.
Lily sat. The apartment smelled like Noa's vanilla candle wax and takeout-real life, not David's sterile mansion. Her fingers traced a coffee stain on the cushion. Proof that people actually lived here.
A chipped "World's Best Accountant" mug (a gag gift from Lily) appeared under her nose. Chamomile steam curled between them. Noa didn't do it gently, but her hands were careful as she wrapped Lily's around the heat.
"Drink. Then talk. Or don't. But hydrate, you tragic heroine."
The tea scalded Lily's tongue. Good. Pain meant she still felt.
Noa perched beside her, knee bouncing. Waiting.
"I signed them," Lily whispered to the tea leaves. "The divorce papers."
Noa went statue-still.
"Marina's back." The words came out strangled. The tea rippled-her hands were shaking now. "They're. together."
A tear plopped into the mug. Then another. Silent. Efficient. Like she had practiced this moment in the mirror for years.
Noa exploded off the couch. She didn't miss the bruise-like love b**es peeking above Lily's collar.
If David had chosen Marina, why leave m**ks like claim staked on condemned land?
"F**k that emotionally stunted ba**ard-" She kicked the coffee table so hard a magazine slid off. "I'll burn Hardison Corp to the ground. I'll-"
"It doesn't matter." Lily's voice surprised them both-hollow as a picked-clean bone. "I know he never loved me. And I promised him. The contract..."
Noa whirled, eyes blazing. "That contract was emotional blackmail and you know it-" She bit off the rest, fists clenching. Because they had had this argument before. Many times.
The silence stretched. The radiator hissed. Somewhere downstairs, a dog barked.
Finally, Noa sat. Not touching, but close. "Okay," she said, exhaling hard. "Okay. F**k him. His loss."
She gently hugged Lily, her tone firm, "I've got you. You're home now."
Tears burst out, and Lily curled into Noa's side, her tea cooling between them. Outside, the rain slowed to a drizzle. The world kept turning.
And for the first time in five years-so did Lily.
***
The next day, Lily went to work as usual. The elevator doors slid open with a soft ding, revealing Jenny's smug face.
"Oh, Lily," Jenny chirped, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "You're such an angel for covering my shift last night."
Her manicured fingers fluttered near her ch**t in mock gratitude.
"But then again," she added with a poisonous smile, "it's not like you have much of a personal life to interfere, do you?"
"Did you see the news? David's real love is back." She leaned in, her perfume cloying. "And everyone bets he'll propose to her soon."
Jenny's painted lips curled in triumph. "Face it-you'll never be the one to win David's heart."
Lily's grip tightened on her bag, but her voice remained ice-cold. "Funny, coming from someone who couldn't even handle a simple report without faking a migraine."
She stepped past Jenny without another glance, leaving the other woman gaping.
At her desk, Lily mechanically sorted through emails, her movements precise, practiced. The resignation letter in her bag weighed heavily against her hip-a burden, yet also a promise of freedom.
She couldn't stay. Not after last night. Not when every glance at David would remind her of Marina's triumphant return. Today would be the last time she made his coffee.
The ritual began without thought-measuring the exact 17 grams of Ethiopian beans, heating the water to 96°C, and timing the 30-second bloom.
She had perfected this routine like she had perfected everything else about being Mrs. Hardison-the silent wife, the flawless secretary, the warm body in the dark.
The first time he had praised her coffee, she had clung to that scrap of approval like a lifeline. Maybe if I perfect this, she had thought, he'll see me. What a fool she had been.
Steeling herself, she pushed open his office door-only to freeze.
David wasn't at his desk.
Instead, Marina lounged in his leather chair like a queen on a throne, her manicured fingers tracing the edge of his polished mahogany desk. She looked up, a slow, feline smile spreading across her lips.
"Oh, Lily," she purred. "I've heard about you."
Chapter 3
"David's secretary," Marina drawled, rising from his chair with deliberate grace.
Her eyes raked over Lily with slow, calculated disdain-from her sensible heels to her neatly pinned-up hair. "Hmm. I don't see what all the fuss is about."
Lily kept her expression neutral, though her fingers tightened around the coffee tray. "Can I help you with something, Ms. Laurent?"
Marina smirked, circling her like a predator. "Oh, I'm just. assessing the competition."
She paused, tapping a manicured nail against David's desk. "Tell me, how does it feel? Playing house with someone else's man for five years?"
Lily didn't flinch. "If you're referring to my work, all records are up to date. Would you like me to pull the files?"
Marina's smile faltered. She hadn't expected such precision-such competence. The realization sharpened her voice. "Cute. But we both know you were just a placeholder."
She leaned in, her whisper venomous. "David told me everything. How lonely he was. How. convenient you were."
She smirked. "Did you really think he'd settle for a glorified coffee girl?"
Lily's pulse roared in her ears, but her reply was steady.
"Our arrangement is over. And since this is a workplace, I suggest we keep things professional. Mr. Hadison dislikes distractions."
"Ooh, listen to you," Marina mocked, eyes flashing. "Like you know him so well."
She snatched the coffee cup from the tray, swirling the dark liquid.
"Let me guess-Ethiopian beans? Ninety-six degrees? Pathetic. You could brew this every day for a lifetime, and he'd still never-"
Footsteps echoed in the hall.
Before Lily could react, Marina tipped the scalding coffee over her own hand.
"Ahh!" she gasped, dropping the cup with a clatter just as David strode in.
Lily's breath caught. The scene was unmistakable: Marina cradling her reddened wrist, tears glistening on her lashes, and Lily standing frozen-holding an empty tray.
Marina's voice trembled with practiced hurt. "David. she-she poured it on me!"
David's head snapped toward Lily, his expression darkening like a thundercloud.
"Lily!" His voice cracked through the office like a whip. "What the h**l is wrong with you?!"
Lily stood frozen, the empty tray still clutched in her hands. Her lips parted in stunned disbelief.
"I didn't-"
"Enough!" David cut her off sharply. "You think just because you've worked here for years, you can do whatever you want? That I'd tolerate you attacking someone?"
Lily's hands trembled. "David, she poured it on herself... I didn't do anything."
"She poured it on herself?" His laugh was harsh, disbelieving. "Marina treats her hands like they're made of gold. You really expect me to buy that pathetic excuse?"
"It's the truth-" Her voice wavered, thick with hurt.
"Apologize." His command left no room for argument.
"I won't apologize for something I didn't do."
David's jaw tightened. "Then you'll face the consequences."
Before Lily could react, he snatched the w**e bottle from his desk and upended it over her head.
Ice-cold li**or drenched her hair, streaming down her face, and soaking into her blouse. The sharp scent of al**hol filled the air as droplets splattered onto the floor.
Across the room, Marina's lips curled in triumph-though she quickly schooled her features into false concern. "David, darling, it's not worth getting so upset..." she murmured, fanning the flames even as she pretended to soothe them.
David barely glanced at Lily again, his attention already shifting to Marina's reddened hand.
"Let's get you to the hospital," he said tightly, guiding her toward the door with a protective hand at her back.
As they swept past, Lily stood motionless, li**or still dripping from her chin. The office had gone deathly quiet-every colleague frozen in their cubicles, eyes wide with shock.
The office buzzed with whispers the rest of the morning. Lily could feel the stares burning into her back as she worked-pitying, mocking, triumphant.
She was in the restroom cleaning the last traces of w**e from her collar when Jenny's unmistakable giggle echoed off the tiles.
"-wish you'd seen her face when Mr. Hadison dumped that drink on her!" Jenny crowed to her gaggle of followers. "All these years playing the perfect secretary, and look how he treats his little pet."
"We should celebrate tonight," another voice chimed in. "Finally, the gold-digger gets what she deserves."
Lily's reflection in the mirror stared back at her-hair still damp, eyes red-rimmed but dry. Something inside her snapped.
She yanked the decorative watering can from the windowsill and flung the contents in a wide arc.
A chorus of shrieks filled the air as Jenny and her cronies stumbled back, dripping.
"You crazy bi**h!" Jenny screeched, mascara running down her cheeks.
"No," Lily said calmly, setting the can down with a clink. "Just returning the favor for all those times I covered your incompetence."
"Let's see-" She ticked off on her fingers. "You can't format a spreadsheet without breaking the formulas, Claire's reports are always late, and Sophie-" A cold smile. "Well, we all know who actually writes your presentations."
"So what?" Jenny still had no guilt. "Blame yourself for being so st**id!"
Lily caught Jenny's wrist mid-swing and shoved-hard. The other woman went sprawling on the wet tiles.
"Go ahead, report me," Lily said, hoisting her bag onto her shoulder. "My resignation's already on David's desk. I'm more interested in seeing how long before he realizes none of you can handle your own projects."
Then she turned her heels toward the hallway.
When Lily walked out of the building, the afternoon sun glared unforgivingly bright.
Lily pulled out her phone and typed with steady fingers:
"David -
The signed divorce papers are on your desk.
P.S. You'll need a new secretary."
Then she hit send.
Chapter 4
The message arrived mid-afternoon: brief, coldly formal, unmistakably David.
"Dinner. 7 PM. Delphina's. Dress accordingly."
Lily hadn't expected the invitation.
She stared at the text for a long moment, thumbs hovering.
Delphina's?
The same five-star restaurant he had once mentioned taking her to after the successful completion of Project A.
