She was in the hospital with a high fever, while her so-called fiancé checked into a hotel with her stepsister. After they were caught, he demanded she get the same tattoo as her stepsister and appear at a press conference to clear his name. That was the last straw. She dumped him on the spot and married the richest man in the world instead.
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Inside the VIP ward of Kretol City Hospital, Amelia Flynn reclined on the white sheets, her attention fixed on a video playing across her tablet, sarcasm evident in her eyes.
A raging fever had landed her in the hospital, but her fiancé, Jaxton Morrison, was busy spending time with someone else at a luxury ho**l.
The video clip captured the grainy shadows of a hotel hallway, yet there was no mistaking the woman next to Jaxton--Amelia's half-sister, Dayna Flynn.
Amelia put away the tablet and turned to look at the person before her, her gaze cool. "What if I say no to getting a ta**oo?"
Clayton Dobson, Jaxton's assistant, wasn't surprised by her reaction. If he were in her position, he would also find it hard to accept the situation.
What kind of man spent the night at a ho**el with a woman and then asked his fiancée to cover for him?
The Morrison Group was at a critical juncture, and as the heir, Jaxton being caught in such a scandal had already affected the company's stock prices.
For the family's sake, a public statement from Amelia, Jaxton's fiancée, seemed the only way to patch the damage.
Though the video blurred Dayna's face, the ta**oo on her waist, Jaxton's initials, stood out as plain as day.
Acting strictly on Jaxton's instructions, Clayton had come to persuade Amelia to get the same ta**oo as Dayna's.
By doing this, they could spin the narrative online and bury the brewing scandal.
With a look that mingled sympathy and resignation, Clayton said softly, "Miss Flynn, this is what Mr. Morrison wants. If you don't cooperate, there might be issues with Mrs. Davis' treatment next week..."
He left his sentence dangling, but Amelia understood him perfectly. This was Jaxton's threat.
Jaxton was using her grandmother, Michelle Davis, as leverage to threaten her.
Michelle required special treatment every week, and in all of Kretol, only the renowned doctor, Marc Chapman, could provide it.
Amelia didn't know how Jaxton had convinced Marc to treat her grandmother, but with him using her grandmother to threaten her, she had no choice but to comply.
Several minutes slipped by before Amelia turned to lie on her stomach.
Nearby, the ta**oo artist arranged his equipment with quiet efficiency.
Nothing about the anesthesia worked for Amelia due to her special condition.
By the time the ta**oo artist finished his work, sweat clung to Amelia's skin, soaking the thin fabric of her hospital gown, while her face looked pale.
"I'm sorry you had to endure that, Miss Flynn."
Clayton's words came as he approached, snapping a quick photo of the fresh ta**oo on her waist. Then, he sent the photo to Jaxton.
After receiving Jaxton's reply, Clayton finally breathed a sigh of relief.
He nodded to the ta**oo artist, who quickly left the room without a sound.
"Try to get some rest, Miss Flynn. I will come pick you up in the evening," Clayton said to Amelia.
Not bothering to wait for a reply, he left the room.
Only then did Amelia allow herself to open her eyes.
A dull ache pulsed at her lower back as she struggled upright and made her way into the bathroom.
Catching sight of the new ta**oo--an exact match to Dayna's--in the mirror, her eyes grew cold, and her ch**t felt heavy.
Hours slipped past, and by seven that evening, Amelia found herself escorted by Clayton to the Morrison Group's press conference.
When she arrived, she found that Jaxton was already there.
Spotlights caught Jaxton's striking features, his perfect posture, and the tailored suit he wore.
As Amelia's gaze fell on the suit, a shadow of sadness crossed her eyes.
A month of effort had gone into creating that piece for him. Two years ago, she'd stitched and shaped every detail of that suit by hand, pouring her heart into it.
She still remembered Jaxton's joy when he had received it.
Yet, in just two years, the suit remained the same, but Jaxton had changed completely.
"Miss Flynn, what's your response to the recent scandal as Mr. Morrison's fiancée? Do you have something to say about it? You--"
Shock silenced the reporter mid-question, his attention caught by the scene unfolding in front of him.
Without warning, Jaxton drew Amelia close and lifted her shirt just enough to reveal the new ta**oo.
Cameras flashed as the ta**oo--identical to the one from the scandalous video--came into full view.
Feeling the unwanted touch, Amelia was repulsed. As she looked up, she could even see the hi**ey on Jaxton's neck.
A shudder of disgust rolled through her body, and she pressed her lips together to keep it from showing.
"Amelia, why don't you tell everyone what happened last night?"
Jaxton sounded gentle, but his gaze was full of ridicule toward her.
Frustration simmered within Amelia, yet thoughts of her grandmother made her hold back.
She forced a polite smile and said, "It's all a big misunderstanding. The woman in the video with Mr. Morrison was me."
One of the reporters said, "Oh, so that's what happened! Looks like your relationship is quite stable. Should we be expecting a wedding soon?"
Hearing that, Jaxton pulled Amelia into an embrace, his eyes shining with fake tenderness for the cameras.
After a while, his phone rang, the name "Dayna" lighting up the screen. When he saw it, he immediately let go of Amelia.
The reporters, fortunately, had already begun to disperse. Otherwise, this would have raised their suspicions.
Even from a distance, Amelia could hear Dayna's soft, aggrieved voice and Jaxton's soothing words.
Refusing Clayton's offer of a ride, Amelia left the event and made her way to her apartment by herself.
Night fell over the city as she sat alone by the window.
After a while, she retrieved her phone and dialed a number.
Three rings echoed before the call connected, but there was only silence on the line afterward.
Had it not been for the faint sound of breathing, Amelia might have thought no one was on the other end of the line at all.
After a while, she drew a shaky breath and finally found her voice. "Does your promise to me still stand?"
Chapter 2 She Is Going To Get Married
On the other end of the line was a man, dressed in black, carrying himself with an effortless elegance, his sharp features nothing short of captivating.
There was a flicker of surprise in his eyes now.
Silence dragged on until Amelia found herself unable to wait any longer. She said, "Sorry, I was being impulsive. Just ignore what I said--"
"Yes."
Her words were cut short by the man's low voice.
She was shocked by his response.
Truth be told, she had regretted her words almost immediately after saying them.
Letting go of her engagement to Jaxton was one thing, but agreeing to marry Wyatt Stewart felt like playing a dangerous game.
In the darkness, Amelia's mind wandered back to a year ago.
It was late at night, just like now, when she had left the hospital as usual, only to encounter the barely conscious Wyatt in an alley on the west side of Kretol.
At the time, Amelia didn't know his identity, so when he offered to repay her after she'd saved him, she jokingly asked if he meant he would do anything for her.
He answered with a nod, and she couldn't help but tease that she might want him to marry her.
Her proposal had just been a joke, an impulsive bit of fun. Never once had she expected Wyatt to agree.
But she already had an engagement with Jaxton, arranged before her mother's death, so she quickly explained she was only joking.
Knowing about her engagement, Wyatt made no argument.
Instead, he quietly said that if she ever chose to end things with Jaxton, he would marry her. He promised to keep this offer valid for two years.
That offer hadn't expired yet.
How the call ended, Amelia couldn't recall.
All that remained clear was Wyatt's words on the phone, telling her to get ready for a wedding in thirty days.
She was really going to get married to someone, and that someone was not Jaxton.
Amelia lay in bed in the dark, feeling exhausted but unable to fall asleep.
Just as her thoughts began to fade, an onslaught of notifications rattled her phone.
Since her grandmother was in the hospital, she never turned off or silenced her phone.
She checked her phone and saw a photo of shredded pieces of clothing.
Recognition settled in after a moment--this was the pieces of the suit Jaxton had chosen that day, the very one crafted by her hands.
Accompanying the photo was a message from Dayna.
"Sorry, Amelia. I had no idea you made this suit for Jaxton. I honestly thought it was just a regular suit, so when I saw it was dirty, I cut it into pieces to get rid of it. Hope you're not mad at me."
There was a smugness to Dayna's words that was impossible to miss.
When Amelia didn't reply right away, another message from Dayna appeared. "Jaxton says it's no big deal. Just a piece of clothing, not worth much."
Amelia knew that ignoring Dayna wouldn't help her sleep. If she left things hanging, the messages would just keep coming.
With a few quick taps, Amelia replied, "Jaxton's right; it's only a piece of clothing. I am not mad."
She then made sure to block Dayna's number before setting her phone aside.
No part of her reply was a lie--she truly felt no anger.
After all, things like this had happened so often over the past two years that she'd lost count.
If she let herself get upset each time, she would have lost her mind long ago.
Lying back down, Amelia found she couldn't fall asleep.
A thought crept in--would her mother feel regret seeing her daughter's life turn out this way?
Dayna, the illegitimate child of Amelia's father, was a few months younger than Amelia.
When Amelia's mother, Katrina Davis, discovered Dayna's existence, she sent her abroad.
Yet, the endless burden of work soon caught up to Katrina, and her health began to fail.
That same year Katrina's health failed, Ricky Flynn--Amelia's father--brought both Janessa Patel and Dayna back to the country and into their home.
Nothing about this arrangement escaped Katrina's notice. She understood perfectly well that life with a stepmother would not be easy for Amelia, especially since Ricky had never been a man of kindness.
To protect her daughter, Katrina made plans for Amelia to marry Jaxton.
This decision came easily, since Katrina and Laura Morrison, Jaxton's mother, had been close friends for decades.
Amelia and Jaxton had grown up together, and with her and Laura's connection, Katrina believed Amelia would have a good life after marrying Jaxton.
However, Katrina had no way of knowing how much people could change.
Just before her death, Katrina called Jaxton over and pressed him for a promise to take good care of Amelia. With both Katrina and Laura present, Jaxton's answer rang with conviction.
His assurance was so convincing that even Amelia believed him. But now...
At dawn, Amelia was pulled awake by a force.
As she opened her eyes, she saw Jaxton's face, full of anger.
He was gripping her wrist tightly, the pain forcing her to pull away. "What's your problem? Why are you acting like this first thing in the morning?" she asked.
"You think you're clever, Amelia? Besides complaining to my mother, what else can you do?" Jaxton said.
That accusation made Amelia furrow her brows.
The video had spread online, and there was no chance Laura missed it.
But as soon as Jaxton heard from his mother, he jumped to the conclusion that Amelia must have tattled.
Amelia didn't even have the energy to waste explaining things to him.
The matter just strengthened her resolve to break off the engagement.
To Jaxton, Amelia's silence was an admission. He continued his harsh remarks throughout the journey to his family home.
Yet, as soon as they entered the Morrison family's residence, Jaxton changed his attitude completely.
Watching him change his demeanor so quickly, Amelia rolled her eyes. She had been so blind before, unable to realize that he was just a hypocrite.
Chapter 3 Do You Like Them
"You've been through so much, Amelia. I'm truly sorry."
The moment Amelia entered the living room, Laura reached for her hand with gentle urgency and spoke up.
Not a single year seemed to touch Laura's appearance; though she was well into her fifties, she could easily pass for forty, thanks to her careful self-care.
Right now, her usually composed features overflowed with genuine concern.
For as long as Amelia could remember, Laura had always shown her kindness. Every time Jaxton stepped out of line, Laura was there to defend her and scold him.
Yet, Laura's idea of discipline was just some mild reprimand. It hardly made any difference.
Today was no different.
Laura fixed her son with a piercing look. "Apologize to Amelia right now."
Normally, Amelia would have brushed off the matter, saying it was no big deal.
But this time, she suddenly felt tired of it all. Before Jaxton could open his mouth, she said, "Laura, I've got a bit of a headache. I'm going to lie down upstairs."
One look at Amelia's pale cheeks was all Laura needed. "Of course, get some rest. I'll have someone inform you when dinner is ready."
With a slight nod, Amelia quietly went upstairs.
As soon as Amelia vanished from sight, Laura's patience snapped.
She turned to Jaxton and said, "Have you lost your mind? Why are you involved with Ricky's illegitimate daughter?"
"Mom, illegitimate or not, she is Ricky's daughter. And besides, Janessa knew Ricky first. What they had was true love."
"You..."
Anger hit Laura so hard that she had to steady herself as dizziness washed over her.
Taking a deep breath, Laura forced herself to calm down.
Looking at her son with a composed expression, she said, "Whatever you do with Dayna is your business. But remember this--Amelia is your fiancée. She's the only one who will ever be accepted into this family as your wife."
This wasn't the first time Laura had said this. Jaxton had heard these words countless times.
This time, though, he asked her, "Mom, do you want Amelia as a daughter-in-law because of Katrina, or is it because of the sixty percent of shares she owns?"
Profit always came first for businesspeople.
Laura was no exception to the rule.
Her agreement to this engagement was never just because of her friendship with Katrina; Amelia's shares in the company weighed heavily in the balance.
Katrina had built the Flynn Group herself. Even after her early death, she had left Amelia with sixty percent of the company's shares.
Laura said, "Since you know that Amelia holds sixty percent of the company shares, you should treat her right. Jaxton, I'm doing all this for your own good. A marriage with Amelia sets you up for success. Dayna can't match her looks or her capabilities. If you keep involving yourself with Dayna, it'll only end up hurting Amelia and making her feel disappointed in you. One day, you'll regret it. You--"
"Stop, Mom. That's enough. I never said I wouldn't go through with marrying Amelia." Clearly annoyed, Jaxton cut Laura off and stormed upstairs.
Inside her room on the second floor, Amelia sat on the sofa near the window, quietly observing the fountain's gentle spray in the garden below.
Just then, her phone suddenly buzzed with a message.
Her eyes grew wide as she saw the photo she had just received.
In the photo were two silver wedding rings, elegant in their simplicity--exactly her taste.
"Do you like them?"
Wyatt's message appeared beneath the photo, and Amelia wasted no time replying, "What are these?"
"Do you like them?" Wyatt just repeated the question.
She took a breath, hesitated, and finally replied, "Yes, I do."
Once the message was sent, nothing but silence followed from Wyatt's end.
Unknown to Amelia, when Wyatt saw her response, a subtle smile played on his face.
That unusual expression did not go unnoticed by the man beside Wyatt. "Are you actually smiling? Who are you, and what have you done to the real Wyatt?"
Wyatt's smile vanished instantly when he heard his friend's teasing words.
Wyatt's change of expression was so sudden that Marc almost thought he had just imagined his smile earlier.
"How's Mrs. Davis holding up?"
Wyatt was talking about Amelia's grandmother.
Marc's tone grew somber as he answered, "Nothing has improved. Her heart is getting weaker. Even if I try my best to treat her, I'm afraid she doesn't have much time left."
"So you are not so skilled as a doctor after all."
Doctors hated to hear doubt cast on their expertise, and Marc was no exception, especially since he was an internationally renowned physician.
Marc bristled. "What's that supposed to mean? I'm a doctor, not a miracle worker. Speaking of Mrs. Davis, there's something I don't understand. You asked me to treat her, but why do it by having me agree to the Morrison family's offer?"
That arrangement made him appear as though he was in it for the money.
Rather than explain himself, Wyatt turned his focus to a set of sketches scattered across the table.
Drawn on the page was the design for a set of wedding rings--the very ones he had just shown to Amelia.
Chapter 4 Meeting Him For The Second Time
At the Morrison family's residence.
After lunch, Jaxton would usually rush to leave with Amelia.
But today was different--he stayed.
Just then, Laura said, "There's a business banquet tonight on the east side of Kretol. The Stewart family is behind it, and rumor has it Mr. Wyatt Stewart arranged everything himself. Jaxton, you should bring Amelia to attend. Our family's influence may not match the Stewarts', but it's a great opportunity for us. If Mr. Stewart shows up, it could be your chance to make a valuable connection."
Hearing about the banquet made Amelia hesitate, a protest rising in her ch**t. Yet, the mention of that man changed everything, compelling her to nod in agreement.
After all, the person Laura had just mentioned was the man she was about to marry.
Not long after, Jaxton and Amelia climbed into his car, ready to leave.
An unexpected ring cut through the quiet; Dayna was calling Jaxton.
Without shame, Jaxton answered the call, making no effort to hide it from Amelia.
Their fl**ty exchange filled the car, making Amelia feel a pang of discomfort.
"Pull over. Now."
Amelia's sudden command startled the driver, who instinctively stomped the brakes.
Tires shrieked, and Jaxton, caught mid-conversation, accidentally let his phone slip from his grasp.
Amelia wasted no time; as soon as the car stopped, she opened the door and stepped out.
Shock registered on Jaxton's face. He leaned out, irritation clear in his voice. "Amelia, what's wrong with you? You--"
Before he could finish speaking, Amelia headed straight for the nearest bus stop, never once looking back.
Jaxton could only watch her walk away, disbelief written across his features.
Even the driver blinked in confusion. This had never happened before.
He glanced at Jaxton through the rearview mirror and cautiously asked, "Mr. Morrison, should I--"
"Drive!" Jaxton interjected coldly.
With a quick nod, the driver put his foot to the pedal, not saying anything more.
Jaxton flashed Amelia a derisive smirk as his car swept past her.
If she insisted on taking public transport, he'd gladly let her have her way.
Ignoring Jaxton's petty exit, Amelia kept her gaze steady ahead.
She'd rather endure the cramped ride on a city bus than spend another suffocating minute with him.
Yet, Amelia had just waited a few minutes before a sleek, silver-gray luxury vehicle glided to a stop nearby.
When the tinted back window rolled down, Wyatt's striking features appeared.
His driver approached Amelia respectfully, saying, "Miss Flynn, Mr. Stewart wants you to join him in the car."
Sliding into the elegant interior, Amelia felt her heartbeat speed up.
This was her second meeting with Wyatt.
He wasn't just any man; he was the heir to one of Kretol's most powerful families and her soon-to-be husband.
No matter how she tried to make sense of it, everything about this situation felt unreal.
Aside from the driver's quiet question about her destination, silence filled the car.
When Amelia glanced at the man beside her for the third time, Wyatt turned to her and asked, "Do you have something to say?"
So many questions tangled in her mind--why had he agreed to marry her when it had been little more than a joke on her part?
Had he truly agreed to it to repay her for saving him?
But he was rich and powerful, someone who had endless means to repay any favor. Why marriage, of all things?
Unable to suppress her curiosity any longer, Amelia softly asked, "Can you really convince Jaxton to break off the engagement and find the solution to cure my grandmother?"
"Yes," Wyatt responded coolly.
Although she wanted to press him for more details, his distant demeanor kept her silent.
As the car eased to a halt outside her apartment, Amelia quickly opened the door and stepped out, offering a polite nod. "I appreciate the ride, Mr. Stewart. Goodbye."
"Hold on."
Just as Amelia was about to enter the building, Wyatt's deep voice sounded from behind her.
Spinning around, she saw a beautifully wrapped box being extended toward her through the car's window.
Her eyes first landed on Wyatt's sculpted hand before even noticing the box.
He was blessed with good looks, and even his hands seemed perfect.
"This is for you."
Wyatt's voice drew Amelia out of her daze, and without thinking, she accepted the box.
Before she could ask what was in the box, the car drove away.
Left standing in the silence for a moment, Amelia made her way back to her apartment, clutching the unexpected gift.
After she arrived home, curiosity got the better of her, and she opened the box.
A burst of vibrant red greeted her eyes.
Pulling out the red gown, Amelia felt pleased--she loved the color.
Bright colors had always called to her, but years of pleasing Jaxton's taste for understated style had dimmed her wardrobe.
Now, with the end of her engagement to Jaxton drawing near, she finally felt free to embrace her true taste.
By seven o'clock, Amelia left home in the red gown.
She then opened the passenger door of Jaxton's car.
Amelia hadn't anticipated Dayna's presence, while Dayna was shocked by the outfit Amelia had chosen.
In Dayna's memory, Amelia always wore light colors.
Her good looks often seemed to dim because of her plain clothing. Tonight, however, she turned heads in the bold red gown, looking captivating.
From the driver's seat, Jaxton caught sight of Amelia's new look, and surprise flickered across his face.
Before he could say a word, Amelia shut the car door and slipped into the back seat.
Jaxton hadn't intended to bring Dayna along but couldn't resist her tears and pleas.
At first, he'd felt uneasy about bringing Dayna, but seeing Amelia's bold look sparked anger inside him.
"Amelia, do you really think that dress is appropriate for tonight? Are you going there to se**ce someone?"
Chapter 5 The Rings
"Don't forget who you are. You are my fiancée; are you already looking to betray me?" Jaxton said.
"Isn't it funny you'd say that, Jaxton? You're the one who doesn't know how to stay loyal," Amelia retorted, her laugh edged with sarcasm.
Turning her gaze to Dayna's daring dress, she let her eyes linger on her ch**t with a clear sense of contempt.
She said to Dayna, "You keep pushing up what you don't have, and still, there's almost nothing to show."
"You..." A deep flush crept over Dayna's face, anger and jealousy swirling in her eyes.
Though both she and Amelia stood tall and slim, only Amelia's figure held the curves she so desperately wished she had.
"The clock's ticking. That business banquet kicks off at seven-thirty. Are you sure you want to keep wasting time here arguing?" With that, Amelia shut her eyes, clearly wanting to end the conversation.
None of this really mattered. She planned to end her engagement to Jaxton soon. Then, she wouldn't have to see Jaxton's and Dayna's annoying faces again
Still, for her grandmother to get the treatment she needed, Amelia knew she had to steer clear of pointless arguments.
Even though she preferred peace, some people just liked to stir up trouble for her.
Dayna spoke up as Amelia's indifference rattled her. "I swear, Amelia, I didn't steal your seat on purpose. Jaxton asked me to sit up front. He said it's more comfortable."
"It's no big deal. If Jaxton's fine with it, you're even welcome to take my position as his future wife," Amelia said.
"Don't think for a second my mother's approval keeps you safe from me calling off our engagement," Jaxton said angrily.
"Is that so? Then why not call it off right now?" Amelia snapped her eyes open and locked her gaze on him.
A spark of defiance danced in her eyes.
The fire in her eyes only made Jaxton's anger rise.
He believed that Amelia's boldness came from having his mother's support.
Yet, his mother's influence indeed left him powerless to act and call off the engagement.
"Don't forget that you still need Marc's help for your grandmother's treatment. Without me, Marc won't treat her," Jaxton said.
The weight of those words pressed down on Amelia, and she fell silent.
Satisfaction flickered in Jaxton's eyes when he saw that, a smirk settling across his face.
By this time, the car had arrived at the venue.
Once the doors swung open, Dayna was quick to fix her makeup. She then got out, holding Jaxton's arm.
Yet every curious gaze in the lobby aimed past her, landing on the spot where Amelia was.
Stunned whispers rippled through the lobby as Amelia swept inside with effortless poise.
The unexpected attention toward Amelia left Jaxton feeling slightly uncomfortable, though some part of him swelled with pride.
When Amelia veered off towards a quieter path, Jaxton reached out to grab her wrist, halting her. "Where do you think you're going?"
Dayna tightened her grip on Jaxton's arm as he held onto Amelia.
Amelia said in annoyance, "You only need to take care of Dayna. Leave me alone."
Without another word, she brushed his hand away and walked toward a quieter area.
An instinct to follow tugged at Jaxton, but Dayna's grip on him tightened. "Come on, Jaxton. We should join the people over there."
She gestured toward the circle of business leaders clustered nearby.
After another glance in Amelia's direction, Jaxton let himself be led away by Dayna.
Settling alone into a quiet corner, Amelia let herself breathe freely for the first time that evening.
"Good evening, Miss Flynn."
A young man approached just as Amelia reached for a drink, catching her off guard.
She looked at him, puzzled. She didn't know who he was.
Returning her gaze with professional courtesy, Davin Kirk introduced himself, saying, "I'm Mr. Stewart's assistant. Mr. Stewart wants to see you."
Wyatt's boldness surprised Amelia, but after a brief pause, she agreed and rose to follow Davin out.
Stopping at the lounge entrance, Davin pulled the door open for Amelia and then left.
Lifting her gown slightly, Amelia entered the room.
A tall figure by the window turned around to face her.
Wyatt's eyes lit with quiet amazement as Amelia stepped into the room. "You look stunning in that dress."
"Thank you for giving me this dress, Mr. Stewart," Amelia replied awkwardly after a long silence.
Raising an eyebrow, Wyatt walked over and stopped just in front of her. "You know, given our relationship, there's no need for you to thank me."
Amelia blinked in confusion.
Their relationship?
"We are about to get married, aren't we?" Wyatt said, sensing her confusion.
Part of Amelia wanted to remind him she was still, officially, engaged to Jaxton.
Yet, as she held his steady gaze, all she managed to say was, "Mr. Stewart, why did you ask me to come here?"
"Give me your hand."
"What?" Amelia was puzzled by Wyatt's request.
If she didn't know her hearing was fine, she might have thought she had misheard him.
Wyatt simply said, "Your hand, Amelia."
Amelia offered her left hand as requested.
As soon as she did, he held it.
Despite his cold expression, his touch radiated unexpected warmth.
Suddenly, something cold slipped onto her finger--a silver ring, delicate and elegant.
She stared at the ring--the same one he had shown her earlier that day.
Her gaze stayed fixed on the ring, and she was rooted to the spot. Without realizing it, she found herself looking over at Wyatt's left hand. His ring finger had no band.
Suddenly, another ring was handed to her, and Wyatt extended his hand. "Put this one on my finger for me."
"Isn't this a bit inappropriate, Mr. Stewart?" Amelia said.
Chapter 6 Do You Really Think Jaxton Loves You
Amelia couldn't even speak smoothly because of her shock.
Wyatt continued to hold out his hand, his voice steady as he responded, "What makes it inappropriate?"
Nothing about this felt quite appropriate, yet Amelia couldn't explain why.
She suddenly felt the room's temperature rise.
Her hand was just about to grasp the ring when a sharp knock echoed at the door.
From the hallway, Davin's voice called out, "Mr. Stewart, we need to go. The event is starting."
Relief swept through Amelia.
Letting her gaze linger on the ring, she said, "Maybe we should wait until my engagement ends to do this, Mr. Stewart. You are clearly busy now. I will head down first."
Not giving him a chance to answer, she swept out of the lounge.
Anyone watching would think she was fleeing from a ghost.
Wyatt watched her retreat, the corners of his mouth lifting in quiet amusement.
At least she hadn't rejected him putting on the ring for her, right?
Instead of waiting for the elevator, Amelia darted toward the stairs, eager to put distance between herself and that room.
It was only when she reached the stairs that she felt she could breathe normally again.
"Amelia, is that you?"
Just as Amelia was about to descend the stairs, Dayna appeared from around the corner.
Her earlier meeting with Wyatt drifted through Amelia's thoughts.
She studied Dayna, curiosity flickering in her eyes. "Weren't you supposed to be with Jaxton? Why are you here?"
"Seems to me I should be the one asking you that, Amelia."
"What are you trying to say?"
Amelia could not be sure if Dayna had seen anything. Still, something wary flickered in her eyes when she heard those words, though her face showed no sign of change.
Dressed in a sleek black dress, Dayna walked over to her.
"Amelia, Jaxton cares about only one woman, and it isn't you. Even with your engagement, you cannot force his feelings. Why are you still clinging to him?"
Amelia fell silent at Dayna's words.
Smugness danced in Dayna's gaze as she savored Amelia's quiet. "If you're smart, you'll let Jaxton go before you embarrass yourself further."
"Dayna, do you really think Jaxton loves you?" Amelia asked.
"Without a doubt."
The sight of Dayna's absolute confidence made Amelia let out a low laugh. "Funny, I once believed he loved me, too."
Memories of Jaxton's vow to Katrina, promising he'd cherish her, drifted through her mind.
Before Dayna could respond, Amelia continued with a smile, "If he really loves you, then why doesn't he break off his engagement with me? Why is he just keeping you as the other woman? Tell me, Dayna--does that sound like real love to you?"
Dayna was stunned by Amelia's words.
With nothing more to say, Amelia turned away, slipping past Dayna.
However, a sudden, piercing scream rang out before Amelia reached the bottom of the stairs.
Turning around, shock rooted Amelia to the spot; she was unable to believe what she was seeing.
......
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Ela decidiu que não se rebaixaria mais, libertaria o homem ca**lha e viveria por si mesma. Mal sabia ela que, após o divórcio, aquele homem que havia se perdido por anos em prazeres e excessos recolheria suas garras e se curvaria diante dela, implorando para que ela voltasse!
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A noite já ia alta enquanto Rosanna Williams permanecia de**ada, of**ante, os olhos perdidos no teto e as bochechas ainda queimando.
Oliver Marshall, seu marido, havia voltado de mais uma reunião regada a bebida -- dessa vez, com uma energia incomum.
Na c**a, ele não conteve o ímpeto, chegando a cinco vezes seguidas, deixando-a completamente ex**sta.
Na quarta vez, eles nem sequer se preocuparam com proteção.
Na última, os olhos dele ardiam com uma f**e que a fez se esquecer de tudo. Era como se eles tivessem mergulhado juntos em um redemoinho de calor e descontrole.
A pa**ão era intensa no processo, mas no final, caberia a Rosanna enfrentar sozinha as consequências.
Oliver, aos vinte e oito anos, era o retrato da juventude bem-sucedida: dominava os negócios com a mesma intensidade com que do**nava o quarto.
Nos três anos de casamento, ele sempre fora cuidadoso, e Rosanna, no começo, também não pensava muito em filhos.
Mas nos últimos seis meses, algo dentro dela mudara. O de**jo de ter um bebê com ele surgiu como uma chama silenciosa.
Oliver não era apenas bonito, mas também sabia exatamente o que fazer na c**a. Bastava um sussurro ro**o, uma provocação bem colocada, e ela se desarmava por completo.
Fazia um ano que Rosanna percebeu que seus sentimentos por Oliver haviam mudado. Do nada, tudo o que era frio se tornou intenso.
Ela havia se apaixonado por ele.
No entanto, o carinho de Oliver para com ela só aparecia na c**a. Fora dali, Oliver era o mesmo homem distante e gelado de sempre.
"Não se esqueça de tomar as pílulas an**concepcionais. Uma gr**idez só complicaria as coisas", Oliver disse, a arrancando de seus pensamentos.
Rosanna apenas acenou com a cabeça, sentindo o estômago afundar.
Ela sabia que estava ov**ando, mas considerando a em**iaguez dele, mesmo que ela en**avidasse, não poderia ficar com o bebê.
Mesmo assim, as palavras frias do marido feriram mais do que ela queria admitir.
Oliver vestiu o pijama e seguiu para o banheiro.
Rosanna o observava desaparecer pela porta antes de finalmente desviar o olhar.
O silêncio foi interrompido pelo toque agudo de um celular.
Rosanna pegou o aparelho e encarou a tela, onde o nome "Millie" piscava.
Millie Rogers, a secretária de Oliver, era sempre gentil e graciosa. Todos elogiavam Millie, que supostamente largara um emprego de ouro em Klenridge apenas para trabalhar ao lado de Oliver.
Oficialmente, ela era apenas sua secretária, mas os rumores diziam que eles eram am**tes.
Antes que Rosanna pudesse reagir, a mão de Oliver surgiu repentinamente, pegando o celular da sua mão.
"Millie", ele disse, a voz carregada de calor e afeição.
Rosanna sentiu o estômago virar. Nunca, em três anos, ele havia falado com ela assim. Seu tom com ela era sempre frio e cortante.
"Oliver, alguém está me as**diando. Por favor, venha me buscar. Estou no Clube Zero...", a voz de Millie, visivelmente aflita, ecoou do outro lado da linha.
Rosanna ouviu tudo.
"Estou indo. Vou pedir para um amigo ir na frente. Se tranque em algum lugar seguro. Chamou a polícia?", Oliver respondeu, sério, enquanto se dirigia ao closet.
Ao mesmo tempo, Rosanna tremia de raiva. Ela nem se preocupou em calçar os chinelos enquanto o seguia.
Cerca de um mês antes, ela mesma experimentara o desespero: em plena gravação externa com a equipe da TV, a van tentou evitar um caminhão e acabou despencando numa vala.
Felizmente, ninguém morreu, mas todos saíram feridos.
A perna de Rosanna ficou machucada e sa**rando muito. Apavorada e com dor, ela ligou para Oliver, mas o mesmo estava em um jantar naquele momento.
Apesar de ouvir seus soluços, ele disse friamente: "Se está conseguindo ligar, não deve ser tão grave."
Em seguida, ele desligou sem pensar duas vezes.
Mas agora, ali estava ele, correndo para os braços de Millie, mesmo bêbado, e sem pestanejar. O comportamento do homem deixava claro o quanto ele amava sua am**te.
Com o celular ainda no ouvido enquanto murmurava palavras reconfortantes, Oliver vestiu o casaco e caminhou até a porta.
Rosanna não conseguia ouvir Millie claramente, mas podia ouvir seus soluços. Parando na frente da porta para impedir a saída do marido, mo**eu o lábio e disse: "Você be**u demais. Não pode dirigir assim."
"Está com ciúmes ou preocupada comigo?", ele questionou, erguendo o queixo dela com os dedos e um brilho nos olhos.
Enarando-o, Rosanna respondeu com voz suave e firme: "Estou preocupada com você."
"Guarde sua falsa preocupação", Oliver retrucou, a soltando sem qualquer carinho.
Antes que ela pudesse responder, Oliver a empurrou de lado, a fazendo perder o equilíbrio e cair no chão. Ele passou por ela como se nada tivesse acontecido e saiu.
O silêncio preencheu a casa.
Rosanna ficou no chão, sentindo uma amargura que parecia lhe retorcer as entranhas. Doía por dentro, mas nem chorar ela conseguia.
Seu rosto estava pálido, os olhos vermelhos, segurando as lágrimas com uma força que já não tinha.
Ela permanecia ali até que as pernas adormecessem. Quando finalmente se ergueu, não queria voltar para o quarto.
Ela se encolheu no sofá, olhos fechados, os pensamentos girando como um furacão.
De repente, o som de seu celular tocando rompeu o silêncio, a puxando de volta à realidade.
Pensando que poderia ser Oliver ligando, ela se levantou rapidamente e correu da sala para o quarto, atendendo a ligação sem pensar duas vezes.
"Rosanna! Seu marido acabou de causar um escândalo no Clube Zero por causa de Millie! Ele quebrou uma garrafa de ce**eja na cabeça de um cara! Tinha sa**ue por toda parte! Foi uma loucura!"
Era Leah Ahmed, sua melhor amiga, do outro lado da linha.
Rosanna mal conseguiu reagir, murmurando um simples: "Ah."
Ela não estava surpresa, pois sabia até onde Oliver iria por Millie, e se Leah dissesse que ele havia ma**do alguém, talvez ela nem se espantasse.
O Clube Zero era o reduto dos ricos e poderosos em Qegan, onde Oliver costumava festejar com os amigos.
Leah continuou: "Um bê**do encurralou Millie perto do banheiro e te**ou agarrá-la. Disseram que ela estava com ma**as no pe**o e a ca**inha já estava pu**da para baixo. Ainda bem que ela teve o reflexo de se trancar no banheiro feminino..."
As palavras de Leah começaram a se perder no fundo da mente de Rosanna, que nem sequer percebeu quando a ligação terminou.
A mulher ficou ali, imóvel, segurando o celular com tanta força que os dedos ficaram brancos.
Como ela poderia não sentir raiva disso?
Tentando manter a calma, ela rolou a tela em busca de distração, mas as manchetes sobre a briga de Oliver já inundavam a internet.
As pessoas o chamavam de herói apaixonado, um homem corajoso que enfrentava qualquer um por amor.
Rosanna sentiu o estômago embrulhar. Ela não aguentava mais, então guardou o celular e apagou o abajur ao lado da cama.
Cercada pela escuridão, ela sentiu seus pensamentos se tornarem mais nítidos.
Nos três anos de casamento, Oliver jamais reconhecera o relacionamento deles em público, preferindo se cercar de mulheres em clubes, como se fosse solteiro.
E Millie, confiante de sua posição privilegiada, fazia questão de lembrá-la disso.
Agora, ela se via questionando seu casamento com Oliver, uma união que já estava apodrecendo por dentro.
O som da porta se abrindo interrompeu o turbilhão de pensamentos. Rosanna olhou o relógio: cinco e meia da manhã.
Oliver voltou, mas não entrou no quarto e seguiu direto para o escritório.
Rosanna respirou fundo, saiu da cama, caminhou até a porta do escritório e bateu.
Nenhuma resposta.
Então, ela bateu novamente, dessa vez girando a maçaneta para abrir a porta e entrando.
"Eu te deixei entrar?", Oliver indagou rispidamente, incomodado com a interrupção repentina.
Rosanna ficou em silêncio por um instante, o coração acelerado. Em seguida, ela o encarou com firmeza, a voz carregada de certeza ao dizer: "Vamos nos divorciar."
Capítulo 2 Encontro inesperado
O escritório estava mergulhado em penumbra, iluminado apenas por uma lâmpada fraca que lançava sombras suaves sobre o rosto de Rosanna.
Seu semblante revelava uma tristeza silenciosa, entrelaçada com uma determinação irredutível enquanto ela mencionava o divórcio.
Ela não alimentava mais nenhuma esperança nesse casamento.
Do outro lado da sala, Oliver a fitava com intensidade. "Rosanna, você tem noção do que está dizendo?"
"Tenho. Quero o divórcio." Rosanna desviou o olhar, tentando esconder o tremor que denunciava o caos dentro dela.
O rosto atraente de Oliver assumiu uma expressão irônica e ele acendeu um ci**rro com calma cruel, deixando que a fu**ça girasse ao seu redor como uma cortina de desprezo.
As feições marcadas ficaram ainda mais rígidas sob a névoa, e seus olhos, escuros como a noite, permaneciam vazios.
Rosanna engoliu em seco, sufocando a amargura. "É melhor terminarmos agora do que seguir presos a um casamento sem amor."
"Você se esqueceu do nosso acordo pré-nupcial? Meus bens sempre são meus. Se nos divorciarmos, você sairá sem nada." Oliver deu uma longa tragada no ci**rro.
Rosanna respondeu com um sussurro: "Eu sei."
Durante anos, o que a mantinha ali era a esperança frágil de que ele mudasse, de que algum sentimento verdadeiro brotasse entre eles.
Mas a forma como ele defendia Millie, sem qualquer constrangimento, destruíra qualquer afeto que ainda poderia existir.
"Três anos atrás, o Grupo Marshall fez um investimento de mais de cem milhões em Jiford, como presente de casamento para você. Esse projeto ajudou Preston a subir ao topo do governo local. Ainda nem tive lucro, mas você já quer fugir?", ele prosseguiu, com frieza calculada.
As palavras atingiram Rosanna como um golpe direto.
O nome de Preston Burton, seu padrasto, a sacudiu. Ela sabia que aquela manobra havia sido fundamental para que ele derrotasse os concorrentes e conquistasse o cargo atual.
O divórcio não era uma decisão impensada, pois ela ponderara sobre isso há muito tempo.
Mesmo que sentisse falta das raras vezes em que Oliver lhe mostrava gentileza, a ideia de ele bater em alguém por Millie partia seu coração.
Rosanna não aguentava mais.
"Você e a senhorita Rogers podem ficar juntos agora. Não vou mais atrapalhar." Ela esboçou um sorriso tênue, camuflando a dor sufocante que ameaçava transbordar.
"Millie e eu nunca sentimos que você estava no nosso caminho", Oliver respondeu, soprando anéis de fu**ça, alheio à ferida que suas palavras abriam.
O modo como ele pronunciava o nome de Millie, como se fosse sagrado, fazia Rosanna se encolher por dentro.
Para ela, Oliver só demonstrava ternura nos raros momentos de in**midade -- o resto era sempre frieza e indiferença.
Com os dentes cerrados, ela disse: "Cansei de viver assim. Cansei de não ser tratada com respeito."
O tom sarcástico voltou à voz de Oliver: "Você parece ter esquecido como se tornou minha esposa. Acha mesmo que tem direito de exigir respeito?"
Rosanna foi lançada de volta àquela noite chuvosa e humilhante de três anos atrás.
A lembrança ainda lhe causava náusea.
Ao perceber o silêncio dela, Oliver continuou: "Desde o começo, você sabia exatamente como esse casamento funcionaria, mas ainda assim tramou para se casar comigo, e Preston só conquistou o que tem hoje por minha causa. Se eu não quiser o divórcio, você fica. Ponto final. Eu não me importo se você é tratada com respeito ou não."
Rosanna empalideceu, e seu corpo inteiro tremeu.
Então, na mente de Oliver, o casamento deles não era nada mais do que um negócio.
No começo, ela também pensava assim, mas, com o tempo, as coisas mudaram. Dois anos ao lado dele a fizeram de**jar mais -- algo verdadeiro, algo que ele nunca teve a intenção de oferecer.
E era por isso que agora ela precisava esmagar o que restava desse sentimento tolo.
Felizmente, ainda dava tempo.
Oliver apagou o ci**rro no ci**eiro e se retirou.
Pouco depois, o som do chuveiro vindo do banheiro preencheu o silêncio.
Rosanna sentiu o coração afundar.
Três anos de casamento, e nunca saíram juntos para um passeio, não assistiram a um filme, nem sequer dividiram uma refeição com tranquilidade.
A única proximidade real que conheciam era dentro do quarto.
Durante os dois primeiros anos, tudo o que existia entre eles era silêncio e frieza.
No terceiro, Oliver ensaiou pequenas gentilezas -- uma palavra amável aqui, um presente inesperado ali, coisas que a fizeram, sem perceber, começar a se apegar.
Rosanna aprendera até a cozinhar para ele, mesmo não sendo algo natural para ela.
O café da manhã era seu único pretexto para prolongar alguns minutos ao lado dele.
Era patético, mas ela fazia mesmo assim.
Porém, Millie sempre dava um jeito de destruir qualquer esperança que surgisse.
Se Oliver realmente se importasse, por que mantinha o casamento deles em segredo?
Quando Oliver terminou o banho, foi direto para o quarto de hóspedes, como sempre.
No dia seguinte, Rosanna, ex**sta, ainda se levantou cedo e preparou o café favorito dele antes de sair para o trabalho.
Na TV Qegan, onde atuava como âncora de notícias financeiras, ela mantinha uma imagem impecável.
Apesar de a emissora não ter mais o mesmo prestígio de antes, seu programa seguia com audiência alta, e isso a tornava uma figura conhecida em Qegan.
Logo após bater o ponto, Rosanna começou a sentir fraqueza.
Ela abriu a gaveta, pegou alguns biscoitos que havia trazido de casa e comeu, se sentindo um pouco melhor.
Sua dieta era rígida, pois ganhava peso com facilidade, especialmente no rosto.
Para se manter pronta para as câmeras, ela tinha que seguir uma dieta rígida.
Todos os dias, a jovem se alimentava de forma simples: ovos, legumes, carne magra -- o suficiente para manter a forma, mesmo estando magra demais para sua altura.
Com a glicose baixa, ela dependia de pequenas doses de açúcar para se manter em pé.
À medida que o Natal se aproximava, sua rotina se tornava mais intensa.
Além dos programas ao vivo -- como Notícias Financeiras -- e gravados, agora havia ensaios para a gala de fim de ano.
Enquanto almoçava no refeitório, ela escutou colegas cochichando e descobriu que a briga de Oliver no clube havia se tornado viral.
Tremendo, ela pegou o celular e checou as redes sociais.
Ali, Oliver e Millie eram retratados como um conto de fadas moderno -- o bilionário charmoso e a garota simples.
Milhares de comentários pediam que ele se casasse com Millie.
O apetite de Rosanna sumiu, e ela mal conseguiu terminar o almoço calculado.
Na saída do trabalho, ela passou na farmácia para comprar a pí**la do dia se**inte, escolhendo com cuidado a que prometia menos efeitos colaterais.
Mas, ao se dirigir ao caixa, encontrou Oliver.
Para piorar, ele não estava sozinho. Millie o acompanhava, enfaixada teatralmente na testa e com feridas visíveis nas mãos.
A expressão de sofrimento que ela exibia parecia feita sob medida para despertar pena.
Eles riam juntos, conversando baixo, como um casal apaixonado.
Mesmo já tendo presenciado cenas parecidas, Rosanna sentiu seu coração se apertar.
"Oliver", sua voz saiu firme, contida, lutando contra a emoção.
Oliver mal a olhou, seus olhos caindo sobre a caixa de pílulas. "Leve mais de uma. Não quero surpresas."
Essas palavras dele cortaram fundo, mas com Millie ali, Rosanna não teve escolha a não ser manter a compostura.
"Não se preocupe. Não haverá nenhuma", ela respondeu, abrindo um sorriso rígido.
As pessoas costumavam dizer que os filhos eram fruto do amor, mas para Oliver, eles não passavam de surpresas indesejadas.
Ou talvez só os filhos dela fossem vistos dessa forma.
Se fossem de Millie, tudo seria diferente.
"Que coincidência encontrar você aqui, senhorita Williams. Essas pílulas mexem com os hormônios, sabia? Até as melhores marcas podem adiantar a menopausa", Millie disse, com doçura venenosa.
Ela sabia muito bem que Rosanna era casada com Oliver, mas insistia em chamá-la de "senhorita Williams", e ele permitia.
Rosanna não respondeu e apenas se virou para concluir a compra.
Se Millie era tão especial assim, por que ele ainda não tinha oficializado a separação?
Afinal, três anos haviam se passado desde o casamento, e qualquer influência que Preston tivesse tido já se esgotara.
"Oliver bebeu demais ontem à noite e ficou mal o dia inteiro. Você, como esposa, não deveria ter cuidado melhor dele?", Millie acrescentou, num tom de falsa preocupação.
Rosanna se virou devagar, fitando Millie nos olhos. "Então você sabe que sou a esposa de Oliver, senhorita Rogers..."
Capítulo 3 Está decidido
Rosanna mantinha a postura firme, os olhos cravados em Millie com a frieza de quem já não tolerava mais ser provocada e traída.