He never did. Business had gotten in the way. Marina's return had taken priority. But now, here it was months later.
Why now?
She didn't answer the message. She just showed up at 7 sharp, dressed in a sleek black dress she'd bought two years ago on impulse, back when she still hoped he'd take her somewhere nice without a reason. She'd left the tag on until tonight.
The waiters greeted her with reverent familiarity, guiding her through the quiet restaurant to a table near the tall windows. The place was empty. Every seat, every table, every candle belonged to them.
A candlelit dinner, booked exclusively for two.
David sat waiting, impeccably dressed in a charcoal suit, tie loose, eyes unreadable.
He didn't even look at her when she arrived.
She also said nothing, taking her seat across from him. A glass of w**e already waited beside her plate.
He poured himself a drink, swirling it like this was a routine thing.
"You booked a whole restaurant," she said flatly, "for a woman you don't love."
He paused, lifting the glass to his lips. "You earned this dinner. You handled Project A flawlessly. Better than my executives."
"So this is. professional gratitude?"
He finally met her gaze.
"Why? Are you expecting something else too?"
Lily laughed to herself. Did she have the right to expect anything from him?
The waiter came, stiff and silent, serving course after course as if this were any ordinary anniversary dinner. But it wasn't. The air between them hummed with things unsaid.
David talked a little about work-brief updates, short remarks. She responded with polite nods, eyes scanning the flickering candlelight like it held answers.
When dessert came-a dark chocolate ganache with spiced raspberry coulis-Lily's phone buzzed.
It was a message from Noa.
"Stocks dropping. Marina scandal is everywhere. Someone leaked the gala photos."
"He's using the dinner to delay the divorce announcement. Protecting his company. Not you."
Lily's stomach turned. The chocolate turned to ash in her mouth.
Of course.
This wasn't romance. It was damage control.
She set her spoon down. "You could've just asked me to cooperate. You didn't need this elaborate dinner."
David's expression shifted, just slightly. "I thought you'd appreciate the gesture."
"I might've, if it were genuine."
He leaned back in his chair, watching her. "So. You've heard."
"I have eyes, Mr. Hardison, and ears too."
The flicker of tension darkened his gaze. "You want to discuss this here?"
Lily folded her napkin carefully. "You can delay the public announcement. I won't go to the press. I'll play along if that helps. But the divorce goes on."
His jaw flexed.
"Why are you in such a rush now?" His voice was low, tightly controlled. "You were perfectly fine being my wife for five years. Knowing I loved someone else, you sl**t with me and married me. Willingly."
"I was a f**l," she said quietly.
"No," he snapped, "you were desperate. Don't act like this was some noble sacrifice. You wanted something. And you got it."
Her eyes narrowed. "What exactly do you think I wanted?"
"You tell me," he said coldly. "Power? Status? Money? You knew I wasn't offering love. You still signed that contract. So don't give me this teary victim act now."
She stood, slowly, deliberately.
"I stayed because I hoped," she said. "Hoped one day you'd see me. Not as a placeholder. Not as a secretary. But as a person. A woman who gave you everything she had, even when you never asked."
His laugh was bitter. "Spare me the monologue. If this is about money, my lawyers can increase the settlement."
Lily's fingers curled into fists. The anger built like a storm breaking in her ch**t.
"You think everything's about money," she whispered. "That's the only language you understand, isn't it?"
David didn't flinch. "It's the only language that gets things done."
Without thinking, without warning, Lily sl**ped him.
The crack of palm against cheek echoed through the empty restaurant like a gu**hot. The waiter dropped a fork somewhere behind the bar. A candle flickered dangerously.
David didn't move.
His head stayed turned, a red mark blooming on his cheek. His expression unreadable.
Lily's breath came in fast, ragged pulls. Her pulse throbbed in her temples.
"I'm done," she hissed, grabbing her clutch. "This time, for real."
She turned too fast. Her elbow knocked the tall glass vase beside her. It teetered, then toppled, water and orchids spilling toward the floor.
Before she could flinch, David lunged.
His arm wrapped around her waist, yanking her back just as the vase shattered inches from her feet. A shard bounced off his forearm, slicing through fabric and skin.
"S**t," he muttered.
Lily stared at him, stunned. "You're bl**ding..."
"I've had worse." He looked down, checking her legs, her hands. "You okay?"
She nodded, still breathless.
He let her go a second later, stepping back like the moment never happened.
The waiter appeared with towels. David dismissed him with a glance.
Bl**d soaked through the cuff of his white shirt, dripping along his wrist.
Lily grabbed a napkin and reached for him. "Let me..."
"I said I'm fine."
"David..."
He caught her wrist, firm but not harsh. His eyes locked onto hers.
"You don't get to s**p me and then play the caring wife," he said.
"You don't get to accuse me of gold-digging and then throw yourself in front of a flying vase."
They stood like that-motionless, bound by years of silence and buried truths. Then David's grip loosened.
Chapter 5
Lily never expected David to risk his life for her.
Now, seated in the hospital room, watching the doctor clean and dress the gash across his shoulder, her stomach twisted into a tight knot.
Guilt, confusion, and something softer-something terrifyingly close to affection-churned together inside her ch**t.
The antiseptic smell hung thick in the room. The monitor beeped steadily, and David sat still, only flinching slightly when the cotton swab touched raw skin.
Lily stood a little away, her arms wrapped around her midsection, her teeth worrying her lower lip. She hadn't said much since they arrived. Neither had he.
The doctor finished the dressing, then glanced toward Lily. "He'll be fine, but he needs rest and careful attention. You're his wife, aren't you?"
Lily opened her mouth but didn't know what to say.
"She is," David said flatly before she could respond. "Make sure she knows how to take care of the wound."
The doctor nodded and began explaining the medication schedule and dressing changes. Lily listened carefully, her hands trembling just a little as she took the instructions. Once they were alone again, the silence stretched.
Lily turned to him. "Why did you do that?"
David raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"You got hurt. For me."
He let out a humorless chuckle. "Don't flatter yourself."
Her eyes narrowed. "I'm not, I'm trying to understand. You didn't have to..."
"You were in the way," he muttered, looking away. "It was a reflex."
Lily stared at him. "That's a poor excuse for someone who just threw himself in front of a falling vase."
His eyes met hers again, colder now. "It doesn't matter why I did it. You're safe. That's all."
His words sounded noble, but something inside her cracked. She wasn't st**id. She'd seen the panic in his eyes when she stumbled, the way he hadn't hesitated even for a second. That wasn't just reflex. It couldn't be.
But before she could press further, the door flung open.
"David!"
A shrill, high-pitched voice echoed in the room.
Marina walked in like a storm wrapped in silk and perfume, her heels tapping loudly against the floor, her eyes taking in the scene like a snake spotting prey.
Her gaze flicked between David on the hospital bed and Lily standing near him.
"Well, isn't this cozy," she sneered.
Lily instinctively stepped back.
"Marina," David said warningly, his voice low.
"You got injured and instead of calling me"-she emphasized the word like poison on her tongue-"you're here playing house with her?"
"I didn't call anyone," David said flatly. "She was there."
Marina ignored him. She was only getting started. "Of course she was. This bi**h is always around when something goes wrong! You're nothing but a shameless homewr**ker, you know that? You think pretending to be caring will bring him back to you?"
Lily stayed silent. The in**lt stung more than it should have.
"She's here because she's my secretary," David said sharply. "And I don't need to explain myself to you."
Marina's eyes widened, then narrowed. "So she still matters that much? You'd rather protect her than me?"
"I'd protect anyone in danger. A stranger. A cat. Even a dog," David said, his tone ice-cold. "Don't confuse basic decency with affection."
Lily's throat closed up.
Of course.
That was all she was.
A cat. A dog. Just another soul on the street he happened to save because he had a 'moral duty.'
Just moments ago, she had almost believed-almost hoped-he might still care. But hearing him lump her with stray animals...
"Got it," she whispered. Her hands shook slightly, but she forced them still. "Thanks for clearing that up."
She turned toward the door.
But before she could leave, Marina grabbed her arm. "Wait."
Lily looked back, frowning.
"I ordered some nutritious meals for David. Organic, specially curated by his dietician. I... I don't know the roads around this hospital. Can you pick them up for me? I would, but I don't want to get lost."
Lily stared at her.
Seriously?
"You think I'm your errand girl now?"
"Just do it," Marina shrugged with a fake smile. "You're already here. You took responsibility for his injury, right? Fetching some food isn't too much to ask."
Lily glanced at David.
He didn't meet her eyes. He leaned back against the pillow, closing his eyes as if none of this involved him at all.
That was enough.
She exhaled slowly and nodded. "Fine."
If this was what it took to erase the guilt, she'd do it.
Marina gave her a note with the address. "Don't take too long. David hates cold food."
Lily didn't respond. She walked out of the room, feeling her legs tremble slightly under her weight.
She didn't know why her ch**t hurt so much.
Maybe she really was just a street dog in David's eyes.
Chapter 6
The city was sweltering under the streetlights when Lily stepped out of the hospital. David had been injured protecting her, and no matter how cruel his words were, she couldn't ignore the pain behind them.
First, she went to the east side of town for some rare mushroom broth. Then, just as she paid, Marina called again.
"Oh, Lily, I forgot to mention David prefers steamed herbal soups now. There's a new place in the west. Can you grab those too?" Marina's voice was syrupy sweet over the phone, hiding the steel underneath.
Lily hesitated, glancing at the heavy bags in her hand. "I already....."
"Don't forget you are his secretary, this is your job," Marina interrupted coldly.
Lily gritted her teeth. "Fine."
By the time she returned to the hospital, her clothes clung to her like a second skin, her arms ached from the weight of the food, and sweat matted her hair to her forehead.
But nothing could've prepared her for what she saw through the slightly ajar ward door.
David, leaning comfortably against the bed, laughing softly as Marina fed him a spoonful of something from a bowl.
His expression was relaxed, even fond-a side of him Lily hadn't seen in years.
Her ch**t tightened. "You already ate?" she asked, stepping inside.
David looked up, startled. Marina's eyes widened not in guilt, but in victory.
"I didn't know you'd take so long," she said flatly. Lily dropped the bags onto the nearby table with a loud thud.
"Are you serious right now? You sent me to the east, then called me halfway and made me go to the west. I've been running around town while you two were in here... enjoying takeout?"
Marina put on her best 'guilty' face. "I'm so sorry, Lily. I had no idea his tastes had changed while I was gone. I thought he still liked the old recipes."
Lily scoffed, unmoved. "Spare me the performance."
"Lily," David's tone hardened, "that's enough."
"Oh, please don't be upset," Marina whimpered, tears welling in her eyes.
"I won't let your effort go to waste. If you can forgive me, I'll eat it all myself-every bite." She dramatically reached for the container of mushroom soup, unscrewing the lid.
Lily stared at her. Was this woman for real? The theatrics, the crocodile tears-it was laughable.
But there was nothing funny about the way David looked at her, as if she were the unreasonable one.
"You don't have to force yourself," Lily said coldly. "I don't care what you do with it."
She turned to leave, her throat tight with anger and humiliation.
Behind her, she heard the rustle of plastic and the clatter of chopsticks.
"I mean it," Marina said. "I'll eat it all...see?"
Lily glanced back just in time to see Marina stuffing food into her mouth, exaggerated and showy. In that moment, it seemed more like a performance than a genuine gesture.
Lily narrowed her eyes, the words what is she playing at forming in her mind.
But then, Marina froze.
Her eyes widened. The color drained from her face. One hand clutched her throat.
"Marina?" David's voice rose sharply.
Marina stumbled to her feet, gasping.
"Can't... breathe..." she choked, her face swelling rapidly, red blotches erupting across her skin.
"Call a doctor!" David shouted, already on his feet.
Lily's heart plummeted into her stomach.
"Oh my god..." she whispered, stunned.
A nurse rushed in with a crash cart, shouting orders. David swept Marina into his arms and ran with her down the hallway toward the ER, barking for help.
Lily followed, legs moving before she could think.
But just outside the emergency wing, David turned around and faced her.
His expression was venomous.
"You fed her that," he hissed. "You knew she was allergic to mushrooms."
"What? No... I didn't know!" Lily stammered, her throat closing. "I swear I didn't know!"
"She almost died!" he snapped. He stepped closer. "If anything happens to her... anything... I will press charges. Understand that clearly."
His words hit her like a s**p.
Lily took a step back, hands shaking. "You think I poisoned her?"
He didn't answer. He didn't need to.
The raw accusation in his eyes said everything.
The silence between them stretched for long seconds until the sound of nurses and doctors shuffling in and out of Marina's room broke the standoff.
Lily's breath caught. Her hands trembled.
David had already turned away, storming into the emergency room.
She hadn't done anything.
She didn't even know Marina was allergic to mushrooms. It wasn't her who had told Marina to eat it.
Lily closed her eyes and remembered the last thing Marina had said before stuffing the food into her mouth: "As long as you can forgive me, I'll eat it all."
What kind of person said that?
And who ate something they knew they were allergic to?
Unless...
Unless they wanted something to happen.
A scene. A weapon to use.
A plan.
The idea chilled Lily more than the night wind.
One thing had become clear.
Marina had orchestrated this to turn David against her, and she had succeeded.
Lily stood frozen in the hallway as the door shut behind him. Her ch**t ached, but this time it wasn't from fatigue.
It was from the sharp realization that no matter what she did... she would always be the villain in David's eyes.
But she, the villain, the street dog was finally learning.
Not to love.
But to let go.
......
What happens next?
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&5&
A year ago, her husband betrayed her, her family disowned her, and her beloved adopted sister stole everything. Now she was back with nothing but hate—getting back at her unfaithful ex, exposing her sister's lies, and cutting ties with her phony family. This time, she was living for herself.
=====
Three years. One thousand and ninety-five days of trying to be the perfect wife, and this was my reward divorce papers on our anniversary.
"Sign here. And here." Stefan's voice was distant, businesslike.
He'd laid out the divorce papers like contracts at one of his meetings, sticky tabs marking each signature line. "The highlighted sections need initials."
My hands wouldn't stop shaking. "You're doing this today? On our anniversary?"
I stared at Stefan's perfect signature on the last page, the ink still fresh. He must have signed them this morning, probably right after I'd left that st**id handmade card on his desk.
The one I'd spent hours making, like a f**l who still believed in fairy tales. The anniversary card I made for my husband Stefan still sat on the kitchen counter, untouched.
Three years of marriage summed up in a handmade gesture he couldn't even bother to open. I'd spent hours on it last night, writing words I thought mattered.
My coffee had gone cold. Funny how you notice small things when your world is falling apart.
"Camille." He sighed, that familiar sound of disappointment I'd heard so many times before. "There's no point dragging this out."
The morning sun streamed through our kitchen windows, catching the diamond on my finger. Three carats, princess cut, picked out by his mother.
"Not your style, dear, but it's what a Rodriguez wife should wear," she'd said at the time. Like everything else in my life, it had never really been mine.
"Is there someone else?"
The question hung in the air between us. Stefan straightened his tie, Italian silk, the blue one I'd given him for Christmas. "Yes."
One word. That's all it took to erase three years of trying to be perfect.
"How long?"
"Two months." He wouldn't meet my eyes. "She came back to town and..."
"Two months," I repeated. All those late nights at the office. The missed dinners. The way he'd stopped ki**ing me goodbye in the mornings.
"Were you ever going to tell me? Or just keep lying until the papers were ready?"
"I didn't want to hurt you."
A laugh bubbled up, harsh, unfamiliar. "That's thoughtful of you."
My hand knocked against my coffee mug, sending it crashing to the floor.
Dark liquid spread across the pristine tiles, staining the grout I'd scrubbed on hands and knees last week because his mother was coming to visit.
"Let me get that..." Stefan reached for the paper towels.
"Don't." My voice cracked. "Just... don't pretend to care now."
I bent to pick up the broken pieces. A photo slipped from between the divorce papers, landing face-up in the spilled coffee.
The world stopped.
I knew that smile. Those eyes. That perfectly poised expression that had haunted every family photo since I was twelve.
"Rose?" My sister's name tasted like poison. "Your first love was Rose?"
Stefan's silence said everything.
Memories hit like punches to the gut. Rose helping me pick out my wedding dress. Rose giving to**ts at our engagement party.
Rose calling every week to check on my marriage, to give advice about keeping Stefan happy.
My adopted sister. My parents' golden child. The one they'd chosen to love.
"She never left town, did she?" The pieces were falling into place. "She's been here the whole time, waiting. Playing the supportive sister while you both laughed at st**id, naive Camille."
"It wasn't like that." Stefan ran his hands through his hair, that gesture I used to find endearing. "We tried to fight it. But some people are just meant to..."
"If you say 'meant to be' I swear I'll throw this mug at your head." My fingers tightened around the broken ceramic. "How long were you together before? Before me?"
He shifted uncomfortably. "Four years. Until she got the job offer in London."
Four years. The same time I'd started dating Stefan. The same time Rose had suddenly become my biggest cheerleader, pushing me toward him.
"She set this up," I whispered. "All of it. And I fell for every piece."
"Camille, you're being dramatic. Rose cares about you."
"Like she cared when she told my first boyfriend I was damaged goods? Or when she convinced my parents I was too unstable for college?" The broken mug cut into my palm, but I barely felt it.
"She's been sabotaging me my whole life, and I kept making excuses because that's what good sisters do, right?"
Bl**d dripped onto the divorce papers. Stefan reached for my hand but I jerked away.
"Don't touch me." I grabbed a dish towel, wrapping it around my palm. "Where is she now? Waiting to comfort me through my divorce? Planning your next wedding?"
"She wanted to be here, but I thought it would be better..."
"Better?" I laughed again, the sound edged with hysteria. "Yes, you've both been so concerned with what's better for me. Such caring people."
I picked up the pen, the Mont Blanc he'd given me on our first anniversary. The one Rose had helped him choose.
"Camille, wait. We should talk about this properly."
I signed every page, my signature perfectly steady. Let them see I wasn't breaking. Let them think they'd won.
"I'm done talking." I gathered my purse, the signed papers, Rose's photo. "Done pretending. Done being the good sister, the perfect wife, the daughter who never complains."
"Where are you going?"
"Away from you. Away from her. Away from everyone who thinks Camille Lewis is someone they can use and discard."