"Senhorita Rogers, como funcionária de Oliver, você conhece perfeitamente o nosso relacionamento. E mesmo assim, continua forçando os limites e me provocando. É ingenuidade ou tem segundas intenções? Está tentando conseguir alguma coisa?"
"Sinto muito, senhorita Williams... Quero dizer, senhora Marshall", Millie se corrigiu às pressas, com um ar constrangido, levando a mão à boca como se tivesse cometido um deslize imperdoável.
"Foi um engano. Por favor, não me leve a mal."
Ela parecia frágil e indefesa, como uma garotinha acuada.
Mas Rosanna não se deixou enganar. Ela sabia exatamente o que essa atuação significava: a velha tática de se fazer de vítima para arrancar a simpatia de Oliver.
"Dispenso seu pedido de desculpas. A coitada aqui é você, não é? Sempre a vítima", Rosanna zombou.
"Oliver, a senhora Marshall ainda está magoada comigo... Talvez seja por causa do que aconteceu ontem à noite no clube. Você poderia me ajudar a explicar as coisas para ela?", Millie pediu a Oliver.
Arrepiada dos pés à cabeça com o tom meloso da voz dela, Rosanna olhou para Oliver, esperando alguma reação.
Ele tragou o ci**rro com calma, os olhos frios como pedra. "Não há nada que precise ser explicado."
"Tenho medo que ela pense que estou me metendo entre vocês dois, que sou sua am**te", Millie acrescentou, com um toque ensaiado de inocência.
Sem hesitar, Oliver disse: "Millie, vá buscar meu remédio. Não perca tempo com conversas inúteis."
Ficou claro que, aos olhos dele, Rosanna não passava de uma figura irrelevante.
Silenciosamente, Rosanna deixou a farmácia.
Dentro do carro, suas mãos tremiam sobre o volante. Foram necessárias duas tentativas fracassadas antes que o motor finalmente ligasse.
Repetidamente, ela disse a si mesma para não se irritar.
Três meses antes, durante um exame de rotina, os médicos haviam identificado um pequeno nódulo de dois milímetros em seu s**o esquerdo. Ela tinha um retorno agendado para a manhã seguinte.
Curiosa e um tanto apreensiva, ela havia perguntado a Leah, sua ginecologista e amiga, por que uma mulher da sua idade desenvolveria algo assim.
Leah respondera que a maioria das doenças surgia do estresse e da raiva. E no caso de Rosanna, ela acreditava que estar sempre irritada por causa de Oliver era a razão de sua doença.
Na hora, Rosanna zombara da ideia, mas, no fundo, ela sabia que Leah estava certa.
Porque, se fosse honesta consigo mesma, os últimos três anos foram um longo e doloroso desgaste. Ela se irritava com Oliver constantemente.
Se os sentimentos tivessem permanecido tão distantes quanto no início, talvez nada disso a afetasse. Mas o problema era exatamente esse -- ela passara a se importar.
Enquanto o céu escurecia, ela dirigia sem rumo, como se fugisse de si mesma.
Só então percebeu o quanto estava sozinha, pois, além da Vila Nexus, não havia outro lugar para onde pudesse ir em toda Qegan.
A Vila Nexus -- o suposto lar que dividia com Oliver -- não lhe pertencia. Antes do casamento, ele a fizera assinar um contrato pré-nupcial, dando-lhe apenas o direito de morar ali temporariamente.
Dada a forma como Oliver a tratava, toda vez que ela entrava na Vila Nexus, se sentia menos como esposa e mais como inquilina.
Voltar seria encarar mais uma noite em uma casa fria e silenciosa. Oliver quase nunca do**ia lá, sempre envolvido em eventos sociais, chegando só pela manhã.
Para não enlouquecer com o vazio, ela se enterrava no trabalho.
Se não fosse pela necessidade de comprar a pí**la do dia se**inte, ela ainda estaria no escritório agora.
Quando finalmente retornou, ela foi recebida pelo cheiro forte de ci**rro impregnando o ar.
Oliver estava na sala de estar, de costas, junto à janela de vidro que ia do chão ao teto, falando ao celular.
Sua postura era altiva e controlada, a voz baixa, mas surpreendentemente gentil.
"O doutor Griffiths garantiu que não ficará cicatriz na sua testa. Mas, se ainda estiver preocupada, posso levá-la a Klenridge depois de amanhã, para consultar um especialista. E mesmo que fique uma marca... não vai mudar nada para mim."
Rosanna se lembrou da gaze branca na testa de Millie mais cedo. Ela não precisava adivinhar com quem ele falava -- com certeza era Millie.
O alívio que sentira ao vê-lo em casa evaporou. Sem dizer uma palavra, ela guardou a bolsa, pendurou o casaco e foi direto para o banheiro.
Lá, lavou o rosto e começou a aplicar o hidratante, quando notou Oliver parado à porta.
"Amanhã, às oito, a amiga da minha mãe chega em Qegan. Preciso que você vá buscá-la no aeroporto", Oliver disse friamente.
Rosanna conteve um suspiro. Sempre que ele a procurava espontaneamente, era para pedir algum favor.
"É uma amiga de longa data da minha mãe, além de uma parceira de negócios. Tire alguns dias de folga e mostre a cidade para ela. Tudo o que você gastar, eu cubro." Sem esperar resposta, Oliver se virou e caminhou em direção ao escritório, como se o assunto estivesse encerrado.
Rosanna sentiu o coração apertar. Lágrimas surgiram nos cantos de seus olhos enquanto ela ia ao escritório e dizia: "Arranje outra pessoa. Tenho outros compromissos amanhã."
"Está tudo resolvido. Karl cuidará da direção e das refeições. Só preciso que você a acompanhe."
Oliver nem levantou os olhos do computador, pois não a levava a sério.
Enquanto o encarava, Rosanna sentiu a raiva crescendo em seu pe**o. "Tenho uma consulta médica de retorno amanhã cedo."
"Retorno de quê?", Oliver perguntou.
"Do nódulo que encontraram no meu s**o esquerdo. Te contei sobre isso. Amanhã é o retorno."
"É só um nódulo pequeno. Esperar dois dias não vai mudar nada", ele disse, sem desviar os olhos da tela.
Rosanna respirou fundo. "Demorei meses para conseguir essa consulta. Não vou remarcar."
Oliver respondeu com indiferença: "Você e minha mãe nunca se deram bem. Se conseguir se entender com a amiga dela, talvez isso ajude. Está decidido."
Rosanna quase protestou, mas quando encarou o olhar firme dele, cedeu. Após uma longa pausa, ela murmurou: "Tudo bem."
Depois de voltar para o quarto principal, ela percebeu que as lágrimas já escorriam.
O celular tocou e, ao reconhecer o número na tela, ela recusou a chamada sem hesitar.
Logo em seguida, apareceu outro número, da cidade de Jiford. Sem nem piscar, ela bloqueou o número.
Oliver permanecia no escritório a noite inteira, não pisando no quarto principal nem uma vez.
Na manhã seguinte, quando Rosanna acordou, ele já estava pronto para sair.
Ele tinha olheiras profundas, o que sugeria que mal do**ira.
Ainda assim, sua presença continuava impecável, os movimentos contidos e elegantes.
"Karl estará esperando por você na garagem em trinta minutos", ele disse, checando o relógio.
O homem lhe lançou um breve olhar antes de se afastar em direção à porta.
Foi então que ela disse, quase num sussurro: "A senhorita Rogers é melhor anfitriã do que eu. Talvez devesse deixá-la receber a amiga da sua mãe."
Oliver parou, mas não olhou para trás. "Você ainda é minha esposa. Se Millie fosse recebê-la, isso só alimentaria os rumores de que temos algo além do profissional."
Então era isso... Ele a estava usando como escudo -- não por respeito ou carinho, mas para proteger a reputação de Millie.
Rosanna sabia que quem conhecia seu estado civil já comentava sobre o escândalo no Clube Zero, onde ele agredira um homem por causa de Millie.
A porta se fechou atrás dele, e uma lufada de vento frio invadiu o ambiente.
A caminho do aeroporto, Rosanna se virou para Karl Price, o assistente de Oliver, e perguntou como o marido pretendia lidar com os rumores crescentes sobre ele e Millie.
Mas Karl sorriu com a mesma expressão ensaiada de sempre e deu de ombros, fingindo ignorância.
Não importava o quanto ela insistisse, ele não dizia nada.
Eles esperaram até às nove no aeroporto. Então, Karl recebeu uma ligação e, após uma breve conversa, franziu a testa. "Mudança de planos. Ela adiou a viagem. Vem na próxima semana."
Rosanna sentiu a raiva subir em ondas, mas conteve a expressão por causa de Karl.
Então, eles foram para o hospital. Após fazer o check-in, ela se deparou com uma longa fila, onde havia pelo menos uma dúzia de pacientes à sua frente.
Sem outra opção, ela esperou.
Quando finalmente teve acesso aos resultados do ultrassom, não entendeu as imagens, mas as palavras estavam lá, em negrito.
O nódulo em seu s**o esquerdo havia crescido -- de dois milímetros para dois e meio. Esse crescimento de meio milímetro em três meses, para Rosanna, parecia uma sentença.
Seu coração disparou, e o medo tomou conta de vez.
Capítulo 4 Custo e benefício
Enquanto aguardava para ser chamada pelo médico, Rosanna tentava conter a inquietação que crescia dentro de si.
Mesmo sabendo, no fundo, qual era a verdade, uma dúvida insistente se repetia em sua mente: se o diagnóstico fosse ruim, será que Oliver sentiria alguma tristeza por ela?
A consulta seria com o doutor Gregg Scott, chefe do Departamento Ga**ctóforo do Hospital Harmony.
Conhecido por sua objetividade, olhar clínico afiado e mais de trinta anos de experiência, Gregg era do tipo que não dourava a pílula.
Ele a cumprimentou com um aceno breve, se sentou diante das imagens do exame e começou a analisá-las com atenção minuciosa por trás das lentes espessas dos óculos.
"Houve um aumento de 0, 5 milímetros nos últimos três meses. Não posso descartar completamente a possibilidade de malignidade."
Rosanna sentiu um calafrio subir pela espinha, enquanto perguntava: "Tem certeza?"
"É possível que a imagem não esteja cem por cento precisa. Se o crescimento tivesse sido mais expressivo, poderíamos afirmar com mais convicção. Mas, com apenas meio milímetro de alteração, ainda é difícil dizer com certeza."
"E qual seria a probabilidade de ser maligno?", Rosanna insistiu, tentando manter a voz firme, apesar do rosto empalidecido.
"Mesmo que o aumento seja real, ainda está abaixo de um centímetro, então deve estar tudo bem. O mais prudente é repetir o exame daqui a um mês. Se houver novo crescimento, partiremos para uma biópsia", Gregg disse enquanto tirava os óculos para esfregar os olhos cansados.
Depois de uma pausa, ele acrescentou gentilmente: "Uma boa saúde mental vai ajudar mais do que parece. Coma bem, du**a direito, e evite se apegar a pensamentos que te desestabilizem. Um bom humor contribui mais para o corpo do que muita gente imagina."
Rosanna ouviu cada palavra com atenção absoluta.
Depois que Gregg lhe entregou as prescrições de dois medicamentos, ela seguiu para a farmácia, determinada a manter a serenidade.
Assim que entrou no saguão da farmácia, deu de cara com as últimas pessoas que gostaria de ver: Oliver e Millie.
Seu coração acelerou, mas ela desviou o olhar imediatamente e levou a mão ao pe**o numa tentativa inútil de se acalmar. Ela não ia deixar que a dupla afetasse seu humor.
No segundo seguinte, Millie começou: "Senhorita Will... quero dizer, senhora Marshall, está se sentindo mal? Conheço alguns médicos excelentes, se quiser, posso apresentá-la."
"Não será necessário." Rosanna ergueu o queixo e passou por eles com firmeza, sem olhar para trás, sentindo um certo orgulho por nem sequer encarar Oliver.
Como Karl já havia partido após levá-la ao hospital, ela saiu do prédio e começou a procurar por um Uber.
Mas o trânsito do horário de almoço transformava tudo em um caos. Ela atualizava a tela sem parar, e nenhum motorista aceitava a corrida.
Foi então que ouviu, à sua esquerda, o som inconfundível de uma buzina familiar. Ela congelou por um instante, mas não se moveu.
Rosanna sabia de quem era o carro. Em Qegan, poucos veículos desse modelo e marca circulavam. Um deles pertencia a Oliver.
Mesmo que fosse ele, ela não queria vê-lo, especialmente se Millie estivesse lá dentro. Era mais seguro fingir que não ouviu nada.
No entanto, a buzina soou novamente.
"Entre", veio uma voz que ela conhecia bem, firme e impositiva.
Como se essa voz ainda tivesse o poder de atravessar todas as barreiras que Rosanna tentava construir, ela não pôde evitar, então virou a cabeça e viu que Oliver estava ao volante, o rosto parcialmente à mostra pela janela entreaberta. Millie não estava com ele.
"Entre", Oliver repetiu, num tom que não aceitava recusa.
Como se estivesse hipnotizada, Rosanna entrou no carro e ocupou o banco do passageiro.
A porta se fechou com um estalo, a janela subiu e o carro arrancou assim que o sinal abriu, mergulhando no trânsito barulhento da cidade.
Se não tivesse encontrado Millie antes, talvez ela mesma tivesse puxado assunto. Mas agora, o silêncio era a única resposta possível.
Foi Oliver quem o quebrou, minutos depois. "Você já recebeu os resultados?"
Rosanna encostou a cabeça no vidro e fechou os olhos, se recusando a responder.
"O nódulo cresceu ou diminuiu? O que o médico disse?", Oliver pressionou.
Rosanna permanecia calada, como se não tivesse ouvido.
A luz fria do inverno invadia o carro, desenhando sombras sobre o rosto de Oliver, que tentava manter a compostura apesar do incômodo evidente.
Vinte minutos depois, eles estacionaram diante da Vila Nexus.
Assim que o carro parou, Rosanna abriu a porta e correu direto para os portões sem olhar para trás.
Na pressa, ela nem percebeu que um papel havia escorregado do bolso do casaco.
Oliver saiu do carro, pegou o papel dobrado e o abriu. Era o relatório do exame de ultrassom.
Após ler e reler a observação "Recomenda-se retorno em um mês", a sensação de frustração se instalou e ele acendeu um ci**rro, deu algumas tragadas rápidas e o esmagou contra o chão antes de pegar o celular.
Quando a ligação foi completada, uma chamada de Karl surgiu na tela.
Ele recusou, terminou o que estava fazendo e só então retornou para Karl.
"Senhor, rastreei o pacote que a senhora Marshall recebeu ontem. Como nos anos anteriores, ele foi enviado de Jiford para Ekadence e só depois para Qegan. Quanto ao remetente original... continua sendo o senhor Burton", Karl revelou.
"Entendi." Oliver desligou sem emoção.
O vento cortante passou por ele, levando embora qualquer traço de calor que ainda restasse em seu olhar.
Na noite anterior, Rosanna havia estendido sua licença de meio dia para dois dias completos, com o intuito de acompanhar a amiga da mãe de Oliver.
Assim que chegou em casa, cancelou sua licença no sistema interno da emissora.
Ela sempre levava o trabalho a sério.
Como âncora de notícias, não precisava cumprir horário, contanto que suas entregas e cotas fossem cumpridas.
Mas Rosanna se cobrava muito mais do que isso.
Sem família na cidade, com apenas Leah como amiga e alguém imprestável como Oliver como marido, ela precisava se apoiar em si mesma, e sua carreira era seu maior alicerce.
Em apenas dois anos, ela havia deixado de ser uma repórter comum para se tornar uma das principais âncoras da emissora, trabalhando até tarde, abrindo mão de folgas e transformando intervalos em turnos extras.
Por isso, quando ela pediu a extensão da licença, o diretor Kyle Watson estranhou e até perguntou se estava acontecendo alguma coisa.
Agora, em casa, Rosanna trocou de roupa, vestindo um pijama confortável.
Caminhou até a cozinha, retirou uma refeição pronta da geladeira e, depois de aquecê-la, adicionou duas colheres generosas de azeite -- algo que não fazia há tempos.
As palavras do doutor Gregg ecoavam em sua mente e, até ter um diagnóstico conclusivo, ela não iria mais se negligenciar.
Ela comeria os carboidratos que havia jurado evitar, desfrutaria do fast-food que uma vez baniu de seu prato e, mais importante, pararia de desperdiçar um único suspiro com Oliver, o homem que poderia estragar seu humor em minutos e mantê-la irritada por horas.
Ele que fizesse o que quisesse longe dali. Ela estava cansada de se importar.
Quando Oliver entrou na casa, encontrou uma cena que o surpreendeu.
"Abandonou a dieta para ficar bem na câmera? Os resultados te abalaram?", ele perguntou, lançando um olhar para o prato.
Rosanna seguiu comendo, como se ele fosse invisível.
"Eu vi o resultado. O nódulo tem apenas 2, 5 milímetros. Não há com o que se preocupar. Você está calada desde que saímos do hospital. Está me ignorando de propósito porque está chateada comigo?", Oliver perguntou enquanto colocava o papel sobre a mesa.
Rosanna largou o garfo, respirou fundo e respondeu com frieza: "Não estou chateada com você. Só não estou com vontade de conversar."
Millie levara uma pancada e, imediatamente, e Oliver estivera pronto para levá-la para Klenridge, atrás do melhor especialista da região.
E ela? Tinha um nódulo crescendo dentro do próprio corpo, mas seu suposto marido nem sequer mexeu um dedo para conseguir um atendimento melhor para ela. Em vez de ajudar, ele estava discutindo com ela.
O rosto de Oliver se suavizou, como se tivesse captado algo no tom dela. "O que o médico disse exatamente?"
"Está tudo no relatório, e você já leu", Rosanna respondeu, contendo sua raiva, embora ainda houvesse um tom de desagrado em sua voz.
"Não estou perguntando o que está escrito. Quero saber o que ele te disse. Você é minha esposa. Tenho o direito de saber se está com uma doença grave", Oliver retrucou, segurando o pulso dela com firmeza.
Rosanna estremeceu diante do toque dele e o encarou nos olhos. "Que tipo de marido age assim e ainda se considera cuidadoso?"
Oliver soltou uma risada sem humor. "Cuidadoso? Você já tem quem cuide de você. Eu sou um homem de negócios, Rosanna. Tomo decisões com base em custo e benefício."
Toda a raiva que Rosanna vinha reprimindo emergiu com força. "Então, me diga, senhor Marshall, o que exatamente pretende fazer?"
"Faça suas malas. Você vai comigo para Klenridge para um check-up completo. E se encontrarem algo sério... vamos nos divorciar", Oliver declarou enquanto emoções indecifráveis transbordavam de seus olhos.
Cada palavra cortou Rosanna como uma lâ**na.
Em seu momento mais frágil, até o próprio marido estava disposto a descartá-la.
Isso era dolorosamente patético.
Capítulo 5 Pérolas
Os olhos de Rosanna se encheram de lágrimas.
Suas mãos, pendendo ao lado do corpo, estavam cerradas em punhos, com as unhas cravando dolorosamente nas palmas.
Ela sempre sabia que Oliver não gostava dela de verdade, mas jamais imaginara que ele pudesse ser tão cruel.
Nesse momento, ela se lembrou de uma história que circulava na internet pouco tempo atrás: um homem vendeu tudo o que possuía e assumiu diversos empregos apenas para pagar o tratamento da esposa, diagnosticada com uremia.
Ao lado dessa narrativa comovente, seu próprio problema parecia insignificante -- um pequeno nódulo de 2, 5 milímetros, ainda sem confirmação de malignidade.
E, mesmo assim, Oliver já demonstrava pressa em se livrar dela.
"Esqueça Klenridge. Vou marcar um médico aqui mesmo. Fazer a biópsia em Qegan amanhã será mais rápido", Rosanna disse, piscando para conter as lágrimas e lutando para manter a voz firme apesar das emoções que sentia.
Oliver segurou o queixo dela com força, os olhos cortantes como lâ**nas. "Está com tanta pressa para se livrar de mim assim?"
"Não é isso que você quer?", Rosanna retrucou, mo**endo o lábio com força.
O gosto metálico de sa**ue se espalhou por sua língua, e a dor repentina tornou difícil até mesmo respirar.
Os olhos de Oliver se tornaram sombrios, carregados de um veneno frio enquanto ele a empurrava contra a parede.
"Depois de três anos compartilhando a mesma c**a comigo, você acha mesmo que aquele homem ainda vai querer você de volta?"
As palavras dele atingiram Rosanna como lâ**nas afiadas, cortando antigas feridas que ela passara muito tempo tentando cicatrizar.
Ele continuou: "Nem consegue me olhar nos olhos porque sabe que está errada. Fica me traindo em pensamento o tempo inteiro! Aquele sujeito te traiu três anos atrás e você ainda pensa nele? Que patético!"
Rosanna permanecia em silêncio.
Ela se sentia como se todas as emoções dentro de si tivessem sido apagadas, como se tivesse se tornado apenas um corpo vazio.
Os lábios de Oliver deslizaram do lóbulo da orelha até a bochecha, e então se pressionaram contra os seus...
......
O que acontecerá a seguir?
O número de capítulos exibidos aqui é limitado. Por favor, clique no botão abaixo para baixar nosso aplicativo e ler mais capítulos.
(Ao abrir o aplicativo, você irá automaticamente para este livro.)
&5&
To gain her mother-in-law's approval, she fell into a trap and was labeled as a gold-digger who schemed with her lover to steal her husband's assets. Despite her protests, her husband personally delivered her to the police, unaware she was pregnant.
=====
"Good evening. I'm here for Mr. Joel Asante. Is he around?" Thalassa said to the lady at the front desk of the Astoria H**el.
She felt so tense that she didn't realize she was tapping her fingers loudly on the desk until a woman standing beside her hissed and glared at her.
Flashing an apologetic smile, Thalassa brought her gaze back to the receptionist, who was done checking the appointment.
"Yes, he is. And he's expecting you. Suite 13. Take the elevator to the seventh floor and turn to your left."
"Thank you." Thalassa said as she turned to go, her unease increasing with every step she took towards the elevator.
Why did she feel like something was amiss?
She had been sent to meet this Joel Asante by her mother in law, Linda Miller.
Linda Miller had never liked Thalassa since she began dating her son, Kris Miller, and the dislike had increased even more since Kris and Thalassa got married a year ago.
So today when her mother in law had called her and told her to deliver some documents and have it signed if she wanted to earn her approval, Thalassa hadn't hesitated one bit.
Maybe if she managed to earn her mother in law's approval, then Kris would finally go back to being the man she knew.
Her ringing phone cut through her thoughts. Thalassa quickly answered when she saw that it was her best friend, Karen Blade.
"Lassa, are you going to do what your mother-in-law asked of you?" Karen asked.
"Yes." Thalassa answered. "I'm at the hotel now. But Karen, I don't know why I feel like there's something off."
Karen blew out a breath of exhaustion. "Lassa, I already told you that you're overthinking things. Linda wants you to do something so simple in order to earn her approval. Don't overthink it."