My phone buzzed, Rose's smiling face lit up the screen. Right on cue, coming to play her part.
I declined the call and walked to the door. Behind me, Stefan called out, "You can't just leave. We need to discuss arrangements, the house, the accounts..."
"You can have it all." I turned to face him one last time. "The house, the cars, the life you built on lies. I don't want anything that reminds me of either of you."
"Camille, please..."
"Goodbye, Stefan." I smiled, and something in my expression made him step back. "Give Rose my love. Tell her thank you, actually."
"For what?"
"For finally showing me the truth. About her, about you, about who I need to become."
I walked out of that house, out of that life, leaving bl**dy fingerprints on the door handle. Let them try to erase those as easily as they'd erased me.
Three years of pretending to be someone I wasn't. Three years of swallowing pain and making excuses for people who never deserved my loyalty.
My phone buzzed again. Rose. Then my mother. Then Stefan. One by one, I blocked them all.
Every connection to the life I thought I had to live.
In my rearview mirror, I caught a glimpse of my reflection. Tears streaked my makeup, bl**d stained my dress, my hair had come loose from its perfect twist.
I looked nothing like the polished, proper wife Stefan Rodriguez had married.
Chapter 2 CAMILLE'S POINT OF VIEW 002
The house was quiet, too quiet. I slipped in through the side door, locking it softly behind me.
The air smelled like lemon polish and roses, just like it always did. It felt strange to be back, like stepping into someone else's life.
The kitchen was dark except for the faint glow of the fridge light. I crept up the stairs, careful to skip the third step that creaked. Every sound I made felt loud, like the house itself was listening.
When I reached my bedroom door, I stopped. It was open a crack, just like I'd left it all those years ago. Taking a deep breath, I stepped inside and shut the door.
My childhood bedroom hadn't changed in three years. Same pale pink walls, same white furniture, same collection of second-place trophies. Rose's first-place ones used to shine in the room next door.
I stared at my reflection in the vanity mirror, the same one where I'd practiced my wedding makeup three years ago, Rose standing behind me with that perfect smile.
Now my mascara was smeared, hair wild, designer dress wrinkled. Mom would have a fit if she saw me like this.
The clock on my nightstand read 10:47 PM. I'd been sitting here for hours, packing what little of my old life I wanted to keep. Amazing how seventeen years in this house fit into one duffel bag.
My phone buzzed again, the twentieth time in an hour. This time it was Mom.
"Camille, this is ridiculous. Come home so we can discuss this like adults. Rose is worried sick..."
I hung up. Of course Rose was worried. Her carefully laid plans were unraveling.
The front door clicked open downstairs. I froze, listening to familiar footsteps on hardwood. The slight tap of heels, the whisper of expensive fabric.
"Camille?" Mom's voice floated up the stairs. "Darling, I know you're here. The housekeeper saw your car."
I should have parked around the block. Should have been smarter, faster, better at disappearing. But I'd never been the clever one, had I? That was Rose's role.
More footsteps. A deeper voice, Dad, probably called home from work to deal with his hysterical younger daughter. Again.
"Princess?" His voice carried that same gentle tone he'd used when I was twelve, crying about Rose getting my spot in the school play. "Let's talk about this."
A third set of footsteps made my bl**d freeze. Lighter, more graceful. Perfect, like everything else about her.
"Camille?" Rose's voice dripped concern. "Sweetie, please. Don't shut us out."
I looked at the family photo on my dresser, taken the day Rose's adoption was finalized.
Mom and Dad beaming, Rose radiant in her new dress, thirteen-year-old me trying to smile through braces and acne. One big happy family.
What a joke.
The memory hit me like a punch to the gut:
---
"But I've been practicing for months!" I clutched my script, tears blurring the words. "Mrs. Bennett said the lead was mine!"
Rose touched my shoulder, gentle as always. "Oh, sweetie. I didn't mean to take your part. I just... the words came so naturally in the audition. Mrs. Bennett said I had a gift."
Of course she did. Everyone said Rose had a gift. For music, for acting, for making people love her.
"Maybe..." Rose's eyes lit up with that special gleam that always meant trouble. "Maybe you could help me practice? Be my supporting actress? We could make it our sister thing!
I'd agreed. Because that's what good sisters did. Because saying no to Rose meant disappointed looks from Mom, lectures from Dad about family loyalty.
Opening night, I watched from the wings as Rose brought the audience to tears. Afterward, Mom bought her roses. Dad took us all to dinner.
No one mentioned that I'd written Rose's best lines during our "practice sessions." Or that her dramatic monologue had been word-for-word what I'd performed in my original audition.
Rose just had a gift for memorization, that's all.
---
"Camille Elizabeth Lewis!" Mom's voice sharpened. "This behavior is completely unacceptable."
I opened my bedroom door.
They stood in the hallway like a perfect family portrait, Mom in her designer suit, Dad looking distinguished in his work clothes, Rose wearing concern like the latest fashion trend.
"Hello, sister." My voice came out steady. "Shouldn't you be comforting your fiancé?"
Rose's eyes widened. Always the performer. "Camille, please. Let me explain..."
"Explain what? How you've been sl**ping with my husband? Or how you set this whole thing up from the beginning?"
"What is she talking about?" Dad turned to Rose, who already had tears forming. Perfect, delicate tears that never smeared her makeup.
"She's upset," Rose whispered. "Lashing out. You know how she gets, Daddy."
"Don't." My laugh sounded strange, even to me.
"Don't you dare play that card again. Show them the ring, Rose. The one Stefan gave you two months ago while I was supposedly too sick to attend the charity gala."
Mom gasped. Dad's face darkened. But Rose, Rose's mask slipped for just a second. I saw it this time, that flash of cold calculation behind the concern.
"It wasn't like that," she started.
"Really? Then how was it? Explain to everyone how you've been calling me every week, giving me marriage advice while sl**ping with my husband. Tell them about all the times you helped me pick out li**erie for anniversaries when Stefan was really working late with you."
"That's enough!" Mom stepped forward. "Rose would never..."
"Never what, Mom? Never lie? Never manipulate? Never steal something that belonged to her sister?" I pulled out my phone, playing the last voicemail from Stefan.
His voice filled the hallway: "Rose is my soulmate, Camille. We tried to fight it, but some people are just meant to be together. You have to understand..."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Rose recovered first. "I never meant to hurt you. We can't help who we love..."
The sound of my palm connecting with her cheek echoed like a g**shot.
"Camille!" Mom grabbed my arm. "Have you lost your mind?"
"No," I said quietly, watching a red mark bloom on Rose's perfect face. "For the first time in fourteen years, I'm seeing clearly."
I walked past them, duffel bag in hand. Behind me, Rose's sobs started, the same performance she'd perfected over years of turning everyone against me.
"Where are you going?" Dad called after me. "You can't just walk away from family!"
I paused at the top of the stairs, looking back at my so-called family. Mom comforting Rose, Dad looking torn, and my sister watching me through her tears with eyes that held no warmth at all.
"Family?" I smiled, and something in my expression made them all step back. "No, this isn't family. This is a game. And for fourteen years, I've been playing by Rose's rules."
"Camille, please," Rose reached for me, ever the caring sister. "Let me make this right."
I caught her wrist before she could touch me. "You taught me well, big sister. About manipulation. About patience. About waiting for the perfect moment to strike."
Her eyes widened, real fear this time, not performed.
"Thank you for the lessons," I whispered, letting her go. "Now watch how well I learned them."
I walked down the stairs, ignoring their calls. In the foyer mirror, I caught one last glimpse of myself, mascara-stained, wild-eyed, finally unchained.
Chapter 3 ROSE'S POINT OF VIEW 003
I swirled the ch**pagne in my crystal flute, watching the bubbles dance. Victory tasted sweet, just like I'd imagined all these years.
The living room of my penthouse apartment overlooked the city where I'd spent twenty years pretending to be the perfect adopted daughter, the loving sister, the supportive friend.
What a joke.
"To freedom," I whispered to my reflection in the window. The woman staring back at me smiled, perfect teeth, perfect hair, perfect lies. Just like always.
My phone buzzed again. Another missed call from Stefan. He'd been calling non-stop since Camille walked out, probably worried I'd change my mind now that everything was in the open.
Poor, predictable Stefan. Still thinking he was in control of any of this.
I kicked off my Louboutins and sank into the leather couch, letting memories wash over me like warm w**e.
---
The first time I saw Camille Lewis, I hated her.
I was thirteen, fresh out of foster care, desperate to please my new parents.
They'd brought me to this massive house with its manicured lawn and marble floors, promising me a fresh start. A real family.
Then this skinny thing with braces and messy hair came bouncing down the stairs, all eager smiles and innocent eyes.
"Hi! I'm Camille. I've always wanted a sister!"
She hugged me right there in the foyer, not caring that my clothes were secondhand or that I smelled like the group home's industrial detergent. Just pure, genuine joy at having a sister.
I wanted to vomit.
Because there she was, this awkward, imperfect girl who had everything I'd spent thirteen years dreaming about.
Parents who actually wanted her. A home she belonged in. A future secured by the Lewis family name.
And she didn't even appreciate it properly.
I watched her over dinner that first night, watched how she slouched in her chair and talked with her mouth full. How she didn't know which fork to use for salad.