Lassa smiled. "You're right."
Just as they ended the call, the elevator dinged, slowly parting its doors. Thalassa stepped out, heading to her left like the receptionist had said.
Reaching the door with number 13 on it, she pressed the doorbell.
After some seconds, she was about to press it again when the door suddenly opened to reveal a half-n**ed man. He was only wearing blue shorts, leaving his upper body b**e.
Thalassa grimaced slightly as she spoke. "Mr. Joel Asante?"
"At your service." The man flashed her a smile that was surely meant to be charming. "And you must be Thalassa Miller. Please come in."
Thalassa slowly stepped into the suite's living room. The man pointed at the couch.
"Please take a seat."
She hesitated, wanting to remind him that she was just here for his signatures, but when she remembered her mother-in-law telling her not to annoy the man, she slowly sat down.
"What can I offer you? Cha**agne, w**e, b**r?" The man asked.
"I'd like nothing, thanks," Thalassa answered, gritting her teeth. She just wanted him to sign already so she could leave.
And why wasn't he attempting to put on a shirt?
"Oh, come on. Surely, just a glass of w**ne won't hurt, will it?" The man insisted.
This time, Thalassa didn't bother to hide her glare. "I'm sorry, but I'm just here so you can sign these documents."
She pulled a folder from the handbag she'd brought along with her, handing it over to the man. "My mother-in-law, Linda Miller, said that you already know what the documents contain."
The folder was sealed, and Thalassa herself didn't even know what was in the documents. Her mother-in-law had warned her not to open it, so she hadn't dared to, not wanting to annoy her.
"Hmm." The man hummed as he took the folder from Thalassa and unsealed it, walking around the room as he looked through the document.
Lassa shifted. She felt uncomfortable, especially since the man was still sh**tless. And why did she feel like he was deliberately delaying?
Five minutes later, just as she was getting more impatient, the doorbell rang.
The man immediately went to open the door, and a second later, her husband, Kris Miller, stormed into the room.
"Where is she?" He demanded in a tone that was too low and not to be dangerous, his eyes hardening when he finally saw Thalassa.
Thalassa instantly shot to her feet. "Kris, you're here."
She felt relieved. Maybe Kris could finally handle things from here.
She walked towards Kris, wanting to hug him, but just as she got close, he placed his hand on her ch**t, causing her to stumble backwards.
"Kris..." Lassa stared at him in shock.
Before she could say anything else, Linda Miller, her mother-in-law, suddenly entered the room, the usual disgust on her face as she stared at Thalassa.
"You traitor. After everything my family has done for you, this is how you repay us?"
Before Thalassa could even think, a hot s**p was delivered to her cheek. Thalassa clutched her cheek, staring at her mother in law in shock.
"Mrs. Miller...what...what are you talking about?"
Linda Miller scoffed. "Don't you dare try to act like you don't know what I'm talking about. Since you and my son got married a year ago, you've been stealing property from us, embezzling millions from our company with the help of this man who's obviously your lover."
Thalassa's head spun. What was happening?
"But...but mother-in-law, you were the one who sent me here. You sent me to have this man sign some documents. So what are you talking about?"
She turned to look at Kris, her heart squeezing at the accusing look in his eyes.
"Kris, I don't know this man, I promise. I haven't even met him before. Please believe me. Your mother was the one who sent me here to give some documents to him to sign."
"You're so shameless. You dare try to implicate me?"
Linda said, then turned to Kris, who still had a stoic expression on his face as he stared at Thalassa. "Son, why don't you go and see what's inside those documents?"
Kris walked towards Joel and snatched the folder from his hand. His face darkened when he read more of the documents.
When he finally looked up at Thalassa, his gaze was even colder than before. So cold that she felt frozen.
Her desperation shooting through the roof, she forced herself to move towards him and took the folder from his hands. Her hands trembled as she read parts of the documents.
It was all about discreetly moving money to overseas bank accounts and everything that was obviously fraudulent.
Thalassa's eyes burned with tears as she shook her head. She finally realized what was happening. She'd been set up. Her mother-in-law had set her up!
"Kris, I didn't know what documents were in the folder, I swear!" she declared, trying to grab his hand, but he jerked it away.
"Your mother told me not to unseal it, so I didn't. Please, you have got to believe me. I would never-"
"Sh*t up!" Kris snapped, startling her into silence. "Sh*t the f**k up! Enough with your lies!"
He stepped closer, glaring into her eyes. "Just when I think you can't disappoint me any further, you make me realise that you're much worse than I thought. You disgust me."
His words were like a s**p, leaving Thalassa stunned. Just as her mind was still struggling to process everything, she heard her mother-in-law call out, "Come in, officers."
Thalassa's eyes widened as two police officers walked into the room. She looked at Kris. Surely, he wouldn't allow for her to be arrested like some common criminal, would he?
She got her answer a second later when Kris coldly declared, "Officers, take them away."
Chapter 2
Tears streamed down Thalassa's face as one of the officers stepped behind her and took her hands, placing her wrists in cuffs.
She stared pleadingly at Kris, hoping he would realize his mistake and save her from this humiliation, but he merely stared at her with nothing but coldness as she was led out of the room.
As if this humiliation wasn't enough, when they got outside, several reporters instantly rushed towards her, flashing cameras as they came.
"Thalassa, is it really true that you married Kris Miller all for his money?"
"How do you feel after your theft was discovered?"
Thalassa had never felt this humiliated in her life, with people staring at her and reporters asking all sorts of questions as she was led into the police car.
"Wait! Please, this is a mistake. I'm innocent. You've got to believe me," she pleaded with the police officer who led her into the holding cell.
The officer laughed as he locked the gate to the cell. "That's what they all say. You really should've thought twice before messing with a woman like Linda Miller."
Still laughing, he walked off. More tears streamed down Thalassa's face. She'd known that her mother-in-law had never liked her, but to hate her much, to construct such a plot against her?
Her eyes scanned the room and its cold, barren walls before settling on the bed that looked like it had seen better days. This was where she was-a place meant for criminals.
Her heart broke a million times over as she sank onto the bed. How could Kris have done this to her?
She wasn't going to deceive herself into thinking that her marriage had been perfect before this. It had been far from it.
While they were dating, Kris had been the perfect gentleman, always putting her needs first.
He'd gone against his own mother and his family members when they disapproved of their relationship, and the reason was that Thalassa was from a lower class.
He'd even warned reporters and tabloids who'd insinuated that she was a goldigger. He'd been the perfect man.
But all that changed once they got married. Kris transformed into a completely different person.
From the man who always treated her like a queen, he turned into a man who made her cry almost every night with his coldness.
It tormented her all the more because she couldn't understand what could've possibly made him change so much.
To top it off, she'd had to deal with the humiliation from his family members, being treated like a servant in their family home. That was what her life had been like for the past year.
Still, she never would have expected Kris to allow her to be arrested and humiliated like some common criminal. It hurt even more because she was carrying his child.
Lassa sniffed as she placed her hand over her belly. She was pr**nant, but Kris didn't know about it.
She'd found out yesterday, and she'd wanted to tell him, but he hadn't come home in the past two days, and he never bothered to answer any of her calls.
The only person she'd told was Karen, her best friend. Aside from her, no one else knew.
"Don't worry, baby. It's all going to be alright, I promise," she said to her belly, even though she knew it was probably still a clot of bl**d since she was only two months pr**nant.
"Your father is going to realize his mistake any moment now, and he's going to apologize, and everything is going to be alright. You'll see."
The next three days in the holding cell were the most agonizing days of Thalassa's life. Kris never came to get her out or apologize. In fact, nobody came to visit her.
She'd demanded several times for the one phone call she knew she was entitled to, but it was always denied. They hadn't even given her a chance to call a lawyer.
Thalassa had no doubt that this was all Linda Miller using her influence. Was the woman truly intent on having her jailed for something she never did?
On the evening of the third day, Thalassa was lying on the prison bed, crying silently to herself, when she suddenly heard the sound of the prison cell being unlocked.
She quickly sat up, her eyes widening with hope as she saw Mr. Sawyer, Kris's family lawyer.
"You're lucky that the Miller family decided to drop the charges. You're being released," the officer said.
Thalassa's heart leapt with joy. Finally, Kris had realized his mistake. He was surely going to apologize for not trusting her earlier. Everything was going to be alright.
"Thank you so much," she said to the lawyer as she wiped her tears. "But where...where is Kris?"
She stepped outside of the cell, looking down the hallway to see whether Kris was standing anywhere there, but he was nowhere in sight.
"Kris didn't come with me," the lawyer clarified. "He merely sent me to drop the charges and have you released."
Thalassa's heart sank, but she quickly smiled. Kris was probably too busy; that's why he couldn't come, but he was obviously waiting for her at home.
Everything was going to be fine, she assured herself again.
The lawyer began walking to the main station, so Thalassa followed.
The cops had taken her handbag and her phone yesterday, so she was led to sign some documents to finally have her things back.
Once she was done, she turned to the lawyer. "Didn't Kris send a chauffeur? Or are you going to be driving me home?"
The lawyer looked at her. "That's one thing I wanted to talk to you about."
Thalassa's heart skipped a beat. "What about?"
Without answering, the lawyer brought out some papers from his bag and handed them over to her. Thalassa's heart sank as she stared at the words boldly written on top of the first page.
DIVORCE AGREEMENT.
Chapter 3
Thalassa's hands shook as her eyes repeatedly ran over the bold words: DIVORCE AGREEMENT.
Agreement? She certainly didn't remember sitting down to talk about anything. This surely had to be a mistake.
She turned her panicked eyes to the lawyer. "Is this a joke?"
"I don't remember 'comedian' being in my job description, Miss Thompson," the lawyer said, sounding offended.
"Then what is this?" Thalassa demanded, her voice louder than she intended, laden with frustration.
The lawyer's nostrils flared as he looked around at the people staring at them. "It's exactly what you're looking at, Miss Thompson. Kris wants a divorce."
Thalassa noted how he kept referring to her by her maiden name, as if she and Kris were already divorced.
The lawyer took a step closer. "Look, don't make this complicated. You're lucky to be walking away with just a divorce, or you could've spent several years rotting in jail. You should be thankful to Kris that he convinced his mother to drop the charges."
Just like that, Thalassa felt hope spark inside her. Kris had convinced his mother to drop the charges.
That could only mean that he loved her. There was definitely an explanation for all this.
Mr. Sawyer drew a pen from his bag.
"Here, please take the pen and sign the papers. There's no alimony because Kris said you can keep the millions you stole into your offshore accounts. All you have to do is sign at the required spots, and he'll have your belongings delivered to wherever you want."
Before the lawyer could finish speaking, Thalassa had turned and begun storming out of the police station.
Reaching the roadside, she quickly waved her hand at an approaching cab.
The car stopped in front of her, and she didn't waste time entering. "The Miller mansion," she instructed the driver. She still had the divorce papers in her hand, and her heart pounded as she stared at them.
It couldn't be true. This had to be another one of Linda Miller's schemes to separate her and Kris. She wasn't going to believe it until Kris himself told her that he wanted a divorce.
When the driver stopped outside the Miller mansion, she reached into her bag and pulled out some dollar notes. Not caring how much it was, she tossed it at the driver and got out.
She was just about to enter through the gate when a burly security guard stepped in front of her.
"You can't go in," he said gruffly.
Thalassa glared at him. "What do you mean I can't go in? This is my house! I'm Kris's wife!"
"I know that. But I've been given orders by Mrs. Miller not to let you in."
Of course, it was Linda Miller's orders.
Thalassa roughly ran her fingers through her hair, feeling like she was going insane. Without a second thought, she ran past the security guard onto the mansion's compound.
"Hey, I told you you can't go in!" the man hissed, running after her, but his speed was no match for Thalassa's desperation as she ran on and finally entered the house.
The Miller family was all gathered in the living room, but Kris was nowhere in sight. All of them turned to look at her disdainfully before storming towards her.
"What are you doing here, you thief?!" Cynthia, Kris's aunt, demanded.
"This b**ch really has some guts!" Tyler, Kris's younger brother, scoffed.
"I'm going to drag her out by her hair!" Susan, Kris's younger sister, gritted out.
"Ma'am, I tried to stop her, but she just ran past me," the security guard said as he appeared behind Thalassa, grabbing her by the arm.
"It's okay. Let go of her arm," Linda Miller said as she finally stopped in front of Thalassa.
The rest of her family also stopped behind her, their eyes blazing like vultures, waiting to tear Thalassa to shreds.
"You are a shame to show your face here after what you did to my son and our family," Linda sneered, her voice dripping with disgust.
Anger shot through Thalassa as she snapped. "I did not do anything, and you know it! You were the one who sent me to meet that man. Why are you doing this? Why are you lying?"
Her voice broke, which only increased the pleasure on her mother-in-law's face.
"My son wants nothing to do with you anymore, Thalassa, so you have no business being here. Get out of here."
"You're nothing but a snake! I am not leaving until I speak to Kris!" Thalassa stated firmly, glaring back at her.
"Don't speak to my mother like that," Kris's harsh voice sounded as he approached.
Thalassa immediately ran towards him, holding up the divorce papers.
"Kris...your lawyer...he came to me and gave me these papers. He said you wanted a divorce, but I know it's got to be a mistake. It's all a mistake, right?"
Kris stared coldly into her eyes as he answered, "There's no mistake."
Thalassa stumbled back, shaking her head in disbelief.
"Kris...please, you can't... Let's save our marriage. All this is a misunderstanding. I didn't do anything. Please, you've got to believe me."
"Do you really still believe that I want to continue being with a woman like you? You don't even have the decency to admit what you did," Kris snorted, his cold eyes boring into her.
"But I didn't do anything!" Thalassa declared desperately, grabbing onto his arm. "Kris, please be–"
"Let go of me!" he hissed, snatching his arm from her hold.
"Why is the door left open?" A voice came from behind Thalassa.
It was the voice of Karen Blade, her best friend. Hope beamed inside Thalassa.
"Thalassa..." Karen gasped with surprise when she finally saw her. "You're out of jail?"
Thalassa instantly moved towards her and grabbed her hand, leading her to where Kris was standing.
"Karen, please tell Kris. Tell him how I called you after his mother sent me to give the documents to that man. Tell him how I was hesitant because something didn't feel right. Tell him that I'm innocent."
Thalassa waited. Waited for Karen to tell Kris exactly that, but the next words out of her best friend's mouth sent her whole world crashing down.
"I'm sorry, Thalassa, but I'm tired of always covering up your lies. You never called me."
Karen's denial was like a s**p, causing Thalassa to stumble backward as her mouth dropped open in shock.
"But...but Karen...what are you saying? What lies? I called you to tell you about it. You even called me later to ask whether I was on my way to do what my mother-in-law had asked."
Karen's eyes, which usually always shone with affection, now blazed coldly with malice.
"Enough already, Thalassa! Aren't you tired of always telling lies? I'm so tired of always having to lie for you, but I can't anymore. Kris is a good man, and he doesn't deserve your deceptions."
Thalassa's head spun as she tried to process everything. Was she dreaming? She had to be dreaming.
Otherwise, why would her best friend, the person she trusted and confided in the most, betray her like this?
Feeling like her heart was beating out of her ch**t, she turned to Kris, looking at him pleadingly.
"Baby, please, I... I don't know why Karen is lying, but please believe me. I haven't done anything. I've never lied to you."
"You lo**ife thief! So everyone else is a liar except you?" Susan, Kris's sister, snorted as she crossed her arms over her ch**t.
Thalassa paid no heed to her words because they didn't matter. The only person whose opinion mattered to her at that moment was Kris.
"Kris, why aren't you saying anything? Please tell me you believe me."
"I have nothing to say to you apart from the fact that you should sign the divorce papers and disappear from my life. I want nothing to do with you."
"No!" Thalassa declared loudly, throwing the divorce papers to the ground. "I refuse to sign them. Kris, you can't possibly believe that I could lie and steal from you in such a way."
She grabbed his hand, staring into his hard eyes with her pleading ones. "You promised me that nothing would ever come between us. What happened to that promise?"
"That's because I didn't know I was marrying a liar, a thief, and a s**t," he hissed, jerking his hand away.
"It's okay. I've had enough of this woman," Linda Miller said. "If she refuses to sign the divorce papers, we can get it another way. Take her away."
Immediately, the security guard grabbed Thalassa's arm, but just as he was about to drag her away, she yelled,
"I am pr**nant!"
Chapter 4
The hall turned silent. So silent that you could hear a pin drop as everyone stared at Thalassa in shock, but the only reaction she cared about was Kris's.
His nostrils flared, his eyes widening as if demanding to know if she was telling the truth.
"Yes," she nodded earnestly.
"It's true. I found out yesterday. That's why I called you so many times; I wanted to give you the good news, but you never picked up. And when I texted, saying I had something important to tell you, that's what I wanted to share."
Her breath caught as she gauged Kris's reaction, anxiously waiting for his response. His eyes scanned her face as if looking for any hint of lying, his gaze turning conflicted.
Just as Thalassa began to think that he believed her, his mother appeared.
"Son, you can't possibly believe anything that comes out of this wh**e's mouth after everything she has done. She's lying! She's obviously telling you this so that you won't divorce her."
"I am not lying!" Thalassa declared fiercely. "When I found out, I told Karen about it. She-"
"Why do you keep trying to involve me in your lies? You did not tell me anything," Karen denied once again.
This time, Thalassa wasn't surprised by the betrayal, but that didn't make it hurt any less.
At that moment, the look of conflict on Kris's face transformed back into the hard, cold look as he gritted out, "Get out of here."
Thalassa flinched, her throat tightening. "Kris, I just told you that I'm pr**nant. Do you really want me to leave?"
"I am not falling for your lies anymore. I want you out of my life because I can't stand you. I hate you, Thalassa Thompson."
Tears brimmed in Thalassa's eyes as she shook her head vigorously in denial. "You... You don't mean that."
Kris let out a chuckle so cold that it sent a shiver down her spine. "You're right, I don't mean that. Because I don't hate you, Thalassa. I f**king despise you."
The tears finally fell down her face. In that moment, the pain that went through her heart was so sharp and intense that it felt like a knife piercing through her.
She had to wait a few seconds for the pain to subside.
"Fine," she finally said, wiping furiously at the tears streaming down her cheeks. "Give me a pen, and I'll sign the divorce papers."
She was done. Done being humiliated. Done trying to prove her innocence to Kris. If he despised her, then so be it.
A pen was thrust in front of her. Without even bothering to see who was offering her the pen, Thalassa grabbed it and walked towards the center table in the living room.
Squatting, she placed the divorce papers on top of the table and signed all the required spots.
Once done, she closed it and walked back towards where Kris was standing.
"Here," she said, her voice and expression now devoid of any emotion. "I've signed them. Just like you wanted."
Kris took the papers from her hand, his eyes never leaving hers.
"Once you decide, let me know where you want your belongings to be taken, and I'll have them brought to you."
And just like that, he turned and walked off, never looking back as he climbed the stairs.
Once he disappeared from view, Thalassa slowly turned to look at the people behind her.
They all had victorious smirks on their faces, except for Karen, who didn't even have the guts to look at her.
"What are you still doing here, b**ch? My brother has divorced you already. Tomas, take her away," Kris's brother, Tyler, instructed.
Just as the security guard grabbed her by the arm, Thalassa jerked herself free and coldly said, "I know my way out."
With her head held high, she began walking towards the door, but just as she was passing by her ex-mother-in-law, the woman grabbed her by the arm and whispered for only her to hear, "Do you really think you're going to have that ba**ard you're trying to pass off as my grandson?"
When Linda Miller finally let her go, Thalassa didn't respond as she continued her way outside.
She couldn't have responded even if she wanted to because she felt tired. Exhausted. Numb.
One year of enduring Kris's suddenly cold attitude and his family's humiliation, trying her very best to make her marriage work, and what did she have to show for it? Nothing. It had all been for nothing.
Once outside the Miller Mansion, Thalassa kept walking. She didn't know how long she had walked. Neither did she know where she was going.
All she knew was that her whole world had come crashing down around her, and she didn't know how to pick up the pieces.
Her surroundings came sharply into focus when a hand suddenly grabbed her from behind and shoved her into a dark alley.
As her heart skipped a beat, Thalassa let out a scream, but the person who had grabbed her quickly covered her mouth with his hand.
"Don't you dare scream!" her attacker hissed. It was a man, and his face was covered with a mask.
Thalassa sucked in a breath, realizing how reckless she'd been for wandering alone at this time of night.
No, she couldn't let anything happen to her. She'd been through too much to add this on top of it.
With all her might, she clamped her teeth on his hand, biting him fiercely. The man shrieked, letting go of her.
But before she could use that opportunity to run, he grabbed her by the neck and slammed her into the wall before vi**ently kn**ing her in the stomach.
Thalassa gasped as pain shot through her abdomen, and her eyes widened with dread. Her baby!
"Don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me," she pleaded. "You can take everything I have on me, but please don't hurt me. I am pr**nant."
The man laughed callously. "Who says I care?" Leaning forward, he whispered into her ear, "I've been sent to give you a message; next time, don't mingle where you don't belong."
Then he h*t her in the stomach with his knee again, this time more fi**cely than before. Thalassa let out a gr**n of pain, her body going weak as she sank to the ground.
She clutched her abdomen as she lay on the ground, her voice weak as she pleaded, "I beg you. Please don't hurt me. I am pr**nant. Why are you doing this? Please have some mercy. Please."
But all her pleas fell on deaf ears. The man began ki**ing her in the abdomen, over and over again. The more she begged him, the more he ki**ed.
By the time he stopped, Thalassa had tears streaming down her face as she gr**ned repeatedly in pain. It took her several seconds to realize that her attacker had left.
Her whole body hurt as she braced her hand on the ground and forced herself to sit up, but she froze when she realized she was bl**ding.
Panic shot through her. No! Her baby! Her baby! She needed to save her baby.
With the last bit of strength she had, she crawled out of the alley, weakly calling out, "Help me. Please, help me."
She tried getting up to her feet, but it hurt too much, so she just kept on crawling as she continued calling for help.
She saw a woman approach and stretched out her hand. "Please...help me."
The woman looked freaked out and quickly ran off without even turning back to look at her.
"No...please, don't go. Help me."
She was feeling too weak. The whole world spun in front of her eyes before she collapsed on the floor, and everything went black.
......
What happens next?
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&3&
My beta mate, Kyan, got injured in a rogue attack and lost his memory.
He forgot about me, pr**nant with his pup, and ma**ed another she-wolf, Gamma Evelyn.
Kyan claimed Evelyn was his true mate, saying an omega like me wasn't worthy of him.
As he wished, I ended our mate bond.
Later, at my bonding ceremony with the Alpha King, Kyan's eyes reddened. "You're marrying someone else with my pup?"
I touched my flat stomach and replied calmly, "Of course not. Your pup is gone."
1
On the day of my pr**atal checkup, my beta husband, Kyan, didn't show up.
He chose to pick up his ex-girlfriend, Evelyn, and bring her back to the pack instead of going with me to the hospital.
On their way, rogues attacked them.