How she laughed too loud and asked too many questions.
"Rose has such lovely manners," Mrs. Lewis... Mom... had said, smiling at me. "Perhaps you could learn from your new sister, Camille."
That's when I saw it. The first crack in Camille's perfect world. The slight dimming of her smile, the way she sat up straighter, tried harder.
It was beautiful.
---
My phone buzzed again, pulling me back to the present. Stefan's face lit up my screen, his fifth call in an hour. With a sigh, I answered.
"Darling, you're being needy."
"Rose." His voice was rough. Had he been drinking? "She's gone. Really gone. Blocked my number, cleaned out her closet..."
"Isn't that what we wanted?" I kept my voice gentle, soothing. The same tone I'd used all those times I'd counseled Camille through her marital problems. Problems I'd carefully orchestrated."
"I just... the way she looked at me..."
"Stefan, sweetheart." I let steel edge into my sweetness. "Are you having second thoughts? After everything we've been through?"
"No! No, of course not. I love you. I've always loved you."
"Then stop calling me about your ex-wife. It's pathetic."
I hung up, tossing the phone aside. Men were so predictably weak.
Even Stefan, who I'd spent four years grooming before pushing him toward Camille, still needed constant management.
But he'd served his purpose. Just like everyone else in my carefully constructed game.
The family photo on my mantel caught my eye, my adoption day. I stood in the center, of course. Always the center.
Camille pushed to the edge of the frame, trying so hard to smile through her insecurities.
God, it had been easy. Almost too easy.
A little whisper here about how Camille was unstable. A few concerned conversations with Mom about how worried I was about my dear sister's emotional state.
Casual mentions to Dad about how Camille seemed to be struggling with basic adult responsibilities.
Fourteen years of careful groundwork, positioning myself as the responsible daughter, the achievable dream, while slowly crushing Camille's confidence, her relationships, her sense of self.
The college rejection was particularly inspired, if I do say so myself. All it took was one tearful conversation with Mom about finding Camille's "secret" diary, filled with dark thoughts and destructive plans.
Plans I'd written myself, of course, in Camille's childish handwriting that I'd spent months practicing to forge.
Suddenly, their precious younger daughter wasn't ready for college. Needed time to "find herself." Needed to stay close to home where they could watch her.
Where I could watch her.
I took another sip of ch**pagne, savoring the moment. Because this, this was what I'd really wanted all along.
Not Stefan, he was just a useful pawn. Not the Lewis fortune, though that would come in time.
No, what I wanted was to watch perfect, precious Camille finally break. To see her realize that everything she thought she had family, love, security, had been built on my lies.
My phone buzzed with a text from Mom: "Rose, darling, please come over. Your father and I need to talk about what happened."
I smiled, already planning my performance. The tearful confusion, the reluctant confession about Stefan's pursuit, the gentle concern about Camille's mental state.
By the time I was done, they'd be thanking me for protecting them from their unstable daughter all these years.
Standing up, I walked to my closet, selecting the perfect outfit for my next scene. Something subtle but expensive. Grieving sister, not celebrating victor.
The massive walk-in closet had been Camille's wedding gift to me. "So you'll always have space for your amazing fashion sense," she'd said, hugging me tight.
Even then, even after years of watching me steal every spotlight, every opportunity, every scrap of parental approval, she'd still loved me. Still trusted me.
Id**t.
I pulled out a cream cashmere sweater, remembering how Camille used to borrow my clothes in high school.
How I'd wait until she had something important, a date, a presentation, an interview, then suddenly remember I needed that exact outfit.
She'd always given them back without argument. Always apologized for the inconvenience.
Always tried so hard to be the perfect sister.
My reflection caught my eye, and for a moment, just a moment, I saw something ugly there.
Something that looked like the scared, angry foster kid who'd walked into the Lewis house all those years ago.
But then I blinked, and I was perfect Rose again. Flawless Rose. Rose who could do no wrong.
Slipping on my Cartier bracelet, another gift from my dear sister, I prepared for my next performance.
The concerned family meeting would need just the right touch of reluctant honesty, devastated betrayal.
"Oh, Camille," I whispered to my reflection, practicing my worried frown. "What have you done to yourself?"
But as I turned to leave, something made me pause. That look in Camille's eyes before she'd walked out, I'd never seen it before.
Not in twenty years of pushing her, testing her, breaking her.
It had looked almost like... understanding.
Like she'd finally seen through my mask to the truth underneath.
I shook off the uneasy feeling. Camille was weak, just like I'd made her. She'd run away, lick her wounds, maybe try to start over somewhere new.
But she'd never be free of me. I'd made sure of that years ago.
Chapter 4 STEFAN'S POINT OF VIEW 004
The sc**ch burned going down, but I poured another anyway.
My third? Fourth? I'd lost count somewhere between signing those divorce papers and watching Camille walk away.
Our wedding photo still sat on my desk, mocking me. Camille's genuine smile, my distracted eyes, already looking past her, always looking for Rose.
Rose.
Even her name felt like betrayal now.
My phone lit up with another message from her: "Darling, stop drinking and come over. We should celebrate."
Celebrate. Like we hadn't just destroyed someone who loved us. Someone who'd given me three years of devotion I never deserved.
The memory hit me like a punch to the gut.
---
"Stefan?" Camille's voice was small, uncertain. "Did I do something wrong?"
I looked up from my laptop, irritated at the interruption. She stood in the doorway of my home office, holding a plate of something that smelled amazing.
"I made that pasta you mentioned. The one with truffles?" Her eyes were hopeful. "Rose gave me the recipe..."
Of course she had. Rose had made that pasta for me in Rome, years ago. Back when we were... whatever we were.
"I'm busy." I didn't even look at the plate. "Just leave it."
"Oh." A pause. "It's just, you've been working late all week, and I thought..."
"Camille." My voice sharp with an anger that wasn't really meant for her. "I said I'm busy."
She left the plate and disappeared, quiet as always. The pasta sat untouched until morning, a perfect recreation of a memory that belonged to another woman.
---
I hurled my glass at the wall, watching crystal shatter like the life I'd built on lies.
God, I'd been cruel. Not just at the end, but throughout our marriage.
Every missed dinner, every forgotten anniversary, every time I'd chosen work over her, all excuses to avoid the guilt of wanting her sister.
My phone buzzed again. Mother this time.
"Darling, I just heard from Rose. Are you alright? Do you need anything? I always said Camille wasn't suited for our family..."
I silenced the phone, remembering another moment I'd tried to forget.
---
"She's trying so hard, Stefan." Rose's voice was gentle as she poured me another dr**k. We were alone in my office after another disastrous family dinner. "Maybe if you gave her more guidance..."
"Like you did?" I couldn't keep the bitterness from my voice. "Teaching her all the ways to be perfect?"
Rose's laugh was musical, practiced. Everything about her was practiced. "Are you saying you preferred me imperfect?"
The air between us crackled with unspoken history. Four years of pa**ion and plans, ended by her sudden departure to London. Or so she'd claimed.
"Why did you really leave?" The question slipped out, colored by wh**key and old pain.
"You know why." She touched my cheek, familiar and forbidden. "Camille needed a chance at happiness. We both agreed..."
Had we? I couldn't remember anymore. Everything from that time felt hazy, manipulated. Like watching a play where I'd forgotten my lines.
"She loves you," Rose whispered, too close now. "More than I ever could."
But her eyes said something different. They always had.
---
Another memory surfaced, this one from last week. The moment everything changed.
---
"I made your favorite breakfast." Camille's smile was bright, genuine. Always so d**n genuine. "Happy anniversary."
The divorce papers burned in my briefcase, Rose's perfume still lingering on my clothes from our late-night "meeting."
"I can't." I grabbed my keys, avoiding her eyes. "Early meeting."
"Oh." Her voice cracked slightly. "Will you be home for dinner? I thought we could..."
"Don't wait up."
I'd spent that evening with Rose, planning how to break the news. She'd worn the same perfume she'd worn in Rome, all those years ago.
"It's kinder this way," she'd said, str**ing my hair. "A clean break. Camille will understand eventually."
Would she? The look in her eyes when she'd seen Rose's photo...
---
My office door opened, startling me from the memory. Mother stood there, perfectly coiffed even at midnight.
"Really, darling. Dr**king alone in the dark?"
"Not now, Mother."
She clicked across the room, surveying the broken glass with disapproval. "Rose is worried about you. We all are."
"Worried?" I laughed, harsh and broken. "Like you were worried about Camille all these years?"
"That girl was never right for you." Mother's voice hardened. "Rose, on the other hand..."
"Stop." I stood, unsteady. "Just... stop."
"Stefan Rodriguez, you will not speak to me that way. I raised you better..."
"Did you?" The words exploded out of me. "You raised me to what? String along a woman who loved me while pining for her sister? Listen to you tear her down at every opportunity?"
Mother stepped back, shocked. In twenty eight years, I'd never raised my voice to her.
"Everything she did was wrong, wasn't it?" I continued, the scotch making me brave. "Her clothes, her manners, her cooking. Nothing was ever good enough. But Rose... Rose was perfect."
"Because she understands our world! She..."
"She understands manipulation." The truth hit me like a freight train. "She played us all. You, me, Camille..."
"Don't be ridiculous." Mother straightened her designer jacket. "Rose loves you. She always has."