When I rushed to the packhouse, worried, I caught Kyan ki**ing Evelyn pa**ionately.
"Kyan, what are you doing?" I couldn't believe it.
My mate, who once swore loyalty to me before the Moon Goddess, betrayed me!
"Who are you? I don't even know you,"
Kyan said, staring at me blankly. I soon learned from the pack doctor what happened.
Kyan got a head injury during the rogue attack and lost his memory.
I was stunned. "How could this happen?"
Kyan remembered everyone except me, his pr**nant mate.
Evelyn tried to comfort me, but her tone was sharp. "Sweetheart, you can't imagine how terrifying it is to face rogues. After all, you're just an omega who can't do anything."
"I'm marking Evelyn. She's the she-wolf who saved me on the battlefield," Kyan declared.
"I was the one who saved you," I said, my heart breaking.
"Don't lie, Violet. You're just a lowly omega. How could you possibly save me?" Kyan's gaze was full of disgust. "Even if I was blind back then, I'd know it was a strong she-wolf like Evelyn who helped me!"
I never told Kyan that our first meeting was on the battlefield.
He got injured in the eyes, and I shifted, carrying him across the snowy mountains to a healer for help.
I didn't want him to love me just out of gratitude.
But now, Evelyn took credit for my actions and was stealing my mate!
I couldn't accept this.
To help Kyan remember me, I ignored the discomfort of early pr**nancy, traveled across the five packs, sought every wolf healer, and even turned to a witch.
When I returned to the packhouse with a hard-earned potion, I overheard Kyan talking to his friend Boris. "Kyan, you didn't lose your memory. Why not just reject Violet outright?"
"Violet would never accept rejection. She's too vain, clinging to her place in the beta's house. Faking amnesia is the only way to get rid of her," Kyan replied.
Boris warned, "She's carrying your pup."
"Evelyn got injured saving me on the battlefield and can't have pups. Violet's lowly omega bl**d might taint my pup, but if we take it, Evelyn will raise it to be a fine heir," Kyan said.
His words stabbed my heart like a knife. "Once Violet gives birth, she'll be banished from the pack."
I felt the world spin and covered my mouth to keep from vomiting.
Kyan revealed how he and Evelyn rekindled their romance behind my back.
I realized they'd been together for years.
Kyan often used pack business as an excuse to sl**p with her, promising to bring her home if she got pr**nant.
But Evelyn couldn't have pups.
So they targeted my womb.
Kyan didn't love me anymore. He just wanted me to bear a pup for him and Evelyn.
I don't know how I managed to stay silent and leave the packhouse without a sound.
I pulled out my phone and dialed my brother's number, which I hadn't called in ages. "Carlos, I regret it. Take me home..."
Before I heard a reply, sharp pains shot through my stomach.
Pain and panic drained my strength, and my phone crashed to the ground.
I looked down as warm crimson spread across my white dress, staining it red.
Chapter 2
I got rushed to the hospital.
The doctor warned, "Ma'am, your condition is critical. You need surgery immediately. Get your mate to sign the consent form."
"I'll sign. I'm her brother," a deep voice said.
My brother, Alpha Carlos, took my hand. "Don't be scared, V. I'm right outside waiting for you."
Carlos's warmth and support made me feel even more ashamed.
Three years ago, I chose Kyan over my Alpha family.
That decision broke their hearts.
I got wheeled into the operating room.
On the cold surgical table, memories of my five years as Kyan's mate flooded back.
I wasn't born an omega's daughter but the daughter of the Alpha of Silvermoon, the strongest pack.
The moment I saved Kyan on the battlefield, I fell for him instantly.
I cared for him quietly for three months while he was blind and escorted him back to Stonepack.
Kyan vowed to repay me and gave me a moonstone bracelet.
It was the only valuable thing he owned.
His sincere promise still lingered in my mind.
Back then, Kyan wasn't a beta, just an ordinary wolf.
My Alpha family didn't approve of him and opposed our bond.
But I believed I could make Kyan love me for who I was, without my family's status.
Using a potion, I disguised myself as an ordinary omega and stood by Kyan through his toughest times.
While Evelyn abandoned him for power, I spent all my savings on him.
I ran around, arranging everything, and got him into the best warrior training camp.
Eventually, Kyan rose to become Stonepack's beta.
On the day Alpha Eva granted him that honor, he proposed to me.
He swore under the Moon Goddess's witness never to abandon me.
That was the happiest day of my life.
Could Kyan and I really never go back?
"The patient's bl**d pressure is dropping too fast. The baby can't be saved... Prepare for emergency measures!"
"Please, save my child!" I wanted to beg through my tears, but no sound came out.
In the worst pain, words failed me.
The sounds of the operating room grew chaotic as my consciousness faded.
Carlos pleaded through the mindlink, urging me to hold on.
He used my phone, dialing Kyan's number repeatedly.
When the call finally connected, I heard the sounds of in**mate ga**s from a man and a woman.
"Kyan, stop it. Your mate's looking for you," a voice said.
"Forget that bi**h, babe. You're so ti**t. I'm close," Kyan replied.
The words pierced my ears, and the physical pain paled compared to the agony in my heart.
While my child and I hovered between life and death, Kyan was inside another she-wolf!
The pain lasted three grueling hours.
The surgery ended, but my first pup was gone forever.
I thought I'd cry, but my eyes stayed dry.
Since Kyan faked his amnesia, I had already shed too many tears.
Alpha Carlos gripped my hand tightly by my bedside, and my parents came too.
Only then did I notice how much my once-invincible Alpha parents had aged.
My father's voice was hoarse. "I've sent people to find Kyan. He'll come to the hospital to care for you."
"No need, Dad," I said, resolute. "I'm done with Kyan."
It was time to end this rotten mate bond.
Chapter 3
I returned to the packhouse a week later.
The home I lived in for five years looked completely different, with no trace of my life left.
Evelyn strutted in high heels across a new carpet.
She bossed around omega servants, ordering them to fill the living room with lily-scented diffusers.
I instinctively objected. "Lily-scented things don't belong in the living room."
"Don't belong?" Evelyn laughed as if I told a ridiculous joke. "Do you still think you're the lady of this house?"
I asked calmly, "I'm just here to get my things."
Evelyn smirked. "That junk? Thrown out ages ago! Stop making excuses to show up here."
"If it's all thrown out, then where did that necklace come from?" I pointed at her neck.
Evelyn touched the necklace proudly. "Kyan gave it to me, of course."
I locked eyes with her. "Give it back."
That was an heirloom from the Silvermoon pack's Alpha family. I wouldn't let Evelyn keep it.
"You dare order me, you bi**h?" Evelyn's hand clamped onto my shoulder.
Her eyes turned red, her hand starting to shift, claws ready to dig into me.
A gamma could easily overpower an omega.
But I wasn't an omega.
I once disguised myself as one for Kyan, but I had no reason to anymore.
The potion's effects had fully worn off.
With a light push, I sent Evelyn sprawling, only for Kyan, who just returned, to catch her in his arms.
Evelyn squeezed out fake tears. "Kyan, don't blame Violet. She's just too emotional."
Kyan looked shocked and furious. "Violet, are you insane? Hurting Evelyn over a necklace?"
See, that was how men were.
The moment you acted like yourself, they called you crazy.
I lost patience. "I don't have time for your games. Hand over the necklace."
Kyan stood angrily, ready to lecture me.
Suddenly, his brows furrowed. He clutched his throat, collapsing to his knees, struggling desperately.
Evelyn froze. "What's happening? Kyan, what's wrong?"
Kyan couldn't speak, his face turning purple.
He looked at me, pleading for help.
Evelyn immediately accused me. "Violet, you evil witch! What did you do to him?"
I raised an eyebrow. "It's not me. It's you. Kyan's severely allergic to lilies."
Evelyn went pale, stammering apologies. "Oh, Kyan, darling, I didn't know..."
"If you really were the she-wolf who saved Kyan on the battlefield and cared for him for three months, how could you not know?" My sharp question left Evelyn flustered.
She turned and shouted at the servants. "There must be medicine in the house, right? Get it now!"
A servant admitted the truth. Evelyn threw out all my belongings, including Kyan's emergency allergy medicine, so nothing was left to help.
Kyan's eyes rolled back as he slipped into a half-conscious state, his hands dropping limply.
Evelyn nearly cried. "I'm sorry! God, what do I do?"
I used to love Kyan so much I couldn't bear to see him suffer.
When I first cared for him while he was blind, I noted his lily allergy.
Over the years, I kept his emergency medicine stocked at home.
I made sure Kyan had the best food, clothes, and gear, while I never bought myself a single new piece of jewelry.
In five years of marriage, the only thing I had to show for it was that Alpha family necklace.
I told Kyan it was my grandmother's heirloom.
Yet he gave it to his mi**ress, shattering the last shred of our bond.
My heart turned cold.
I felt no sympathy for Kyan's suffering now.
I watched long enough before speaking. "Evelyn, if you want to save Kyan, give me back the necklace."
Chapter 4
Evelyn's eyes widened. "You have a way to help him?"
I glanced at my watch. "He's got about thirty seconds left."
Evelyn gritted her teeth, reluctantly tossing the necklace to me.
I tucked it away, pulled an emergency spray from my bag, and used it on Kyan.
Kyan instinctively clung to me, slowly regaining consciousness.
When he saw it was me, his eyes filled with surprise. "Why do you carry my medicine?" he asked through the mindlink.
I pushed him away without answering.
This time, I blocked our mindlink.
It was laughable that Kyan never noticed.
His comfortable, smooth life came from me, the "useless" omega housewife he despised.
My bag held almost nothing for myself.
From the day we became mates, my world revolved around him, leaving no room for me.
I never broke that habit.
Evelyn helped Kyan stand. "Did you come back to k**l Kyan?"
"Of course not," I said with a smile, shaking my head. "I came to reject him."
Under Kyan and Evelyn's shocked stares, I spoke slowly. "I, Violet Hearst, under the Moon Goddess's witness, reject you, Kyan Wallet, as my mate."
Kyan looked like he'd been struck by lightning. "You dare reject me?"
I answered earnestly. "Kyan, you don't remember me, so I must mean nothing to your life. If that's the case, I set you free. And I free myself too."
Kyan stared at me, his expression complex, as if seeing me for the first time.
I knew he wanted to reject me and bond with Evelyn again.
So why did he hesitate when the chance was right in front of him?
Evelyn could hardly contain her excitement. "Kyan, accept it!"
She'd been waiting for this.
After a long silence, Kyan finally said, "I accept your rejection."
A sharp pain tore through my body, like half my soul got ripped away.
A minute passed, or maybe a century.
I should've collapsed, unable to bear it.
But no pain in the world compared to the surgery that took my pup.
I held on.
Not a single cry, not a single tear.
Meanwhile, the noble Beta Kyan clung to Evelyn, wincing in pain.
Evelyn comforted him, glancing at me with a triumphant, challenging look, claiming her victory.
I turned to leave, but a group of guards blocked my path.
"Detain Omega Violet," Kyan ordered quietly. "Be gentle." His gaze lingered on my stomach.
I understood instantly. Even after accepting my rejection, Kyan still planned to take my pup.
He intended to keep me confined until I gave birth.
But Kyan didn't know the heir he obsessed over died a week ago, by his own doing.
Before the guards' claws could touch me, a powerful Alpha presence filled the room.
My brother approached. "What's taking so long?"
Kyan's shock returned. "Alpha Carlos, why are you in Stonepack?"
Carlos draped his coat over my shoulders, his gaze soft. "For my family."
Kyan laughed in disbelief. "Impossible! Violet's just a lowly omega. How could she have an Alpha family?"
Chapter 5
I didn't answer.
For five years of marriage, Kyan never knew my true identity.
If he paid even a little attention, he'd have noticed my last name, Hearst, matched the Alpha family of Silvermoon, the strongest pack.
Evelyn raised her voice, accusing me. "No wonder you dared to come back and stir trouble, Violet! You've been hooking up with an Alpha wolf! Shameless!"
"Right..." Kyan snapped out of his daze. "Violet can't be from an Alpha family. You must've cheated..."
Carlos couldn't stand their nonsense any longer.
His Alpha command boomed. "Silence."
Evelyn's words cut off, her eyes wide with panic, like a chicken with its throat grabbed.
My brother shielded me as we left, his Alpha presence unchallenged, even by Kyan.
We got into the Maybach, but Kyan chased after us.
Unable to speak, his face was a mix of emotions, eyes practically glued to the car as we drove off.
I returned to Silvermoon.
Everything here felt the same, and I was still my parents' beloved little princess.
"We'll announce to the entire werewolf world that our precious daughter is back. We'll find you the best second mate!"
My mother held me close, comforting me.
The next day, Silvermoon hosted a grand banquet, inviting high-ranking wolves from every pack.
I didn't feel like socializing, so Carlos stayed with me on the second floor.
He suddenly brought up a name. "Your former fiancé, Alpha Damian, still hasn't marked anyone."
I shook my head. "I don't want Damian to accept me just because of Silvermoon's power."
I lost a pup and rejected a mate.
Any Alpha would care about that, and I didn't think Damian would be an exception.
Besides, I was the one who broke off our engagement back then.
Carlos left to meet some pack Alphas, and I went downstairs alone to get some air.
Unfortunately, I ran into Evelyn and Kyan at the staircase.
Evelyn clung to Kyan's arm, her smile sickeningly sweet.
I wanted to pretend I didn't see them.
Kyan blocked my path, his face sour. "Violet, I don't know how you sneaked in, but get out now. This isn't a place for lowlife wolves!"
"And what are you doing here?" I found it laughable. Carlos definitely didn't invite them.
How did they have the nerve to show up?
Evelyn gripped Kyan's arm, her expression smug. "Silvermoon's Alpha daughter is back, so we came to bring a gift."
A gift for me?
I nearly laughed out loud. "The best gift you could give me is to leave right now."
I ignored them and used the mindlink to tell the guards to kick them out.
Just then, a servant brought me medicine and water, reminding me it was time to take it.
After the surgery, I went for a follow-up at the hospital.
Because of long-term potion use and my mi**arriage, the doctor prescribed pills I needed to take regularly.
As I reached for the medicine, Kyan rushed forward, knocking the glass and pills to the floor.
His expression twisted. "Violet, you're so selfish! How dare you take medicine? Don't you know it could harm our pup?"
I sneered. "Kyan, so you remember everything. You never lost your memory, did you?"
......
What happens next?
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&1&
Depois de um grave acidente de carro, o homem que ela amava ficou preso a uma cadeira de rodas e perdeu a memória. Para que ele tivesse vontade de viver, ela aceitou se casar com ele, ajudando-o silenciosamente a se reerguer, passo a passo. Quando ele finalmente recuperou a saúde, ela fez as malas e decidiu partir. Com os olhos marejados, ele a abraçou com força, afinal, há três anos, ele já estava completamente apaixonado por ela.
=====
Com a chegada de março, Shoildon fervilhava com uma notícia bombástica após a outra.
Tudo começou com a informação de que Isaac Bennett -- o primogênito da família mais rica e influente da cidade -- havia sofrido um terrível acidente automobilístico que o deixou paralisado da cintura para baixo.
Não levou muito tempo para que outra notícia bombástica se espalhasse -- a prestigiosa família Bennett havia decidido se unir à recém-ascendente família Willis através do casamento.
A maior comoção resultou do casal em si -- o noivo, ninguém menos que o agora incapacitado Isaac, e a noiva, a filha mais velha da família Willis, uma jovem que havia sido criada num afastado vilarejo na zona rural, longe do refinamento da cidade.
A quilômetros de distância do horizonte cintilante de Shoildon, Verena Willis, o nome que agora circulava na boca de todos, permanecia em Trisas, o pequeno vilarejo onde vivia.
Ela estava sentada na modesta sala de estar quando o silêncio foi subitamente quebrado pela notificação de uma mensagem recebida no celular.
Um olhar de relance para a tela mostrou a mensagem da sua assistente. "Tenho um paciente com um caso extremamente raro, Evelyn. Já faz seis meses que ele está te esperando. Quando pode vir para dar uma olhada?"
A tela voltou a escurecer quando Verena pressionou o botão de desligar, seus dedos delicados pairando sobre o dispositivo. Nesse momento, uma profunda tristeza cintilou nos seus olhos claros.
Pelo mundo afora, as pessoas a conheciam como Evelyn Rowe -- a milagrosa curandeira -- mas para ela, a fama não significava nada quando não tinha sido capaz de salvar justamente a pessoa que mais amava neste mundo.
Sua amada avó havia partido bem no momento em que ela pegou o bisturi, incapaz de esperar mais.
O som das vozes abafadas e tensas de um casal soou atrás dela, a discussão acalorada entre ambos vazando pelas paredes finas da casa.
"Onde está sua sensibilidade, Laura? Minha mãe mal foi enterrada e você já está falando em partir!"
"A empresa está atolada em trabalho acumulado, Alec, e a festa de dezoito anos da Kaia está se aproximando. Então, me diga o que é mais importante -- trabalho acumulado e uma grande celebração familiar, ou uma pessoa morta? Além do mais, Verena precisa voltar imediatamente para a cidade para aprender boas maneiras. Imagine o quão desastroso será se ela entrar para a família Bennett agindo como uma caipira do interior. Será do nome Willis que todos irão zombar!"
"Para começo de conversa, pare de chamar Verena de caipira. Ela é sua filha!"
"Sim, acha que eu me daria ao trabalho de vir buscá-la se ela não fosse minha filha?"
De onde estava, Verena abafou uma risadinha enquanto a discussão continuava no outro cômodo.
As duas pessoas discutindo no quarto não eram estranhas para ela, mas seus próprios pais, Alec Willis e Laura Willis.
Um dia, eles tinham sido simples empregados, mas depois de galgarem seu caminho centímetro por centímetro, o sucesso finalmente veio.
Naqueles primeiros anos permeados de dificuldades, sem tempo para se dedicarem à criação da filha, eles a deixaram sob os cuidados da avó, Shawna Willis, quando ela tinha apenas um mês de vida.
A despeito das suas agendas atribuladas, eles ainda conseguiam pensar na filha às vezes, enviando notícias ou algum símbolo de afeto quando podiam.
A mudança nas prioridades do casal se iniciou no momento em que seus negócios decolaram e eles montaram sua própria empresa.
Quando tinha sete anos, Verena ganhou uma irmã mais nova, Kaia Willis, e então, todo o interesse dos seus pais por ela começou a diminuir.
Da mesma forma, à medida que a fortuna da família Willis aumentava, eles iam se inserindo sem esforço nos círculos da alta sociedade.
Laura ligava de vez em quando, mas o assunto das suas conversas nunca era a educação ou a saúde da filha mais velha.
Em vez disso, ela falava sobre Kaia, a filha caçula, a quem chamava de amuleto da sorte da família, como se sua única missão como mãe fosse se gabar da criança que supostamente lhes trouxera prosperidade.
Quando Kaia completou três anos, seus pais voltaram a Trisas para uma visita.
Nessa ocasião, Alec comentou sobre levar a filha mais velha e Shawna para viverem em Shoildon, mas a rigidez no sorriso de Laura quando ele disse isso não passou despercebida por Verena.
Mais tarde, o que quer que a esposa tivesse sussurrado para Alec foi o bastante para fazê-lo abandonar a ideia por completo.
Não muito tempo depois de eles regressarem a Shoildon, Laura voltou a en**avidar e deu à luz um filho.
A partir de então, toda a atenção do casal passou a ser dirigida exclusivamente para Kaia e o menino.
E embora o dinheiro chegasse regularmente para Verena e sua avó, seus pais permaneciam distantes por quinze longos anos.
De fato, se não fosse pela morte de Shawna, Verena tinha certeza de que eles teriam continuado a ignorá-las completamente.
...
Somente depois que os ritos funerários foram concluídos, Verena concordou em viajar para Shoildon com eles.
Em meio a tudo isso, por mais que seus pais falassem calorosamente, como se estivessem ansiosos para tê-la por perto, ela sabia muito bem o que estava em jogo.
Afinal, bastava uma rápida busca online para acessar as notícias de Shoildon.
Quando eles estavam chegando à sua residência em Shoildon, Laura finalmente quebrou o silêncio.
"Não se esqueça, Verena -- se alguém te perguntar sobre sua educação, diga que se formou na Faculdade de Medicina de Acorith com um mestrado e que está prestes a iniciar seu estágio..."
De fato, Laura nunca enxergou a filha como algo mais do que uma médica de clínica de interior. Afinal, Trisas não passava de uma cidadezinha montanhosa isolada demais aos seus olhos.
Como Verena nunca havia frequentado a faculdade -- ou assim Laura acreditava -- ela presumiu que a filha apenas havia aprendido algumas habilidades simples com os médicos locais.
Os poucos comentários que ela ouvira de Shawna sobre Verena estar estudando medicina foram suficientes para que tirasse essa conclusão.
O programa de medicina de Acorith era considerado o primeiro do país, e Laura não tinha qualquer escrúpulo em usar o nome da instituição para melhorar a própria imagem, apavorada com a mera possibilidade de alguém descobrir que a prática da sua filha mais velha vinha de um vilarejo onde Judas perdeu as botas.
Para ela, isso seria profundamente humilhante.
Verena zombou intimamente da vaidade de Laura, ciente de que ela nunca havia de fato se esforçado em compreendê-la.
Ironicamente, mal sabia a mãe que a mesma Faculdade de Medicina de Acorith, tão admirada por ela, havia convidado a própria Verena para dar uma palestra para seus alunos no último mês.
Em todos os anos de vida de Verena, sua mãe jamais perguntou sobre sua educação.
Certa vez, Verena adoeceu e acabou perdendo as provas, o que resultou em notas baixas.
Assim, quando Laura soube mais tarde do seu baixo desempenho nesse período, concluiu simplesmente que a filha não era apta para ingressar no ensino superior.
Até mesmo quando a entusiasmada Shawna tentou contar para eles a boa notícia sobre a admissão de Verena numa universidade de primeira linha, ambos os pais simplesmente ignoraram, alegando terem assuntos importantes de trabalho antes de encerrarem abruptamente a ligação.
A partir daquela vez, tanto Shawna quanto Verena pararam de tentar compartilhar algo significativo com eles sobre a vida da filha.
Olhando nos olhos de Laura, Verena disse calmamente: "Mas nunca estudei na Faculdade de Medicina de Acorith."
A franqueza da sua resposta fez com que os lábios de Laura se comprimissem numa linha fina. Para ela, a recusa de Verena em colaborar não era um sinal de força -- era pura teimosia.
Claro que ela sabia que Verena nunca havia estudado lá e justamente por isso tinha pedido para que mentisse.
Aos seus olhos, comparada a Kaia, embora Verena fosse mais bonita, não tinha conquistas para exibir e não passava de um motivo de constrangimento.
Antes que Laura pudesse repreendê-la severamente, a crise de tosse de Alec no banco dianteiro a forçou a engolir as palavras.
Ela então deixou o assunto de lado e mudou o rumo da conversa, usando um tom suave e permeado por uma evidente indulgência.
"De qualquer forma, sua irmã está habituada a ser mimada. Então, tente não provocá-la, está bem? Ela se aborrece com muita facilidade e se recusa a comer quando está de mau humor."
Evidentemente, Verena não pôde deixar de achar isso tudo um tanto ridículo. Com quase dezoito anos, Kaia ainda se comportava como uma criança mimada, sendo a própria imagem do mimo.
A conversa terminou quando o carro estacionou diante de uma luxuosa mansão, que parecia ostentar deliberadamente a riqueza dos seus donos.
Verena foi a primeira a descer do carro, absorvendo a grandiosidade da fachada.
Da porta principal, uma garota usando uma linda camiseta e uma saia curta emergiu correndo na direção deles -- era Kaia, em toda a sua ansiedade juvenil.
"Papai, mamãe, finalmente vocês voltaram!", ela exclamou com a voz vívida e um tanto afoita.
No entanto, o brilho no seu olhar diminuiu quando ela avistou Verena. Seus olhos então pairaram na irmã mais velha, medindo-a de cima a baixo.
Usando um moletom creme simples e uma calça amarelo-pálido, combinados com tênis brancos e impecavelmente limpos, Verena parecia bastante comum à primeira vista.
Apesar disso, seus traços delicados e a pele impecável, aliados à sua aura calma e distante, conferiam a ela uma beleza que não podia ser ignorada.
De fato, nada nela denunciava os anos passados numa cidadezinha remota nas montanhas.
Kaia, por sua vez, sabia exatamente quem estava à sua frente -- sua irmã de sa**ue -- mas as duas nunca tinham compartilhado um lar.
A vida em Shoildon havia feito de Kaia a princesinha intocável e mimada da família Willis, a joia aos olhos dos seus pais.
Assim, o reaparecimento súbito de uma irmã mais velha provocou nela um sutil e desconfortável aperto no pe**o.
"Ah, Kaia, tenha dó. Como pode vir aqui fora vestindo tão pouca roupa? Não está congelando?"
Olhando com desaprovação o tecido fino das roupas de Kaia, Laura rapidamente tirou o próprio casaco e o colocou nos ombros dela.
Com uma risadinha, Kaia abraçou a mãe. "Ha-ha, nem está fazendo frio, mamãe."
Essa era uma cena calorosa o bastante para derreter qualquer corrente de ar frio -- mas Verena nunca tinha feito parte de tais momentos.
Rindo juntas, Kaia e Laura seguiram para dentro de casa, deixando Verena ali, como se sua chegada já tivesse sido esquecida.
Enquanto caminhava, Kaia olhou para Verena por um breve momento, lançando um olhar demorado e indecifrável por cima do ombro.
Quando Alec viu a filha caçula, seu olhar suavizou e ele se virou para se aproximar de Verena.
"Esta é Kaia, sua irmã. Ela tem se saído muito bem nos estudos. Conseguiu tirar notas altas no vestibular e já garantiu uma vaga na Faculdade de Medicina de Acorith..."
Capítulo 2 A falta de sinceridade de Kaia
Alec estacou por um momento, parecendo se dar conta de algo.
Ele se lembrou de uma conversa com sua mãe anos antes, quando ela mencionou casualmente que Verena nunca havia feito nenhum exame de admissão para a faculdade.
Então um suspiro longo e cansado escapou dos lábios dele. "Se você fosse mais parecida com Kaia, estaria numa situação muito melhor."
Verena nem se deu ao trabalho de responder. O comentário era absurdo o bastante para diverti-la.
Eles eram capazes de se lembrar de cada pequena peculiaridade de Kaia, mas quando se tratava de algo tão importante quanto sua própria educação, ninguém nunca se preocupou em perguntar, simplesmente assumindo que, em comparação com a irmã mais nova, ela sempre seria diminuída.
...
A imponente residência da família Willis mais parecia território estrangeiro para Verena.
De fato, era bastante estranho para ela pensar que estava entrando pela primeira vez nessa casa, que supostamente era para ser seu lar.
Laura a guiou pelo corredor em direção a um quarto, apresentando o local com a voz solícita e um sorriso reconfortante no rosto. "Se algo aqui não te agradar, basta me dizer, está bem?"
Verena, por sua vez, mantinha um tom neutro. "Está bem, mãe, obrigada."
"Querida, não precisa ser tão formal comigo. Sou sua mãe."
Vendo que Laura permanecia na porta sem dar sinais de sair, Verena perguntou: "Algo mais?"
A história de Laura e Alec no mundo dos negócios e sua ascensão a um lugar na alta sociedade era fruto de anos de batalha, aproveitando cada oportunidade surgida.
Ainda assim, eles continuavam sendo considerados novos ricos no seleto grupo, e muitos os viam como meros forasteiros.
A família Bennett, por outro lado, era exatamente oposto -- uma dinastia rica, bem conectada e profundamente enraizada num prestígio de longa data.
Evidentemente, quando a prestigiosa família Bennett sugeriu uma aliança matrimonial, Laura nem cogitou recusar.
Ela já podia imaginar os benefícios que tal união lhes traria, visualizando todas as portas que isso abriria.
No entanto, com a fatalidade envolvendo o acidente de Isaac, que ficou incapacitado, Laura simplesmente não conseguia imaginar sua preciosa filha caçula como esposa dele.
Foi então que ela decidiu trazer a filha mais velha para viver na mansão com eles.
Por um breve momento, ao encarar o olhar sereno e inabalável de Verena, Laura não pôde deixar de sentir uma ponta de culpa.
Mas o fato era que ela não tinha acompanhado a criação da filha e, consequentemente, não havia um vínculo real entre elas.
Então, embora sua culpa fosse genuína, o distanciamento entre ambas prevalecia.
Talvez como uma forma de amenizar a própria culpa, Laura dizia a si mesma que esta era uma oportunidade única para Verena.
Levando-se em conta que era uma garota criada num lugarejo remoto e pouco desenvolvido, que não ia bem na escola e agora trabalhava como médica numa cidade pacata como Trisas, ela só poderia se beneficiar ao se casar com um membro da família Bennett.
Incapacitado ou não, Isaac representava riqueza, conforto e segurança. Que jovem não iria querer isso?
"Bem, você precisa descansar um pouco agora, Verena. Há alguém que quero que conheça hoje à noite, então vou apresentar vocês."
Verena tampouco precisava perguntar, pois tinha certeza de que a tal pessoa era Isaac. Afinal, ela já tinha lido online sobre o acidente dele.
Realmente, esperar algo diferente desses pais tinha sido uma grande tolice. Esse pensamento a fez querer rir e menear a cabeça ao mesmo tempo.
Era verdade que filhos que cresciam se sentindo mais como um pensamento tardio aprendiam a carregar tanto a amargura quanto a resignação.
"Está bem", Verena assentiu simplesmente, embora sua concordância não tivesse nada a ver com as expectativas de Laura.
Ela tinha vindo para Shoildon com apenas um propósito em mente -- Isaac Bennett.
Um pensamento silencioso cruzou sua mente, imaginando como ele poderia estar nesse momento.
Os lábios de Laura se curvaram ligeiramente diante da falta de resistência de Verena. "Ótimo. Procure descansar um pouco, então. Vou te deixar em paz."
Quando estava prestes a sair, ela se virou uma última vez para Verena e disse: "Quando você o vir esta noite, se alguém perguntar sobre sua escolaridade, diga que se formou na Faculdade de Medicina de Acorith com um mestrado. Não se preocupe com a possibilidade de eles descobrirem o contrário -- eu cuidarei disso."
Tão logo a porta se fechou, Verena se esticou na cama. Erguendo a mão direita, ela notou o leve tremor dos seus dedos.
Seis dias haviam se passado desde o fatídico momento em que ela não foi capaz de salvar a vida de Shawna na mesa de cirurgia.
O bisturi escorregou, e sua mão direita não parou de tremer desde então. Para um cirurgião, um tremor como esse era o caminho mais certo para a ruína.
A mente de Verena permanecia em turbilhão até que o sono finalmente veio, puxando-a para um sonho inquietante.
Em outro cômodo da casa, Kaia estava deitada relaxadamente no sofá, a tela do celular se iluminando com mensagens num grupo de bate-papo. Todos queriam saber -- sua irmã era bonita?
A pergunta azedou instantaneamente o humor de Kaia. Chamar Verena de bonita parecia um eufemismo, pois sua beleza era tão impactante que tinha o poder de manter os olhares cativos, mesmo quando usava roupas simples.
Sua pele era sedosa e sem máculas, quase refinada demais para alguém que havia passado anos num lugarejo remoto.
Na verdade, Kaia se sentia como uma mera coadjuvante ao seu lado -- doce e inofensiva, mas absolutamente sem graça.
As perguntas repletas de curiosidade continuavam chegando, então Kaia finalmente digitou de volta. "Ela é normal, não é feia."
Claro que ela sabia que a resposta era uma mentira descarada, mas as palavras escaparam instintivamente.
Até o momento, todos em Shoildon vinham escutando rumores sobre o casamento iminente entre as famílias Bennett e Willis.
Os jovens ricos da cidade estavam curiosos sobre a futura mulher com quem Isaac -- um homem que outrora tinha sido uma promessa incomparável -- estava prestes a se casar.
Diante da resposta morna de Kaia, o grupo ficou em silêncio. Não era feia... Bem, esse era o tipo de resposta que insinuava que a mulher em questão era, no máximo, comum. Pobre Isaac...
Entre os que liam as mensagens trocadas estava Bobby Bennett, o irmão mais novo de Isaac.
Um xi**amento afiado escapou dos seus lábios e ele se virou para sua mãe, Danica Bennett.
"Entendo que as pernas do meu irmão não estão na melhor forma, mãe... mas você precisa arranjar uma mulher qualquer para ele? Kaia está dizendo que a irmã dela não é exatamente o que se pode chamar de atraente."
O comentário atingiu Danica com uma dor surda. Como qualquer mãe, era evidente que ela desejava que o filho tivesse um casamento digno.
Ainda assim, a condição de Isaac ia muito além das suas pernas inabilitadas. Certos aspectos da sua saúde relacionados à masculinidade tinham sido danificados.
Como matriarca da família Bennett, ela não podia permitir que rumores sobre a vida privada do filho saíssem do controle.
Assim, o caminho mais seguro era escolher uma noiva que não representasse uma ameaça -- Verena Willis, a filha mais velha da emergente família Willis.
"Bem, esta é minha decisão, e você não tem nada que se intrometer nisso", ela retrucou, mascarando suas emoções com um tom frio.
A mandíbula de Bobby se contraiu de raiva, mas ele não disse mais nada.
Imperturbável, Danica se afastou e começou a subir a escada, desinteressada em acalmar o temperamento do filho.
Laura tinha acabado de enviar uma mensagem para ela, pedindo que organizasse um encontro entre Verena e Isaac para essa noite.
Ao entrar no quarto mal iluminado de Isaac, Danica caminhou decididamente até a janela e abriu as cortinas sem qualquer hesitação, permitindo que a intensa luz do dia inundasse o piso, afastando a penumbra.
Isaac estava deitado na cama, seus olhos sombreados e fixos num ponto, seus traços tão bem definidos como sempre.
Vendo que ele estava acordado, Danica falou num tom franco. "Você tem um encontro com uma jovem esta noite. E vai se casar com ela."
"Se esse é o plano desde o início, por que perder tempo com um encontro? Basta marcar o casamento e pronto", Isaac respondeu num tom indiferente.
Um misto de compaixão e silenciosa indignação obscureceu o olhar de Danica. Ninguém fora da família sabia que o acidente tinha tirado não apenas a saúde de Isaac, mas também a vida do marido dela.
Com o filho nesse estado, ela não se atrevia a anunciar a morte do marido, temendo que isso pudesse abalar a estabilidade da empresa.
"Não dificulte as coisas para mim com isso. Acontece que a boa educação pede que você a conheça primeiro."
Quando ela deixou o quarto, as sombras pareciam se fechar ao redor de Isaac novamente.
A dor e o desprezo por si mesmo obscureciam seus olhos. Na sua mente, a morte do seu pai era um farto que teria que carregar até o fim da vida.
Quando o crepúsculo se instalou, Verena foi despertada por algumas batidas leves na porta.
Entrando sem pedir licença, Kaia disse num tom que oscilava entre uma alegria forçada e uma condescendência quase transparente: "Você está prestes a se casar com um membro da família Bennett, Verena. Meus parabéns. Eles são a família mais proeminente de Shoildon."
Os anos passados no exterior estudando haviam aguçado os instintos de Verena.
Se tinha uma coisa que ela podia perceber nas palavras de Kaia, era a evidente falta de sinceridade, pois bastava um olhar para saber que sua irmã mais nova não gostava dela.
Sem dizer uma palavra, Verena continuou dobrando o cobertor, esperando pacientemente para ouvir o que mais Kaia tinha para lhe dizer.
Capítulo 3 Ela não é boa o bastante para você
Diante do silêncio de Verena, Kaia acrescentou: "A família Bennett pode até ter um bom nome, mas Isaac possui limitações físicas. Dizem que quando um homem tem as pernas paralisadas, sua função se**al costuma ser afetada também. Sinceramente, não quero que você se case com ele."
Embora Kaia tentasse fazer com que suas palavras soassem preocupadas, sua verdadeira esperança era que Verena não se tornasse um membro da família Bennett.
Mesmo com os problemas de saúde, Isaac ainda era alguém que já havia estado no seu radar, e ela sabia muito bem que a irmã teria uma vida indubitavelmente melhor do que a sua se de fato se casasse com ele.
Compreendendo perfeitamente onde Kaia queria chegar, Verena falou sem rodeios. "Olhe, se você não gosta de mim, tudo bem. Não precisa fingir preocupação porque..."
Ela parou no meio da frase ao notar o lampejo de surpresa nos olhos de Kaia, então prosseguiu como se nada tivesse acontecido: "Porque o sentimento é mútuo. Também não gosto de você."
Essa verdade despejada de maneira tão direta deixou Kaia momentaneamente sem palavras. Ela jamais poderia imaginar que Verena fosse rechaçar seu fingimento e desmascará-la tão abertamente.
Foi somente quando Verena se moveu para deixar o quarto que Kaia voltou a encontrar sua voz.
Batendo o pé de raiva, ela esbravejou: "Quem você pensa que é? Sua arrogante! Não passa de uma caipira vinda de um lugar esquecido."
Nesse momento, Verena tinha acabado de alcançar a porta. Ao ouvir o in**lto, ela parou do lado de fora e se virou, encarando Kaia.
"Acontece que seus pais vieram desse mesmo lugar esquecido. Devo contar para eles que você considera caipiras todos que vieram de lá?"
Essas palavras deixaram Kaia paralisada onde estava. O olhar aguçado e inflexível de Verena a fez sentir como se cada pensamento oculto seu tivesse sido revelado.
Evidentemente, isso serviu apenas para aprofundar sua antipatia pela irmã mais velha. Desta vez, no entanto, ela não retrucou e apenas saiu apressada.
Momentos depois que Kaia desceu a escada, Laura surgiu diante de Verena.
Só pela expressão sombria no olhar dela, Verena entendeu o que havia acontecido -- Kaia certamente devia ter corrido até a mãe para contar que havia sido intimidada por ela.
"O que você disse para Kaia?", Laura perguntou num tom afiado e acusador, como se já tivesse tomado o lado da filha mais nova.
Era evidente que ela não tinha sequer considerado a possibilidade de haver outro lado na história.
Esse julgamento às cegas era algo que Verena achava difícil de tolerar. Esboçando um sorriso irônico, ela perguntou: "E o que foi que ela te contou?"
A pergunta deixou Laura ainda mais irritada, e ela pensou que o fato de ter crescido numa área rural havia privado sua filha mais velha de boas maneiras. "Sou eu quem está perguntando para você!"
"Ela me chamou de caipira, então eu apenas lembrei que você e o papai também deviam ser caipiras, já que cresceram no mesmo lugar que eu."
"Isso é ridículo! Kaia jamais diria algo tão desrespeitoso. Como se não bastasse ter irritado sua irmã, você agora inventa mentiras? Você é muito cara de pau, Verena", Laura retrucou, sua fúria se aprofundando.
Tudo isso parecia um absurdo sem fim para Verena. Laura tinha vindo pressioná-la por uma resposta, mas simplesmente se recusava a acreditar quando ela lhe dava e só estava interessada em ouvir aquilo que combinasse com sua própria opinião?
Verena, por sua vez, não era o tipo de pessoa que costumava recuar e possuía uma maneira peculiar de provocar ainda mais as pessoas.
A recusa de Laura em acreditar nas suas palavras a levou a dizer: "Bem, se você já decidiu que estou mentindo, então que seja. Não importa o que eu diga, é na Kaia que você vai acreditar. Mas fique sabendo que nunca conseguirá arrancar de mim um pedido de desculpas. Já que sou um problema tão grande, vou simplesmente voltar para o campo e deixar que a própria Kaia se case com Isaac."
Como sabia exatamente quais eram as intenções de Laura, ela usou isso para calá-la.
"Sua...!", Laura rosnou, se sentindo genuinamente atingida, mas então se conteve ao se lembrar do verdadeiro motivo pelo qual havia trazido a filha mais velha para Shoildon.
Ela não conseguia entender como suas filhas tinham se tornado tão diferentes -- Kaia era articulada e possuía lábia, sempre conseguindo dela o que queria, enquanto Verena, ao contrário, era sem graça, teimosa e desonesta. Tantos anos de separação a faziam sentir como se estivesse diante de uma estranha.
"Vá se aprontar. Você vai comigo ao encontro. E trate de trocar de roupa. Vou pedir que uma das empregadas te traga algo decente para vestir."
A decisão de Verena de vir para Shoildon não tinha nada a ver com as intenções injustamente tendenciosas dos seus pais. No momento em que viu a notícia, ela reconheceu Isaac.
Ela não estava nem um pouco preocupada em se arrumar para vê-lo. Então, quando desceu os degraus, estava vestida exatamente como antes.
Esperando por ela ao pé da escada, Laura parecia visivelmente desgostosa. "Não falei para trocar de roupa?"
"Ah, não estou a fim", Verena respondeu displicentemente.
"Sua...", Laura começou, mas logo se conteve e apenas a encarou, sua paciência já no limite.
Nesse momento, ela se deu conta de que Verena não era tão submissa ou fácil de controlar quanto havia presumido. Ainda assim, sua prioridade no momento era garantir o arranjo do casamento dela com Isaac.
"Pois muito bem. Se não quer se trocar, então vamos logo..."
...
No grupo de bate-papo dos jovens ricos, Bobby continuava fazendo perguntas para Kaia.
"No que sua irmã trabalha, Kaia?"
Embora estivessem no mesmo grupo, Kaia raramente tinha algum assunto para conversar com Bobby.
Então, sentiu os pensamentos acelerarem no momento em que o viu se dirigir diretamente a ela.
Receosa de que ele se sentisse ignorado, ela se apressou em responder: "Minha mãe me disse que ela trabalha como médica numa cidade pequena."
Bobby franziu ligeiramente as sobrancelhas. Uma médica? Se fosse verdade mesmo, então pelo menos ela poderia cuidar do seu irmão.
Levando isso em consideração, ele tinha que aceitar relutantemente o fato de Verena não ser uma pessoa atraente.
Kaia estava a par da intenção da sua mãe de espalhar a informação de que Verena era graduada pela Faculdade de Medicina de Acorith.
Mas depois de ter dedicado anos de esforços para ingressar nessa mesma universidade e assim ganhar a admiração das pessoas, ela se sentia um tanto irritada por Verena colher tal reconhecimento sem trabalhar realmente por isso.
Assim, com um toque de perversidade permeando sua mente, Kaia acrescentou com um fingido ar de casualidade: "Mas ela nunca frequentou realmente a universidade. É bem provável que só tenha aprendido o pouco que sabe com os médicos locais."
"Como assim? Ela nem sequer ingressou na universidade?", Bobby perguntou, claramente perplexo.
O título de "médica" agora lhe parecia bastante suspeito e sua irritação aumentou. Afinal, Isaac tinha se formado numa das universidades mais prestigiadas do mundo.
Já era ruim o bastante ser obrigado a se casar com alguém sem atrativos, mas ter alguém pouco instruído também...
Incapaz de se conter mais, Bobby enviou uma mensagem para Isaac.
"Não se case com Verena Willis, por favor. Ela não é boa o bastante para você. A irmã dela disse que ela nem sequer frequentou a universidade. Pelo visto, além da aparência, ela não tem uma boa educação."
Nesse momento, Isaac já estava esperando numa sala privativa no Restaurante Spice.
O ambiente ali era elegante e tranquilo, mas nem ele nem Danica tinham ânimo para apreciar a vista além da janela.
Para Danica, este encontro não passava de uma arranjo de negócios.
Já para Isaac, era nada mais do que um lembrete das suas próprias deficiências.
Quando o celular de Isaac tocou, ele viu a mensagem de Bobby, seus traços marcantes permanecendo impassíveis.
Danica também viu a mensagem do filho mais novo. Então fechou os olhos por um breve momento e disse: "Por favor, Isaac, não fique ressentido comigo. Você sabe que não tenho outra opção."
Na mente dela, a única maneira de parar os rumores prejudiciais sobre Isaac era ele se casar e adotar discretamente uma criança, fazendo-a passar por sua.
Um sorriso leve e amargo brincou nos lábios de Isaac. Ressentimento era um luxo que ele não podia reivindicar. Aos seus olhos, ele era o motivo pelo qual sua mãe havia perdido o marido.
Apesar de tudo isso, Isaac enviou uma resposta para Bobby. "Meça suas palavras."
Bobby se irritou ainda mais ao ler a mensagem. Num momento crítico como esse, Isaac ainda estava dizendo para ele ser educado.
Seu irmão realmente entendia o tamanho da encrenca em que estava se enfiando?
Foi então que Verena e Laura chegaram ao Restaurante Spice.
Usando sapatos baixos, a figura alta e esguia de Verena entrou com passos determinados enquanto Laura, se equilibrando nos saltos altos, teve que se apressar para acompanhar o ritmo da filha.
Capítulo 4 A exibição de um produto à venda
Enquanto elas caminhavam, Laura sussurrou para Verena: "Ninguém precisa saber que você só tem um diploma do ensino médio. Apenas diga que se graduou na Faculdade de Medicina de Acorith. Essa é a história que irá contar, entendeu?"
Verena não estava com a menor vontade de se incomodar dando uma resposta.
Quando elas chegaram à sala privativa, Laura arrumou o cabelo e ajeitou as roupas enquanto Verena batia levemente na porta.
No momento em que ouviu as batidas, Danica soube que a filha mais velha da família Willis havia chegado. Este era o arranjo de casamento que ela mesma havia iniciado pelo bem de Isaac.
Mas agora, quando o filho estava prestes a conhecer a futura noiva, um turbilhão de emoções se agitou dentro dela.
Houve um tempo em que Isaac era seu maior orgulho. Se o ma**ito acidente nunca tivesse acontecido, hoje ele estaria ao lado de uma mulher à sua altura, e não de alguém com uma parca educação.