Had she? Or had she loved the game more?
I remembered the cold calculation in her eyes when she'd orchestrated our "chance" meetings after returning from London.
The way she'd encouraged Camille's insecurities while playing the supportive sister.
Even our reunion two months ago felt staged now. The charity gala, Camille conveniently "sick," Rose in that dress I'd loved in Rome...
"Mother." I sank back into my chair, suddenly exhausted. "Please leave."
"Stefan..."
"Go. Tell Rose... tell her..." What? That I was sorry? That I finally saw through her perfect mask? That I'd destroyed my marriage for a fantasy she'd carefully crafted?
Mother left, her disappointment hanging in the air like expensive perfume. Like Rose's perfume. Like all the artificial, manipulated pieces of this life I'd chosen.
My phone lit up with another message. Rose again: "Darling, stop being dramatic. Come home. To me."
Home.
I looked around my office, at the shattered glass and scattered papers. At Camille's wedding photo, her genuine smile now seeming like an accusation.
What had I done?
Chapter 5 CAMILLE'S POINT OF VIEW 005
The parking garage of the hotel where i lodged was too quiet. My heels echoed against concrete, each click bouncing off empty cars and shadowed pillars.
It was late, past midnight, but something felt wrong. Off.
My confrontation with Rose and my family had left me drained, empty except for the cold satisfaction of finally seeing behind her mask.
I fumbled with my key fob, wanting nothing more than to get to my hotel room and plan my next move.
A car door slammed somewhere in the darkness.
I stopped, listening. Nothing but the hum of fluorescent lights and the distant sound of traffic.
My phone buzzed in my purse. Rose's number. I declined it, but not before noticing my signal had dropped to one bar.
Perfect.
Footsteps behind me. Multiple sets.
I walked faster, cu**ing my choice of heels. The hotel's elevator was just around the corner, past a row of concrete pillars. If I could just...
"Going somewhere, Mrs. Rodriguez?"
A man stepped out from behind a pillar. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in black. Professional. Two more appeared behind me, cutting off my retreat.
Not a random attack, then.
"Actually, it's Ms. Lewis now." My voice stayed steady despite my racing heart. "And I have a dinner reservation, so if you'll excuse me..."
The first man smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. "I'm afraid your plans have changed."
I gripped my purse tighter, feeling for the pepper spray I'd started carrying after signing the divorce papers. "Did my sister send you? Or was it Stefan?"
"Our employer prefers to remain anonymous." He stepped closer. "Now, we can do this the easy way..."
I didn't let him finish. The pepper spray caught him directly in the eyes.
He screamed, stumbling backward. I ran, kicking off my heels as I sprinted for the elevator. The other two men shouted, their footsteps thundering behind me.
Almost there. Just a few more...
Pain exploded in my scalp as someone grabbed my hair, yanking me backward. My purse went flying, contents scattering across the concrete.
"That wasn't very nice." The first man's voice was rough with pain and rage. "Hold her."
Strong hands gripped my arms. I fought, kicking, scratching, but they were too strong. Professional. Trained.
"Our employer said you might be difficult." The first man wiped his streaming eyes. "Said you needed to learn your place."
Rose. This had Rose written all over it. Her parting shot, making sure I understood just how powerless I really was.
"If you're going to k**l me," I spat, "at least have the guts to look me in the eyes."
He laughed. "K**l you? No, no. Just a message. A reminder of what happens to people who don't know when to let go."
The first punch caught me in the stomach, driving the air from my lungs. I doubled over, gasping, but the men holding me kept me upright.
"See, some people don't understand their role in life." Another blow, this one to my ribs. "Some people need to be taught..."
I tasted bl**d. My vision blurred, pain shooting through my body. But I wouldn't cry. Wouldn't give Rose the satisfaction.
"That's enough."
The voice cut through the garage like a whip crack. Female. Authoritative.
My attackers tensed. Through swollen eyes, I saw dark figures emerging from the shadows. Men in suits, moving with military precision. And behind them...
A woman. Tall, elegant, probably in her fifties but with an ageless quality about her.
She wore a black designer suit that probably cost more than my car, her silver hair swept into a perfect chignon.
But it was her eyes that caught me. Sharp, intelligent, and oddly... familiar.
"Ma'am," one of my attackers started, "our employer..."
"Is about to have a very bad day." The woman's voice was ice. "Release her. Now."
The hands holding me disappeared. I slumped forward, pain shooting through my ribs.
"Secure them." The woman's command sent her men moving. My attackers didn't even try to run. They knew better.
She walked toward me, heels clicking on concrete. Designer shoes. Probably cost more than my monthly rent.
"Camille Lewis." Not a question. She knew exactly who I was.
I tried to straighten, to maintain some dignity despite my split lip and torn dress. "Do I know you?"
Her eyes softened, just slightly. Like she was seeing something, someone else in my face.
"No." She gestured, and more men appeared with a medical kit. "But I knew someone very much like you, once. Someone who also had to learn the hard way about trust and betrayal."
The world was getting fuzzy around the edges. Blood dripped onto my ruined dress, each breath sending knives through my ribs.
"Who..." I swayed, darkness creeping in. "Who are you?"
She stepped forward, catching me as my knees buckled. This close, I could smell her perfume, something expensive, unique. Something that tickled at the edges of my memory.
"Someone who's been watching you for a very long time, Camille." Her voice seemed to come from far away. "Someone who's going to help you become everything they tried to prevent."
The darkness was winning now.
But before it took me completely, I heard her last words: "After all... you look just like my daughter."
......
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On her wedding day, the groom ran off to chase his true love. Furious, she grabbed a random disabled man--also abandoned--and married him on the spot. Turned out, he was a hidden billionaire!
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"Felix, the wedding's about to start--you can't just leave!" Draped in an immaculate white gown, Linsey Brooks clung to Felix Wells' arm, her fingers trembling as panic filled her voice.
"Move! Joanna's hurt. She's alone in the hospital, and she must be terrified. I have to be there for her!" Felix's brows were drawn together, his voice tight with urgency.
Linsey's face drained of color.
Today was supposed to be their day.
Yet, just as the ceremony was about to begin, Felix had read a text message, turned to the crowd, and declared the wedding canceled.
Joanna Saunders was Felix's childhood sweetheart.
Linsey had started dating Felix five years ago. And for five years, whenever she went out with him, if Joanna so much as needed him, Felix would leave Linsey behind.
He always insisted Joanna was just like a sister to him and always told Linsey to understand.
And she had, again and again.
But this was their wedding day.
So what if Joanna needed him? Did that mean Linsey had to be abandoned by the man who was supposed to become her husband?
Her voice quivered as Linsey whispered, "No, you can't go. The wedding can't continue without you. No matter what, you have to stay today. Please, Felix... I'm begging you..."
But his patience snapped.
"Enough! Stop being so selfish! We can always reschedule the wedding. But right now, Joanna's hurt. Move!"
Before she could say another word, he shoved past her.
Linsey staggered, her heels slipping against the polished floor as she crashed onto it. From where she sat, stunned and breathless, she could only watch as Felix disappeared through the doors without even a single glance back.
In the next second, her phone rang.
Without thinking, she answered--only to be met with a woman's smug, triumphant voice on the other end.
"Linsey, today's your big day with Felix, isn't it? Do you like the little gift I sent you?"
Linsey's entire body went rigid as recognition hit her. Through clenched teeth, she spat, "Joanna... You did this on purpose. You lured Felix away, didn't you?"
"That's right. And? What are you gonna do about it? I just wanted to remind you--in Felix's heart, I'll always come first."
Joanna's tone dripped with arrogance, every word laced with mockery.
"I bet you spent months planning this, huh? Such a shame... All that work, all that dreaming--gone. Honestly, I almost feel bad for you."
Linsey stared down at the pristine white fabric of her gown, and for the first time, she saw the last five years for what they really were--a joke.
Since she was an orphan, she had been so desperate for a family, for a love she could call her own.
But Felix... he was never going to give her that.
It was time to stop begging for something that would never be hers.
A sharp, cold laugh escaped her lips. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Joanna. The wedding's still happening."
Joanna's tone instantly soured. "Are you insane? Felix is the groom. He's not even there. How exactly do you plan on having a wedding without him?"
Linsey's lips curved into a slow, mocking smile.
Who said her groom had to be Felix?
If he could walk away this easily, then she would find someone else--someone who actually deserved to stand beside her.
Her voice turned sharp, unwavering. "Do me a favor, Joanna--pass a message to Felix. Tell him I don't want him anymore. He's not worth another second of my time. And since you're so desperate to have him, be my guest. A spineless man and a shameless woman--what a perfect match of you two!"
Joanna's voice sharpened with anger. "Linsey, I'm warning you. Don't push your luck--"
But before she could finish, Linsey ended the call.
The wedding was set to begin in thirty minutes. She needed to find a replacement groom fast.
Lifting the hem of her dress, she rushed outside. To her surprise, the entrance was swarming with men in black suits. They combed through every corner--their imposing presence sent a clear message that they were searching for something, or someone.
Amidst them, a man in a groom's suit sat in a wheelchair, his posture rigid with authority. Though motionless, he radiated an icy, almost untouchable air.
His voice was commanding as he addressed the bodyguard in front of him. "The ceremony is about to begin. Have you found Haven yet?"