Um turbilhão de pensamentos conflitantes arrastavam Danica em direções opostas. Ela não suportava a ideia de que os outros olhassem seu filho de cima para baixo, e também não gostava nem um pouco da família Willis por ser capaz de trocar o futuro da própria filha por dinheiro.
"Pode entrar."
No segundo seguinte, Verena girou a maçaneta e entrou na sala.
Os olhos de Danica e de Isaac instantaneamente se fixaram nela.
A roupa que Verena estava usando era simples -- uma calça confortável e um moletom folgado. Ela trazia o cabelo preso, embora alguns fios caíssem graciosamente sobre sua testa.
A maquiagem era mínima, deixando intocados os traços, mas ainda assim, sua beleza era impossível de ignorar.
Mesmo se estivesse entre as jovens mais refinadas de Shoildon, ela ainda chamaria atenção. Mais do que isso, sua presença serena e confiante jamais passaria despercebida.
Por um breve segundo, Danica apenas a encarou, um lampejo de surpresa e admiração cruzando seu olhar.
Isaac, por sua vez, franziu o cenho.
"Então... você é a filha mais velha da família Willis?", Danica perguntou, um toque de incerteza tingindo sua voz.
Nesse momento, Laura se esgueirou de trás de Verena e respondeu com um sorriso ansioso: "Boa noite, Danica. Sou eu, Laura."
Ela então guiou Verena para a frente com um sorriso radiante no rosto. "Esta é minha filha, Verena Willis."
Era impossível ignorar o olhar atônito de Danica, e isso provocou uma onda de satisfação em Laura.
Verena tinha herdado os belos traços de Alec, com um rosto digno de ser exibido. De fato, era um consolo saber que sua filha mais velha ainda possuía qualidades que a deixavam orgulhosa.
"Verena, certo?", Danica perguntou e começou a estudar atentamente a beleza marcante da jovem e a confiança que exalava.
Nada nela condizia com a alegação de Bobby sobre "não ser exatamente o que se pode chamar de atraente". Se isso fosse considerado pouco atraente, então não haveria mais mulheres bonitas em Shoildon.
Um lampejo de satisfação iluminou os olhos de Danica. No fundo, ela se sentia aliviada ao constatar que a jovem não correspondia nem um pouco à descrição desfavorável feita por Bobby.
Embora continuasse querendo uma nora que fosse fácil de controlar e que não expusesse os problemas de Isaac na c**a, ela também esperava que a moça não fosse desprovida de beleza.
No seu meio, aparências importavam sim, e quem fosse se casar com um membro da sua família tinha que parecer à altura de tal status.
Lendo a satisfação na expressão de Danica, Laura se sentiu intimamente embriagada de orgulho.
Verena era sa**ue do seu sa**ue, e quando se tratava de beleza, ela facilmente ofuscava as jovens mais refinadas de Shoildon.
"Isso mesmo, Danica, esta é Verena", Laura repetiu calorosamente.
"Sentem-se, por favor...", Danica disse, sua voz suavizando levemente.
Enquanto as duas mães trocavam comentários polidos, a atenção de Verena se voltou para Isaac, sentado do outro lado.
Usando uma camisa preta simples, ele estava numa cadeira de rodas com um cobertor leve sobre as pernas.
Assim que Isaac notou os olhos dela fixos nas suas pernas, os seus dedos se crisparam sobre os joelhos, mas a expressão no seu rosto permanecia firme e distante, como se isso realmente não lhe importasse.
Quando os olhares de ambos se encontraram, Verena não demonstrou qualquer sinal de desconforto e lhe ofereceu um sorriso confiante.
Mesmo numa cadeira de rodas, ele era exatamente como ela se lembrava -- frio, inflexível e com uma presença imponente.
Enquanto eles se olhavam, Danica insistiu para que mãe e filha se acomodassem.
Laura passou a elogiar Verena como se estivesse descrevendo uma joia rara, ressaltando seus méritos caso Danica ainda tivesse alguma dúvida.
Danica, por sua vez, parecia completamente satisfeita com o que via. Apesar disso, ela não podia deixar de achar desagradável a forma como Laura continuava empurrando a filha para o casamento.
Parecia menos a apresentação de uma futura noiva e mais a exibição de um produto à venda.
A realidade era que as pernas de Isaac já estavam em péssimas condições e, apesar de a família Bennett continuar rica e influente, ele não era a melhor escolha para marido nas atuais circunstâncias.
Ao rebaixar tanto a posição de Verena, Laura dava a péssima impressão de não se importar se sua filha acabasse sendo desprezada ou maltratada, desde que o casamento com um membro da família Bennett se concretizasse. Para Danica, era bastante difícil respeitar uma mãe como essa.
Com Verena e Isaac trocando poucas palavras entre si, coube a Danica e Laura a missão de manter a conversa fluindo.
Depois de vários minutos trocando amenidades, Danica finalmente perguntou para Verena: "Sua mãe me disse que você possui um mestrado na Faculdade de Medicina de Acorith, senhorita Willis. É verdade?"
Esse era um detalhe que importava muito para Danica. Ter uma médica na família tornaria o cuidado com Isaac muito mais gerenciável.
No momento em que ouviu a pergunta, Laura ficou tensa, pois temia que Verena negasse por pura teimosia, então lhe deu um discreto empurrão por baixo da mesa.
Ela achava que ninguém notaria, mas tanto Danica quanto Isaac perceberam seu movimento.
Uma linha tênue se formou entre as sobrancelhas de Danica, enquanto o olhar frio e impassível de Isaac permanecia inalterado.
Erguendo a cabeça, Verena pousou os talheres na mesa com mãos firmes e limpou suavemente boca com o guardanapo antes de responder: "Não."
O rosto de Danica instantaneamente perdeu parte da sua cordialidade, e a expressão de Laura mudou drasticamente.
Interiormente, Laura estava furiosa com Verena. Mas que dr**a! Ela continuava a mesma cabeça-dura de sempre! Por que não podia raciocinar mais rápido? Precisava envergonhá-la desse jeito?
Sua raiva quase transbordou, mas ela respirou fundo e se obrigou manter a compostura para preparar uma saída para essa situação.
No entanto, antes que ela pudesse dizer algo, Verena acrescentou: "Na verdade, me graduei na Universidade Pine Hill."
Os olhos de Laura se arregalaram e várias emoções desfilaram no seu rosto. A Universidade Pine Hill era uma das instituições mais prestigiadas do mundo, por isso, a resposta da filha a deixou momentaneamente desconcertada.
Verena, por sua vez, permanecia firme, sua expressão não demonstrando qualquer sinal de perturbação.
Laura quase explodiu de frustração nesse momento. Ela sempre sabia que Verena havia crescido num ambiente menos refinado, mas jamais poderia esperar que a filha pudesse ser tão ousada ao inventar histórias.
Dizer que possuía um diploma da Faculdade de Medicina de Acorith já era um certo exagero, e ainda assim, ela se atrevia a dizer que tinha se formado na Universidade Pine Hill?
Verena realmente achava que as pessoas ali iriam acreditar em tal mentira? Era evidente que essa invenção não carregava um pingo de credibilidade.
Danica tinha a surpresa estampada nos seus olhos. Ela deslizou o olhar de Verena para o rosto rígido e inquieto de Laura.
Nesse momento, algo pareceu fazer sentido e essa percepção trouxe mais uma ruga profunda à sua testa.
Isaac mantinha o olhar fixo em Verena, e ela respondeu com outro sorriso gentil, um sorriso caloroso e co**idativo que parecia carregar consigo o frescor da primavera.
Esse único sorriso foi capaz de iluminar o humor de Isaac de uma maneira que ele não conseguia explicar.
Desviando rapidamente os olhos, ele franziu as sobrancelhas ao sentir uma estranha onda de autoconsciência invadi-lo -- não porque ela fosse extraordinária, mas porque sua gentileza o fazia se sentir diminuído de uma forma desconhecida.
"De fato, frequentar a Universidade Pine Hill é algo impressionante. Você deve ser muito talentosa", Danica disse num tom frio e distante.
Os formandos da Universidade Pine Hill estavam entre as pessoas mais talentosas do mundo, e chamá-los apenas de talentosos mal fazia justiça às suas reais capacidades.
A essa altura, Laura percebeu que Danica já tinha descoberto a mentira, mas se obrigou a seguir com a farsa.
"Ha-ha, é verdade, muito impressionante. Devo ter trocado os nomes... e confundido com a universidade que Kaia irá frequentar."
Essa troca deixou a mesa mergulhada num silêncio desconfortável.
Sem hesitar mais, Danica disse simplesmente: "Bem, estou muito satisfeita com Verena, e tenho certeza de que Isaac também está. Sobre o acordo de casamento..."
"Mãe", Isaac subitamente a interrompeu antes que ela pudesse concluir.
Capítulo 5 Só quero ajudar você
Danica lançou um olhar significativo para Isaac, um aviso silencioso que dispensava palavras.
Ignorando completamente o olhar da mãe, Isaac disse: "Gostaria de conversar a sós com a senhorita Willis."
Após ouvir o pedido do filho, Danica se absteve de fazer mais comentários, ciente das reais intenções dele -- muito provavelmente, ele pretendia convencer Verena a desistir do casamento.
Danica suspirou profundamente, tentando manter a calma. "Bem, parece que Isaac quer trocar algumas palavras com Verena para saber mais sobre ela. O que acha de darmos uma volta lá fora, Laura?"
Ela entendia que Laura estava ansiosa para que o casamento se concretizasse, e suas palavras serviram como um sutil lembrete ao filho para que não interferisse no acordo.
Laura, por sua vez, ficou bastante surpresa com a atitude de Danica, pois não esperava tamanha indulgência da parte dela depois da mentira descarada contada por Verena.
Então, satisfeita com o rumo que as coisas estavam tomando, Laura concordou prontamente: "Claro, vamos deixar os dois passarem algum tempo a sós."
Antes de sair, ela deu um leve tapinha no ombro de Verena, sua voz carregando um aviso implícito que mais parecia uma ameaça: "Lembre-se de cuidar do Isaac, Verena. Ele agora é seu noivo."
Verena ergueu sua taça para mais um gole, um leve sorriso erguendo os cantos dos seus lábios.
A antipatia que sentia por Laura não havia mudado em nada, mas a ideia de ter Isaac como noivo trazia uma emoção desconhecida e silenciosa ao seu coração.
Assim que as duas mulheres saíram, Isaac disse sem rodeios: "Bem, minhas pernas são completamente inúteis agora e provavelmente permanecerão assim pelo resto da minha vida."
Sua voz grave e levemente rouca carregava o peso de alguém que não falava muito há um bom tempo, e o tom frio e distante o fazia soar quase desprovido de emoção.
Verena, no entanto, compreendeu que as palavras dele eram uma espécie de alerta para lembrá-la do tipo de homem com quem estava prestes a se casar.
"Certo, e o que mais?", ela perguntou, seus olhos claros fixos nele como um espelho que refletia tudo.
Isaac hesitou por um momento. Sua garganta se apertou e uma sombra cruzou seu olhar enquanto ele pensava na verdade não dita.
Então, ele forçou a si mesmo a finalmente dizer: "Não posso mais funcionar como um homem normal. Não tenho condições de te proporcionar felicidade ou uma vida condizente com um casamento normal."
Ele sabia muito bem que as intenções da sua mãe iam muito além de apenas silenciar fofocas -- ela também esperava estabilizar a posição da empresa.
Mesmo assim, nenhuma razão justificava prender uma mulher ao seu lado através do casamento.
Ao se tornar a esposa dele, ela teria que abrir mão do seu futuro e da própria felicidade.
Ele se considerava um homem arruinado, e não sentia necessidade alguma de arrastar alguém junto para o buraco.
Ao ouvir as palavras amargas de Isaac, Verena contornou a mesa até ficar diretamente à sua frente.
De onde estava sentado, ele precisava erguer o olhar para encontrar os olhos de qualquer pessoa ao seu redor.
Verena então se agachou para ficar abaixo da linha do olhar dele.
Essa era primeira vez desde o acidente que Isaac não era forçado a erguer o olhar para encarar alguém.
"Posso to**r nas suas pernas?", Verena perguntou, sem hesitação no seu tom.
Seus olhos claros não continham qualquer traço de julgamento ou evasão, como se ela estivesse falando com qualquer outro homem e não com alguém paralisado da cintura para baixo.
Diferentemente do restante da família de Isaac, ela não tratava as lesões dele como um assunto proibido.
Desde o acidente, todos os familiares de Isaac o encaravam com olhos carregados de pena ou remorso.
Embora eles não dissessem as palavras em voz alta, seus olhares diziam tudo -- ele não era mais um homem completo, mas um aleijado.
A maioria das pessoas sabia que a paralisia muitas vezes significava a perda das funções se**ais, e ele não era uma exceção.
Rumores sobre as condições do seu corpo haviam se espalhado, e a verdade cruel era que correspondiam à mais pura realidade.
Isso o feria de forma mais dolorosa e sufocante do que qualquer punhal cravado no seu pe**o.
Isaac fixou seu olhar profundo em Verena. "Sabe o que está dizendo?"
Ela assentiu com uma expressão determinada no rosto. "Sim, eu sei."
Apesar de eles serem dois estranhos que haviam acabado de se conhecer, Isaac sentiu uma estranha e inexplicável familiaridade ao olhar para ela.
Assim, guiado mais pelo instinto que pela razão, ele deu sua resposta. "Está bem."
Diante do seu consentimento, Verena o encarava com um sorriso suave e genuíno nos lábios.
Por um breve momento, Isaac pareceu vacilar. Quando os dedos dela tocaram sua perna, ele pôde ver o movimento, mas não sentiu absolutamente nada.
Seus olhos continuaram acompanhando os movimentos dos dedos esguios de Verena, que começavam pelo joelho e lentamente viajavam para cima.
Se alguém visse a cena de fora, poderia interpretar o gesto dela como um fl**te, mas Isaac sabia que não era isso. Afinal, ele era um homem paraplégico, sem qualquer controle ou sensação da cintura para baixo.
Verena parou a mão na coxa dele, batendo levemente antes de erguer o olhar. "Você consegue sentir isso?"
Isaac sacudiu levemente a cabeça.
Ela então recomeçou o movimento, se aproximando ainda mais da base da coxa até ele reagir instintivamente e pegar sua mão.
"O que pensa que está fazendo?", ele disse, sua voz carregando um aviso implícito.
Verena deixou escapar uma risadinha, puxando a mão de volta.
"Só quero ajudar você, Isaac."
"Me ajudar?", ele repetiu com sarcasmo. "Ajudar exatamente com o quê?"
"Quero ajudar a curar suas pernas."
A declaração pairou como um trovão no ar imóvel.
......
O que acontecerá a seguir?
O número de capítulos exibidos aqui é limitado. Por favor, clique no botão abaixo para baixar nosso aplicativo e ler mais capítulos.
(Ao abrir o aplicativo, você irá automaticamente para este livro.)
&5&
The supposedly unwanted illegitimate daughter won the favor of a powerful tycoon. Everyone waited for her downfall. But when her true identities came to light, the elite circle was shocked. She was not only a master physician, top hacker, and elite perfumer but also the rightful heiress of a wealthy family. Countless people, stunned, rushed to admire her.
=====
Beyond the city limits of Wrille, a thunderous splash erupted as something plunged into the river, breaking the spell of midnight quiet.
Kathryn Palmer lingered beside the bank, and a wave of cold water hit her without warning.
A subtle metallic scent crept through the night air.
Her instincts pricked up--she had come across this scent before.
That was the unmistakable scent of bl**d.
Someone had plunged into the river, and whoever it was, they were hurt.
Before long, muffled voices broke the darkness, drifting her way.
"Keep looking!"
"We can't afford to miss a single clue!"
"Don't let him make it out alive!"
A rush of hurried footsteps approached.
Kathryn shot upright, meaning to leave, but a hand clamped around her ankle in a plea for help.
"Please... anything you want, just help me..." The stranger's voice barely rose above a whisper.
His grip slackened as he slipped from consciousness.
In her mind, Kathryn decided that fate never placed a healer in someone's path by accident. If this stranger had landed at her feet, then saving him must be her task.
Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a small vial, tipped a p*ll into her palm, and carefully slipped it between his lips.
Every second, the footsteps thundered nearer. Glimmers of torchlight cut through the darkness.
Holding her breath, she let herself sink into the river's embrace, pulling the stranger along.
Not long after, men dressed in black prowled along the shore, eyes sharp and searching. But the surface rippled softly, betraying nothing.
Finding nothing, the men scattered, empty-handed.
Once the riverbank was quiet again, Kathryn dragged the stranger out of the water and back onto solid ground.
Ice-cold water numbed her skin as she fought the cold, shivering and sneezing but pushing onward.
A quick check told her the man's pulse was steady--he was still hanging on.
She didn't pause for even a breath before starting CPR.
Moments seemed to slip away until, with a sudden jolt, the man convulsed, coughing up great gulps of water.
A gentle hand hovered over his nose, and when Kathryn felt the faintest breath, relief rushed out of her lungs.
As the mist drifted off, silver moonlight poured over the scene.
The stranger's face became clear: strikingly handsome, almost too perfect.
Movement caught her attention. The stranger shifted again.
His eyelids fluttered open. He saw a girl crouching beside him.
The moonlight revealed a black crescent t**too on her collarbone.
With what little strength remained, Evan Knight struggled to look up, wishing for a better view of the girl's face.
But fatigue overwhelmed him. Eyes slipping shut, he fell unconscious once more.
Kathryn showed no sign of panic. Another p*ll found its way between his lips.
Moonbeams slid across his drenched form as she checked for wounds.
Bl**d pooled at his waist--a deep gash, but not one meant to k*ll. Fainting was simply his body's way of coping with the loss.
She r**ped open the soaked shirt, cleaned the wound, and sprinkled powder to stem the bl**ding.
A smirk tugged at her lips when she finished. She couldn't resist reaching out to pinch his impossibly handsome cheek.
"Two of my rarest p*lls, just for you. Hope you're worth the trouble."
Certain that he'd pull through, Kathryn gathered her things and turned to go.
But something stopped her--his earlier words echoed in her mind.
Her gaze wandered back to him, pausing on the pendant draped across his ch*st.
Moonlight set the crimson gemstone ablaze. The piece was unique--impossible to forget.
"You said anything I want. I couldn't care less about promises. But I do enjoy unusual little treasures."
Leaning in, she closed her hand around the pendant.
"You owe me your life. I'm just collecting what's fair. Now we're even."
Chapter 2 One Condition
In the morning, Kathryn was already stepping out of a cab in downtown Wrille. She made her way straight into the Summit Hotel and checked in without lingering.
Once inside the modern, fully furnished suite, she slipped out of her coat and flung it onto a nearby chair.
She headed straight for the tall window that stretched from floor to ceiling.
The view beyond was everything she'd been away from--soaring buildings, packed lanes, the steady chaos of the city.
She hadn't seen any of it since the day her world shattered. She was only six when her mother was m**dered, and she got thrown into the mountains.
Her own family had done that to her.
Had it not been for the kindhearted couple who stumbled across her, she wouldn't have lasted a week. The wilderness would've swallowed her whole, leaving nothing behind.
But she was still here. And she wasn't just back to visit. She'd returned to settle the score and take back what had always been hers.
A jolt of awareness pulled her back from her spiraling thoughts. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the pendant she'd taken from the injured man.
She raised it, letting the sunlight catch its edges.
Now that it was clean, the gemstone sparkled with a kind of arrogant brilliance--cold, clear, and obviously worth a fortune.
There was something about the way it rested in her palm that made it magnetic. Kathryn's fingers refused to let it go.
She grabbed a thin black cord, slid the gem through, and looped it around her neck. Stepping in front of the mirror, she gave herself a quick once-over.
It didn't look half bad. In fact, it suited her. She decided to keep it on.
After tucking the pendant beneath her shirt, she picked up her phone. With practiced ease, she masked her IP address before opening her news app.
The homepage lit up with updates, but one headline practically jumped out at her.
"Palmer Heiress Anna Palmer in Critical Condition--Family Offering Massive Rewards for Bl**d Donors."
That got Kathryn's attention. She tapped the article without a second thought.
According to the report, Anna had been in a serious car crash. She'd lost a lot of bl**d, and the hospital was struggling to find Rh-negative bl**d donors to save her.
The Palmers had thrown money at the problem, but despite the massive reward, almost no one had shown up to donate.
Kathryn's lips curved into a smirk she didn't bother hiding.
Talk about the stars aligning.
She had braced herself for a long, uphill battle just to sneak her way back into the Palmer family's circle. Instead, the perfect opening had landed right at her feet.
With the article still fresh in her mind, she shut off the app, leaned against the couch cushions, and closed her eyes to collect her thoughts.
That bl**d type the doctors were scrambling for? It just happened to match hers.
If she wanted to secure her footing in Wrille, she needed a title--one that couldn't be erased or dismissed.
With her decision firmly in place, she slipped into her coat and stepped out without hesitation.
This wasn't just a return. She was going to make the Palmers crawl.
They'd have no choice but to beg her to return--not in private, but in front of the entire world--as the rightful heiress to everything they tried to steal.
Outside Wrille General Hospital, Rhett Palmer had just gotten out of his car when a figure stepped into his path. He stopped cold.
And there she was. The color drained from his face the moment their eyes met. His whole body stiffened like he'd just walked into a ghost.
"You..." he said, barely getting the word out.
Kathryn held his gaze with a quiet confidence, her smile soft but deliberate. "What should I call you? Mr. Palmer... or would 'Dad' be more fitting?"
The question hit Rhett like a punch to the gut.
He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came.
Kathryn didn't flinch. Didn't take a step back.
She let him take in every inch of her face. The longer he looked, the harder it was to deny what stood before him--a mirror of her mother.
If there was even a sliver of remorse buried inside him, now was the moment for it to surface.
Neither of them moved. The air between them stayed thick with the weight of recognition.
When Rhett finally found his voice, it came out in a whisper. "Is it really you... Kathryn?"
Not a flicker crossed Kathryn's face. "Do you want to run a DNA test, or are you going to trust your instincts, Dad?"
Rhett's hands trembled. "There's no need. You've got your mother's face... just like when she was your age."
That pulled a short, bitter laugh from Kathryn's throat.
He had the nerve to bring up her mother now? After all these years? Had he not abandoned them for wealth and status, her mother wouldn't have died the way she did.
And now he had the nerve to bring up the very woman he left behind without a second thought?
"I'm Rh-negative," she said, her voice clipped and cold.
Then she turned on her heel and strode into the hospital without waiting for a response.
Rhett hesitated for a moment, stunned by the emotional whiplash. Then he snapped into motion and followed her.
They stopped just outside the ICU.
Inside, surrounded by wires and machines, a girl lay motionless on the bed. Her skin was pale, her body limp. She was barely clinging to life.
Kathryn's voice cut through the quiet. "I'll donate. But only on one condition."
She didn't look at Rhett. Her eyes were locked on the girl inside the room. Then a slow, unreadable smile touched her lips.
"You'll restore my status as part of the Palmer family. And you'll make it official. I want the entire world to know."
Rhett's jaw tightened, a shadow falling over his face.