The bodyguard hesitated, his expression tense. "Mr. Riley, we've searched the entire perimeter, but there's no sign of Ms. Walton. It appears she's already fled..."
"Fled?"
The man's voice was deep and even, but his gaze turned razor-sharp--cold and unforgiving, like a predator sizing up its prey.
"If this wedding doesn't happen on time, you know what that means."
Linsey caught every word, and in an instant, she understood--this man had been abandoned at the altar, just like she had.
Without hesitation, she gripped her dress and strode toward him.
The bodyguards reacted instantly, stepping in front of her with stiff, wary expressions.
"Ma'am, what do you think you're doing?"
The man in the wheelchair shifted his attention to her, his presence alone pressing down like a storm on the horizon.
But Linsey didn't flinch. Her voice was steady as she met his gaze head-on.
"Sir, I hear your bride has run away. What about letting me take her place? I'll be your bride."
Chapter 2 I Won't Regret It
Linsey's words made the man's eyes narrow slightly. His voice, laced with surprise, held a sharp edge.
"Miss, are you certain about this? I'm disabled. If you marry me, you'll regret it sooner or later."
Linsey didn't answer him directly. Instead, her gaze never wavered as she asked, "Would you ever abandon your wife for another woman?"
"Of course not," he replied without missing a beat, his tone firm.
"Then I won't regret it either," Linsey said, her resolve unshaken. "As long as you agree, I'll marry you."
Seeing the sincerity in her eyes, the man replied with a slow, deliberate nod, "Alright then, let's get married."
And just like that, Linsey's wedding, one that had nearly been called off, continued as planned.
With the priest as their witness, they exchanged vows, their voices steady.
As they exited the church, Linsey felt a strange sense of unreality.
She had just married a man who, only hours ago, had been a complete stranger.
Pushing her husband's wheelchair down the steps, she suddenly realized something.
"By the way, I don't even know your name."
"Collin Riley," he responded, his voice calm.
Linsey's eyes widened in surprise. "Wait, you're Collin Riley? The eldest son of the Riley family?"
Collin saw the shock on her face and smirked with a hint of mockery.
"What's the matter? Now that you know you've married a man everyone else considers a loser, you're regretting it?"
The story of Collin, the eldest son of the powerful Riley family, was well-known throughout the city.
His mother had died in childbirth, and his father had remarried.
Later, a car accident left Collin paralyzed, transforming him into what many considered a loser.
When his stepmother gave birth to a son, he became even more of an outcast within the Riley family.
Without his grandmother, Ivy Riley, who had always defended and protected him, Collin would have likely been discarded long ago, left to struggle far worse than someone living on the streets.
In Collin's mind, no woman in her right mind would willingly marry a man like him.
Unless, she was after money.
He wasn't just disabled--he was the neglected son of the Riley family. He fully expected Linsey to be disappointed.
He was prepared to see regret or bitterness shadow her face.
To his shock, however, she looked at him not with pity or disdain, but with a deep, unspoken understanding--as if she saw him for what he truly was--another soul abandoned by those who should have loved him.
Reaching out, she took his hand with gentle strength.
"I've already told you. Once I've made my decision, I won't regret it. Now that we're married, I'll make sure you have a real home, one that's warm and full of care."
"Is that so?"
Collin's voice was laced with doubt, his skepticism clear. "Let's see then."
He didn't believe her.
Curious, he wondered how long she could maintain this facade once she realized there was nothing to gain from him.
A car pulled up in front of them, interrupting his thoughts.
"Let's go," Collin said, his tone commanding.
Linsey paused. "Where are you taking me?"
"Home, of course," he replied with quiet certainty. "We're married now, so naturally, we'll live together."
Home?
The word made Linsey's heart skip a beat.
It reminded her of the home she had lived with Felix, the one she had worked so hard to build for their future together.
But now that she was married to Collin, she knew she had to sever the ties to her past.
With a deep breath, she turned to him and said, "I have a few things to take care of first. Could you share your contact info and address with me? I'll move in as soon as I'm finished."
Collin raised an eyebrow, his gaze piercing.
"You don't want me to give you a ride?"
"No, it's fine," she replied, her voice firm but gentle. "I can manage on my own. I don't want to trouble you."
He didn't argue. After exchanging their contact details, he got into the car and drove off.
Half an hour later, Linsey stood before the apartment she had once shared with Felix. The key turned in the lock, and the door creaked open to reveal a space filled with memories.
She stepped inside, taking in every familiar detail--the tablecloth, the potted plants--each piece had been carefully selected by her, making it feel like home.
But now, it all felt like a prison. Without a second thought, she moved toward the decorations, ripping them down, discarding the plants, and throwing everything into the trash.
She had chosen to start fresh, and that meant leaving the past behind, no matter how much it hurt.
Once she had cleared out the remnants of her old life, she began packing her belongings. Lost in her thoughts, she didn't hear the sound of footsteps approaching.
Felix, unable to stay away, stood at the door, his face a mixture of shock and disbelief. He couldn't hold it in any longer.
"Linsey, what the hell are you doing?"
Chapter 3 Don't Touch Me
The apartment, once cozy and filled with warmth, now stood in disarray, its charm completely stripped away, leaving only chaos in its wake.
Linsey continued packing the remaining items into her suitcase, her movements deliberate, as if determined to erase every trace of the life she had once built here.
Felix stood frozen for a moment, his eyes sweeping over the wreckage, disbelief etching his features before he stormed toward her.
"Linsey, are you out of your mind?"
He demanded, his voice rising with frustration. "I was gone for only a little while, and you're acting like this?"
He inhaled sharply, trying to reign in his temper, and snapped, "I'm giving you one hour. Put everything back where it was!"
Linsey, unfazed, finished packing the item in her hands and slowly turned to face him. Her expression was cooland detached, almost as if he were a stranger.
A faint, mocking smile tugged at her lips as she replied, "Felix, haven't you figured it out? Sometimes, once something is lost, it's gone forever. It can never be the same again."
Felix's frown deepened, impatience growing in his eyes.
"What the hell are you trying to say?"
Linsey couldn't help but feel the audacity in his words. Did he truly not understand? Perhaps men like him never saw themselves as in the wrong.
No. It wasn't that. His tenderness had always been reserved for one person--Joanna, the woman he had truly loved.
Linsey's gaze was unwavering as she stared him down, her voice steady, yet every word seemed to carry the weight of everything she had been through.
"On our wedding day, you abandoned me at the ceremony, ignoring both my dignity and my pleas. Do you have any idea how that felt? Felix, did you ever once stop to think about me? I was humiliated beyond measure, and yet you think I'm just throwing a tantrum?"
She didn't blink, her eyes locked onto his, the pain she had buried deep inside flooding to the surface, her vision blurring as tears welled up.
She didn't look away, her resolve as firm as steel.
Seeing her like this, Felix felt a fleeting pang of guilt, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. He dismissed it entirely, just as he had done countless times before.
Over the years, he had hurt her time and time again, and she had always forgiven him. He didn't see why this time should be any different.
He was sure that with a little charm, she would cave, just like she always had.
After all, that was how things had always worked between them.
With that thought, his anger dissipated, replaced by a smug smile.
"Linsey, alright, I get it. You're upset," he began, his voice patronizing. "But you shouldn't act out like this. Look at what you've done to our home."
His smile softened, and he reached out to place his hands gently on her shoulders, his touch feigning tenderness as he tried to calm her down.
"Come on, be good. You've vented your anger. Let's not make a scene anymore, okay? How about this? We'll pick another day, a better day, and I promise I'll give you an even grander, more luxurious wedding. What do you say?"
Linsey's eyes locked onto the smile playing on Felix's lips. His words were sweet, but his eyes--those eyes--betrayed a chilling indifference. He seemed so certain that she would fall for his act.
Of course, why wouldn't he think that? This was the way things had always gone in the past.
Linsey let out a bitter scoff.
She had given him far too many chances, and now he was convinced that he didn't need to treat her with any real respect.
Her expression hardened into something cold and detached, and without a word, she shrugged off his hands as though they were nothing more than a bothersome weight.
"Don't touch me. You make my skin crawl!"
She said indifferently.
Felix froze, his eyes widening in shock. He had never heard her speak to him like that before.
Her voice was ice, cutting through the tension in the room as she continued, "Felix, that wedding is over. I have no intention of having another one. I came here today to move out."
Felix, still stunned by her rejection, frowned in confusion, his mind struggling to catch up.
"Move out?"
Linsey nodded, her face resolute. "Yes. I'm leaving now."
Felix let out a hollow laugh, as if he had just heard the most absurd joke.
"And where do you think you're going?"
He knew all too well that Linsey had no family to turn to, no safety net to catch her. Apart from this apartment, she had nowhere else.
For the past five years, her entire world had been centered around him. He was certain she couldn't leave him.
He was certain that this whole "moving out" act was nothing more than her way of trying to make him bend to her will.
Shaking his head in disbelief, he opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by a voice from behind.
It was Joanna.
"Felix, didn't you say you'd be down in a minute after packing? What's taking you so long?"
Joanna's voice echoed through the room as she stepped in. When her eyes landed on Linsey standing across from Felix, her expression shifted in surprise.
"Linsey, what are you doing here?"
Linsey shot Joanna a frosty look, her voice icy as she replied, "This is my apartment, isn't it? Do I need to explain why I'm here? The real question is, what are you doing here?"
Joanna lowered her gaze, feigning a mixture of embarrassment and innocence.
"I accidentally nicked myself with a fruit kn*fe, and Felix was so worried he insisted on staying with me for a few days."
Her eyes then darted to the suitcase beside Linsey, and she gasped dramatically, her hand covering her mouth.
"Linsey, what are you doing? Are you upset? If you're bothered, you can talk to me. I'll apologize if that makes you feel better. There's no need for all this."
Linsey's lips curled into a cold smile as she took a slow step forward toward Joanna.
"Are you really going to apologize? Do you even mean it?"
Joanna, aware of Felix watching, played her part, her voice dripping with false sincerity as she nodded.
"Of course. If it helps you, I'll do whatever it takes."
"Alright, then. Why not?"
Linsey's smile widened, but there was no warmth in her eyes, just coldness. "Since you're so sincere, I suppose I can help you out."
Without warning, she raised her hand.
The sharp sound of a sl*p sliced through the tension in the room as Linsey's palm connected with Joanna's face.
Chapter 4 Linsey, You've Really Changed
Joanna let out a shrill scream, the shock of the sl*p leaving her momentarily frozen.
Clutching her burning cheek, Joanna glared at Linsey, her eyes wide with disbelief.
"Linsey, how dare you sl*p me?"
Linsey's lips twisted into a cold, mocking smile.
"Why wouldn't I dare? You asked for it. You wanted to apologize, didn't you? But one sl*p hardly satisfies my anger. Maybe a second one will do."
With that, she raised her hand again, her gaze never leaving Joanna's face.
Felix, still reeling from the shock, finally snapped to attention. With a furious shout, he lunged forward, shoving Linsey aside.
"That's enough! Linsey, don't go too far!"
As he wrapped his arms protectively around Joanna, his voice softened with concern as he murmured to her, trying to calm her.
Linsey staggered back, regaining her balance with ease, her face indifferent.
She regarded them both with a clinical gaze, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
"This is going too far? Joanna herself said she wanted to apologize. Felix, are you deaf? If she really meant to apologize, she should just keep quiet and let me vent. All I did was sl*p her. How is that going too far? What I've done to her is nothing compared to what you two have done to me!"
Her gaze turned bitter as she continued, "You're both nothing but despicable cheats. And one day, when the truth comes out, who will believe a word you say?"
Felix stood frozen, stunned by the barrage of accusations. He opened his mouth, but not a single word of defense came to him.
He held Joanna close, his arm wrapped protectively around her as his eyes narrowed at Linsey with a growing frustration.
After a long, tense silence, he finally spoke, his voice laced with irritation.
"Even if Joanna wanted to apologize, you shouldn't have sl*pped her. An apology is just that--an apology. You don't solve things with violence. You're acting like a wild animal!"
Linsey tilted her head slightly, her lips curling into a frosty smile. She flexed her wrist nonchalantly, the gesture sharp and deliberate.
"I'll take that as a compliment," she replied coolly, her eyes locking onto his. "Since you think so highly of me, should I sl*p her a few more times to really live up to your glowing praise?"
Felix's mouth hung open, his shock evident as he stared at her, utterly unprepared for her mocking reply.
For a moment, he wondered if the woman standing before him was even the Linsey he once knew.
Joanna, equally stunned, watched Linsey in disbelief, her mind struggling to process the situation. She had taunted Linsey countless times before, but this--this was different.
Linsey had never fought back like this. Was she finally losing control?
The tension in the room thickened, and then Joanna's thoughts shifted, her gut telling her something wasn't right.
Could Linsey be doing this on purpose to get Felix's attention?
She shot a quick, anxious glance at Felix, only to find him completely absorbed in Linsey, his gaze fixed on her with an intensity that sent a pang of jealousy through Joanna.
She had made great efforts to take him from Linsey. There was no way she would let Linsey get him back!
Panic flooded Joanna's chest, and her grip tightened on Felix's arm, pulling him back to her. With calculated sweetness, she said, "Felix, don't say that. Linsey's probably just upset. I don't mind. As long as she can stop being angry with us, I'll be fine with anything."
Felix's heart swelled with sympathy for Joanna, and her words only deepened his sense of irritation toward Linsey.
"Linsey, you've really changed," he said, his voice tinged with disappointment. "The Linsey I knew would never act this way. If you insist on behaving like this--"
"Of course I've changed!"
Linsey cut him off before he could finish, her voice sharp and biting.
"I must have been out of my mind before, putting up with you. But not anymore. I've wised up. Only an id*ot would keep humiliating themselves like I did. Felix, let me make this crystal clear--we're done. Completely done!"
Without another word, Linsey grabbed her suitcase and turned away, her face set in stone.
Felix stood frozen, the finality in her words hitting him like a punch to the gut. He had never seen her like this before.
As she walked out of the room, dragging her suitcase behind her, an overwhelming sense of panic gripped his chest, suffocating him with its intensity.
For reasons he couldn't quite understand, a heavy feeling of impending loss weighed on him, as though the most important part of his life was slipping through his fingers.
"Linsey!"
He called out, his voice desperate, moving instinctively as if to chase after her.
Joanna's eyes widened in shock. She hadn't expected Felix to react this way.
Without thinking, she placed a hand over her cheek, letting out a melodramatic sob. "Felix, my face... it hurts so much. Do you think it's ble*ding?"
Felix froze, his heart tightening at the sound of her distress. He reluctantly turned back to her.
Joanna's cheek was marked with faint red streaks, a handprint visible beneath her skin.
"Joanna, don't cry..."
Felix murmured, his voice full of concern. "I'll take you to the hospital. We'll get you some ointment--it's going to be fine."
Joanna sniffled loudly, her tears almost theatrical. She hesitated for a moment, before her voice softened, laced with feigned concern.
"Felix, Linsey's really leaving... maybe you should go after her instead of worrying about me. I'll be fine."
Felix bit down on his lip, his expression torn.
"Linsey's crossed a line this time. I won't indulge her anymore. Let her stew for a bit--she'll come crawling back. When she does, I'll make her apologize to you."
Joanna's heart swelled with satisfaction, and she leaned into Felix's embrace, her voice dripping with sweetness.
"Felix, you're so good to me."
Her plan was working perfectly.
The smugness bubbled within her as Joanna felt in control.
Linsey was nothing but a fool, thinking she could win Felix back.
But as Felix held Joanna, the warmth of her affection did nothing to settle the unease gnawing at him. A strange discomfort tugged at his chest.
Why did he feel so unsettled?
He pushed the unease down, attempting to smile at Joanna with forced patience.
But no matter how hard he tried, his gaze kept drifting toward the direction Linsey had gone.
Linsey had nowhere to go.
She would be back eventually. He was sure of it.
Chapter 5 Let's Make A Bet Then
On the other side, after Collin returned to Vista Villa, he made his way straight to the study.
Seen as disabled and worthless by society, he now stood tall, his former despondency entirely gone.
He faced the floor-to-ceiling window, his expression cold and unreadable as he watched the world below.
Just then, his phone rang.
It was Dustin Wade, his childhood friend.
"Hey, Collin," Dustin said, his voice casual. "I've looked into your wife. There's nothing shady about her. Her background checks out. On the day of the wedding, she married you because her fiancé left her standing at the altar."
Dustin's tone shifted, a playful edge creeping in.
"You know, all the rich young women in town avoid you like the plague. They think you're disabled, and you're cut off from your family--just the perfect picture of an outcast. But Linsey? She had the guts to walk right up to you and marry you. I gotta say, that's some serious courage."
After a brief pause, Dustin added with a thoughtful sigh, "I do wonder, though... when she finds out the truth, how will she take it?"
Collin's voice was steady and emotionless as he answered, "She won't get the chance. As soon as she realized who I really am, she came up with an excuse and left. She's probably gone for good."
He wasn't surprised.
After the accident, rejection and scorn had become part of his life. His low position in the Riley family only added to his isolation, making him numb to it all.
People often said that marrying a man like him--someone with no future--was like throwing away a woman's life.
But Dustin didn't agree with Collin.
"I don't think she's like that," Dustin retorted with a grin.
"Think about it--how many women would dare to swap grooms at their own wedding? My gut tells me Linsey's not the type to run. Since she's already married you, I don't think she'd just disappear."
As Dustin spoke, his interest visibly grew, his excitement clear in his voice.
"You don't believe me? Let's make a bet, then. I bet Linsey will be back soon. If I win, you hand over that plot of land on the outskirts of town. Deal?"
Collin raised an eyebrow, his tone calm but calculating.
"And if you lose?"
Dustin let out a dismissive scoff. "I'm not going to lose, okay?"
But before he could say more, Collin's icy aura seemed to seep through the phone, sending a chill down his spine. Dustin quickly backpedaled.
"Fine, fine. If I lose, you can make any request of similar value. Deal?"
Collin didn't believe for a second that Linsey would return. A cold snort escaped him, which Dustin took as tacit agreement.
Just as Collin was about to hang up, a knock echoed at the door. The housekeeper's voice came through.
"Mr. Riley, Mrs. Riley is here."
...
What happens next? How will Collin react to Linsey's return?
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