"Kathryn... if you're just looking for a home, I can buy you a place of your own. But coming back to be a member of the Palmer family... that's complicated."
He didn't have to spell it out. Kathryn already knew.
Even if he bent, the rest of the Palmer family never would.
"If your family refuses to meet my condition, then Anna Palmer can face death on her own," said Kathryn as she turned and walked away.
Panic overtook Rhett. He lunged forward and caught her by the arm.
"Wait--please. Don't go, Kathryn. I'll speak to them. I swear I will."
Chapter 3 A Curse
Eventually, the Palmer family made the decision to let Kathryn come back.
Not long after, Kathryn caught wind of the backlash--the choice had sparked a serious confrontation between Rhett and his current wife, Rebecca Palmer.
Later that same day, Kathryn completed her initial bl**d donation for Anna.
Because Anna had lost a dangerous amount of bl**d, several more transfusions were scheduled for the upcoming days.
To ensure convenience and comfort, the hospital arranged for Kathryn to stay in one of their VIP suites.
Out of nowhere, her phone vibrated.
She reached for it and glanced at the screen. A message from her friend, Lindsay Simpson, had just arrived.
"The Knight family's heir, Evan Knight, is searching the entire city. He's looking for a woman, around twenty, with medical knowledge and a black crescent tattoo on her collarbone."
With a light-hearted tone, Kathryn replied, "That's odd. Sounds like me."
Lindsay's response came almost instantly. "I'm not kidding! What if he's actually looking for you?"
"That's impossible. I've never even met the guy."
"Are you absolutely certain you didn't tick him off somehow? Try to remember."
Kathryn rolled her eyes at the screen, amused and annoyed by Lindsay's imagination.
"I haven't even been back in Wrille for long. It's probably just some weird coincidence. Don't stress," Kathryn responded.
Lindsay didn't send anything after that.
Their exchange ended without further discussion.
Still feeling a strange sense of unease, Kathryn opened her internet browser and ran a quick search.
As soon as she typed in Evan's name, the screen showed a single, bold line: "Evan Knight, twenty-eight years old."
That was all the information provided.
Kathryn sat staring at the screen, her expression unreadable.
Why so much secrecy?
Driven by curiosity, she retrieved her tablet from her suitcase, inserted a USB stick, and began typing commands rapidly as lines of code streamed across the screen.
Before long, the cascading lines of code vanished, replaced by a stark, black-and-white messaging interface.
"Hey, help me look into someone."
"Who is it?"
Without delay, Kathryn replied, "Evan Knight."
"Understood. Give me three days."
Receiving that confirmation, Kathryn closed the window and powered off her tablet.
At the same moment, Lakeside Villa, nestled in one of Wrille's most elite neighborhoods, shone brightly from every corner.
"Any updates?"
Evan stood tall by the large bedroom window.
Despite the bandages and bruises, his commanding presence had not dulled in the slightest.
A ci**rette rested loosely between his fingers, its tip flickering softly in the dim light.
Standing nearby, Kayce Wilson kept his gaze lowered. "Nothing so far, sir."
Evan's eyes narrowed, and he pressed the ci**rette into the ashtray before speaking with quiet authority. "Keep looking."
"Understood."
Kayce reached into the inside pocket of his coat and produced a gold-stamped envelope, offering it with both hands.
"There's something else you should see."
Evan's gaze shifted to the envelope, and a shadow of confusion crossed his face. "Who sent it?"
"It's from the Palmer family. They're hosting a banquet to welcome Rhett's illegitimate daughter back home, and Mr. Andrew Palmer specifically asked for your presence."
"Asked, or demanded?" Evan asked, one corner of his mouth lifting in a cold, amused smile.
Kayce paused briefly before asking, "Would you like me to send a refusal?"
These sorts of invitations were usually tossed aside without a second thought.
If Andrew, the head of the Palmer family, hadn't personally insisted, Kayce wouldn't have gone to the trouble of handing over the invitation face-to-face.
Evan reached for the envelope, his gaze darkening with curiosity.
Whoever this illegitimate daughter was, she must have made quite the impression. For the Palmer family to pull this level of effort, she had to be something else.
He abruptly changed his mind. "No. Tell Andrew... I'll attend."
On the day of the banquet, the skies were clear, with sunlight stretching across the city.
Kathryn left the hospital and steered her car toward the mountainous outskirts.
The path was steep and twisted, yet she drove with the confidence of someone who knew every bend.
Eventually, she arrived at a secluded, unnamed grave--her mother's resting place. No marker stood there, only a lumpy patch of earth hidden beneath layers of untamed weeds.
Without the countless visits she'd made over the years, even she might have missed it.
Kathryn lowered herself onto the ground and began pulling the grass away with care.
Each motion was slow and deliberate, as though she feared disturbing the silence of the grave.
After some time, she bowed deeply and rested her forehead against the chilled soil. She remained completely motionless.
It wouldn't be long now. Her mother was finally close to receiving the justice she had been denied.
Eventually, Kathryn rose to her feet and turned away, not once glancing back.
The banquet was scheduled for later in the day. Once back at her hotel, she changed into a formal dress and called in a makeup artist to handle her appearance.
By the time the preparations were complete, the sky had already begun to darken.
She was slightly behind schedule. Her phone screen was filled with missed calls--over twenty from Rhett.
Still, Kathryn moved at her own pace. After heading downstairs to retrieve something, she made final arrangements and got ready to leave.
Meanwhile, at the Palmer family's estate, the guests waited expectantly for the mysterious "long-lost daughter" to finally show.
Minutes dragged by, yet the person of honor remained absent. The sound of hushed voices began to stir throughout the venue.
Rebecca, more displeased than anyone else, wore her frustration openly.
She never did bother concealing how she felt and said, "The second I saw the date, I knew she had bad intentions. Of all days, she went and picked her mother's death anniversary. She's doing this to stir the pot, no question about it!"
Her face twisted into a scowl, and her tone cut like glass.
"Isn't it suspicious? Right after Anna's car crash, the whole city ran dry of Rh-negative bl**d. And just like that, she showed up? That girl's a curse. As long as she's here, peace won't stand a chance in this house."
Each word landed with biting precision.
Rhett sat silent, his head lowered. A vein throbbed visibly at his temple.
At that moment, a disturbance broke out at the entrance.
Chapter 4 Always Eager To See What The Family Offers
All eyes swiveled toward the entrance as soon as the doors swung open.
Kathryn appeared, draped in a sleek black dress that hugged her figure, its surface catching the light with tiny sparkling crystals.
Her hair was gathered high in a graceful twist, a few wisps trailing artfully around her face.
She exuded confidence and radiance, a presence impossible to ignore--unyielding and unforgettable.
The moment Rhett spotted her, relief washed over his features. "Kathryn, you're here at last."
Rebecca's demeanor shifted instantly, her face frosting over with cold contempt.
There was no mistaking it--Kathryn looked just like her mother. Both of them, mother and daughter, were born t**ptresses.
Rebecca's glare sliced through the air, brimming with old hatred she could barely contain.
Why didn't fate take her too, all those years ago?
But it wasn't just Rebecca staring daggers. Kathryn returned her gaze, silent but deadly, eyes filled with a burning promise of retribution.
If she had the chance, she'd settle the score right here and now.
Rhett, clearly feeling the rising tension, cleared his throat and tried to smooth things over. "Kathryn, come meet my wife. Rebecca, this is Kathryn..."
Kathryn ignored Rebecca entirely, denying her even a passing glance.
To her, Rebecca was nothing but the woman who broke up her parents' marriage and drove her mother to her grave.
Kathryn let her eyes drift over the hall, taking in every detail.
There were only a handful of Palmer family members and some staff. Not a single figure from the city's upper crust had shown.
It was exactly as she'd anticipated.
The Palmers' agreement to throw this banquet had come far too easily. Kathryn could see through the ploy--a thinly veiled attempt to put her in her place.
After all, they had made it public that Kathryn was Rhett's long lost illegitimate daughter, returning to claim her name.
No matter how influential the Palmer name might be, no one with a true reputation to uphold would be willing to attend a party for an illegitimate daughter.
Still, Kathryn knew how to play the game just as well.
With a quiet, mocking laugh, she snapped her fingers and said over her shoulder, "Bring them in."
A moment later, several attendants marched in, each bearing massive arrangements of stark white funeral lilies.
They lined the lilies up in two crisp rows, their ghostly blooms glowing harshly beneath the chandeliers.
All the color drained from Rhett's face.
Rebecca's features twisted, anger contorting her beauty into something feral.
Every fiber in her body screamed to wipe the smug satisfaction off Kathryn's face.
But Kathryn only basked in the tension, a lazy, satisfied smile curving her lips as she surveyed the shocked room.
"A small present for the occasion. I hope it sets the right mood."
Rebecca retorted, "Kathryn Palmer, you have gone too far!"
Rhett scrambled to intervene, managing a shaky grin. "We also prepared something for you, Kathryn. Why not take a look at your welcome gift?"
Kathryn's smile sharpened, almost daring him. "Naturally. I'm always eager to see what the family offers."
Rhett wasted no time ushering Kathryn out of the hall. The second they were gone, Andrew and Martha Palmer, Rhett's parents, barked orders at the staff to clear out every last lily.
Rebecca was still seething, her usually flawless features contorted with fury.
Julie Palmer, Rhett's sister, tried to soothe her sister-in-law. "Don't give her the satisfaction. All she wanted was to provoke us, but we made sure she wouldn't have the last laugh."
Julie glanced over at her parents, her expression turning sly.
"Dad, Mom, you two handled this masterfully. Limiting the invitations to only a select few? Now those who didn't get invited are convinced Kathryn snubbed them on purpose. And the few who did get invited--all those big names--will feel insulted and stay far away."
She paused, the beginnings of a frown tugging at her lips. "But, Dad, why insist on inviting the Knight family's heir?"
Andrew let out a bitter chuckle.
"Evan isn't someone to underestimate. Once he realizes I burned a precious favor just to bring him here because of Kathryn, he'll hold a grudge. He's got a long memory and a nasty temper. With the way he operates, Kathryn will never get a foothold in Wrille."
Julie's lips curled into a sneer. "Let's see how long she can stay so arrogant."
......
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&5&
Many years ago, she left his world carrying their unborn child. Now, the man who had abandoned her felt as if his heart were in pieces, filled with endless regret. He was determined to tear the world apart to win her and their daughter back.
=====
"NO... PLEASE... STAY AWAY! Don't hurt my baby, PLEASE!"
My voice was barely audible, I curled up in the farthest corner of the operating room, my body pressed against the icy wall.
The white dress I wore was wrinkled and stained, as crumpled as the chaos in my heart.
I must've looked like a mess-my hair tangled and stuck to my tear-streaked face, my lips bitten raw, streaked with bl**d.
But none of that mattered anymore. Not here. Not now.
The doctors moved with sterile precision, dressed in pale blue scrubs, their gloved hands calmly arranging gleaming instruments that shimmered under the harsh fluorescent lights.
The anesthesiologist adjusted the IV bag above me, the silver glint of the needle burning into my vision.
"It's a simple procedure," he said with a professional smile. "It'll be over quickly."
"Liar!" I shook my head violently, as if I could somehow shake his words out of my mind. "You're all liars! Mu**erers! You're trying to k**l my baby!"
That child was all I had left-the only thing anchoring me to this life. How could I just give up on him?
The head nurse stepped forward. Her face was colder than any of the doctors'. She grabbed my wrist with a grip like iron, sharp and emotionless.
She motioned to the two orderlies. "Hold her down."
As they reached for me, something primal surged up inside me. I screamed, broke free with every ounce of strength I had, and shoved her backward.
She stumbled, crashing into the others. The room descended into chaos.
And then-
The door burst open.
For a moment, my heart leapt. Kane? Did he change his mind? Did he finally come to save us?
But no.
It wasn't him.
It was Baron-his assistant.
He stood in the doorway, brows furrowed, his eyes filled with disdain. The way he looked at me... like I was nothing more than a madwoman causing trouble.
Still, I had no choice. I had to try. This was the only sliver of hope left to me.
"BARON! Baron, please!" I threw myself at him, collapsing to my knees and grabbing onto the fabric of his trousers. "Please-don't let them hurt my baby. I'm begging you..."
There was no pride left in me. No dignity. Every ounce of strength I had was poured into this desperate plea.
But he didn't even flinch. Not a flicker of sympathy.
Without a word, he raised his foot and drove it into my shoulder. Pain exploded down my arm as I hit the cold floor, my face pressed against the tile.
"I thought you'd come to your senses by now," he said, his voice like ice.
I couldn't stop the tears. They poured down my face, hot and endless.
My voice cracked as I whispered, "I don't understand... why? I just want to keep my baby. The baby hasn't done anything wrong..."
"The boss doesn't want the baby," Baron said flatly.
"I DON'T CARE WHAT HE WANTS!" I choked, my voice raw. "He doesn't have to raise the baby-I'll disappear, I swear. I'll leave and NEVER show my face again. Just... PLEASE, Baron, call him. Let me talk to him. Let me beg him, one last time.."
I clung to his leg, sobbing, but he only looked down at me like I was a lunatic.
"Fine," he muttered. "Then let me show you how things really are."
He pulled out his phone.
St**idly, I still hoped. I still thought maybe-just maybe-he was calling Kane for me. That maybe he still cared.
But then the speaker crackled to life.
"What if she refuses?" Baron's voice came through.
"Refuse?" That voice...
I'd know it anywhere. Deep, low, once warm enough to make me believe in forever.
Now it sounded like a bl**e being dragged across stone.
"She won't refuse. She knows it herself."
Kane. My Kane.
The man who used to whisper love into my ear like promises.
Now his words carved through me like kn**es.
"She is unworthy of being the mother of my child." he said, almost amused.
And just like that-I broke.
I didn't scream. I didn't wail.
Just a quiet whimper escaped my throat, like a wounded animal.
The world around me faded. All I could hear was the thunder of bl**d in my ears. My heart felt like it had been hollowed out with a rusted spoon.
So this... this is what heartbreak really feels like.
Not a cinematic explosion of pain.
Just... emptiness.
Numbness.
I stood up slowly, legs trembling under me like wet paper. The massive window at the far end of the room caught my eye.
Outside, the sky was the color of lead.
How strange!
The world looked so calm, even as mine crumbled to ash.
The figures rushed toward me again, voices sharp and urgent.
But I didn't hear them anymore.
I climbed onto the windowsill, the wind sweeping my hair back from my face. One last glance at the sterile room behind me-filled with faceless people, masks, gloves, orders.
They were still talking, but it didn't matter.
I'd already made my choice.
"Tell Kane... I'll do what he wants." My voice was clear, almost serene. "Goodbye."
And then I leaned back, surrendering to the pull of gravity.
As I fell, I didn't feel fear.
Only peace.
For once, this choice was mine.
I touched my gently rounded belly one last time.
I'm sorry, baby.
I couldn't protect you.
But at least now, they'll never separate us again.
Chapter 2 Aria's POV-It's Dangerous Out There
Years ago
It was a Saturday night. The b*r pulsed with noise-shouting, laughter, the thumping beat of music that rattled your bones.
Strobe lights cut across the room like bl**es, and the air was thick with the mingling scents of perfume, ci**rette sm**e, and al**hol. It choked me, made it hard to breathe.
Before coming here, I'd downed a handful of hangover pills, praying I could hold my li**or long enough to sell more drinks tonight.
That was how I made a living-selling al**hol on commission. The more I sold, the more I earned.
But in places like this, business was rarely just business. Lately, the men didn't want to pay for the drinks-they wanted to see us drink them.
They weren't buying al**hol. They were buying control. Amusement.
And we, the salesgirls, were just part of the entertainment.
I knew that. And I still did it. Because I had to.
But tonight, I'd gone too far.
The al**hol hit me hard. One second, I was trying to make another sale; the next, my vision blurred, and the floor tilted beneath me.
I stumbled toward the restroom, barely making it to the toilet before I dropped to my knees and vomited violently.
My stomach twisted like someone had their hand wrapped around it, squeezing. Nothing came up except bitter bile.
I collapsed on the cold tile floor, forehead pressed against it, my body shaking uncontrollably. Toilets flushed all around me-mine, someone else's, I couldn't tell anymore.
I don't know how long I stayed there before I managed to move. Slowly, painfully, I pushed myself up, one hand braced against the wall.
My legs trembled under me, barely able to support my weight. My head felt like it was packed with cotton. The buzzing in my ears was constant.
Voices filtered through the haze. I couldn't make out the words, just the rhythm-people searching for someone. Calling out. Laughing.
I staggered forward, still hugging the wall. My stomach burned, and every step sent nausea clawing up my throat. I didn't care what they were saying. I just wanted to get out.
And then-everything spun.
Without warning, someone grabbed me from behind and hoisted me into the air. I let out a strangled g**p, but no sound came.
I was slung over someone's shoulder like a rag doll, my stomach pressed hard against them, making my nausea flare.
"She's not one of ours," a voice said hesitantly.
"So what?" a woman sneered. "She's blackout drunk. Won't remember A DAMN THING tomorrow."
Panic snapped through me like lightning.
In b*rs like this, it wasn't unheard of for drunk girls to go missing-too far gone to scream, too weak to fight.
Everyone's heard the stories.
Doesn't matter the city, the country, the continent-there's always someone lurking, waiting to drag a girl away the moment she lets her guard down.
God... don't tell me tonight I became that story.
The thought slammed into me like ice water.
My buzz snapped in half.
Panic surged in its place.
I tried to move, to fight, but my limbs felt like they'd been filled with cement. My arms wouldn't cooperate, and my legs-useless. I couldn't even lift my head.
I was being carried-thrown over someone's shoulder like a sack of flour. His shoulder dug into my stomach, jostling me with every step.
The pressure made the nausea worse, bile rising in my throat.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to run.
But all I could do was hang there, limp and helpless, the world spinning sideways as they dragged me into the dark.
The mattress dipped beneath me, the world spinning as I tried to push myself up. My knees gave out beneath me, and I slumped to the floor, hitting the ground hard.
I heard a click-the door shutting.
I bit down on the tip of my tongue until I tasted bl**d. The sharp, metallic tang jolted me a little more awake. I couldn't let this happen. I had to get out.
My back was drenched in cold sweat, my clothes sticky and clinging to me. I forced myself to stand, grabbing the edge of the bed for support.
Then I heard footsteps. The door opened again.
I froze.
A man stepped inside-b**e-ch**ted, his skin glistening like he'd just come out of the shower. Water dripped from his hair onto his broad shoulders. His eyes landed on me.
And in that moment, everything stopped.
He looked at me with disgust. Cold, r*w, unmistakable disgust.
I must've looked like h**l-smeared makeup, tangled hair, clothes clinging to me, neckline too low, skirt too short. Pathetic.
He walked over and grabbed a towel from the couch, tossed it at me without a word.
"Get out," he said flatly.
I flinched, catching the towel instinctively. Before I could say anything, he disappeared into the bathroom and slammed the door shut.
I wanted to leave. God, I wanted to run.
But I couldn't. My legs wouldn't move. I was like a puppet with its strings cut. Trembling, I clutched the armrest of the couch and pulled myself up again.
One step. Pain flared through my knee as I slipped and hit the ground. I barely managed to catch myself.
I couldn't go out there-not like this. Not into the chaos of the b*r. Not when I couldn't stand straight.
I looked around the room-foreign, unfamiliar, but at least it was closed off from the outside.
Whoever this man was... he hadn't touched me. He didn't look like the type to take advantage.
He looked like he wanted nothing more than to be left alone.
Maybe that was the safest place I could be right now.
I dragged myself to the table, picked up a glass of ice water, and downed it in one go. The cold shocked my senses, made me shiver violently-but it helped. Just a little.
I heard the bathroom door open behind me. The man stepped out, now dressed, his towel gone. I turned and hesitated before walking toward him.
I raised a hand and knocked lightly on the doorframe.
He saw me and immediately scowled.
"I told you to leave."
"I know..." My voice trembled. "Please, sir. Just let me stay here for a bit. It's dangerous out there..."
He yanked his arm away from me.
"Not my problem," he snapped.
He threw his damp clothes aside, marched to the door, and flung it open. "Three minutes. If you're still here, you'll regret it."
I tried to beg again, but the words stuck in my throat. My knees buckled beneath me, and I crumpled to the floor.
I barely registered the sound of him cu**ing, or the slam of the door as he shut it again. My vision blurred, my body burning and freezing at once.
I think he said something. But I couldn't make sense of it. My mind was slipping, drifting...
And then I felt arms scoop me up.
He threw me back onto the b*d.
And then-nothing.
Darkness swallowed me whole.
Chapter 3 Kane's POV-The Kiss
She hit the bed with a soft bounce, her body weightless, like she didn't belong in the real world. I stood beside her, looking down, watching her.
She looked troubled. Even unconscious, her brows were furrowed, her lashes trembling like she was trapped in a nightmare she couldn't escape.
Her fingers clutched the bedsheet in a white-knuckled grip.
I'd seen scenes like this before. More times than I cared to admit.
I was used to women throwing themselves at me. They knew exactly what to do-how to smile, how to m**n on cue, when to feign innocence, when to beg.
It always felt like a performance.
And frankly, it bored me.
But this one... she was different.
She wasn't putting on a show. She wasn't trying to se**ce. Her lipstick was smeared, her makeup ruined, her breath hot with the sting of al**hol.
When I reached out to touch her, her body flinched-not in invitation, but in fear.
Genuine fear.
That was new.
I leaned down and gripped her chin gently but firmly, tilting her face toward me.
She whimpered and tried to push me away, her arms trembling with the effort. But it wasn't the fl**tatious push of a co**ette-it was weak, desperate, real.
There was something raw in the way she resisted. Something fragile. Something human.
I should've stopped.
Instead, I traced my thumb along her bottom lip.
"Do you know where you are?" I asked, voice low, almost a whisper against her skin.
Her lips were slightly parted, her breath laced with w**e and regret. She didn't answer. Just turned her head as if she could disappear from my touch.
Of course, she couldn't.
I tightened my grip. Her breath hi**hed, ch**t rising fast and uneven. Her eyes blinked open-wild, glassy, pleading.
"Let me go..." she whispered.
I leaned closer, our faces inches apart.
"Let go?" I echoed, my voice curling into something dark and teasing. "Sweetheart, it's too late for that."
I knew what I was doing. I knew the pressure in my voice, the weight of those words. I wanted her to understand-this was my room, my rules.
She clearly understood what I meant, her body suddenly tensed up, and she resisted my hands even more forcefully, but this force was not so much resistance as it was an invitation.
And that only made me want her more.
I hadn't felt like this in years.
Her flushed cheeks, her parted lips-I couldn't hold back any longer.
I dipped my head and brushed my lips against her ear, catching the sharp little shiver that ran through her body.
Her breath was hot against my neck-sharp and unsteady. It ignited something in me.
She had to be doing this on purpose.
I ca**ured her mouth in a k**s before I could think twice.
Her lips were unbelievably soft, the k**s consumed me.
My skin prickled with heat, every nerve ending on fire. I hadn't lost control like this in... I couldn't even remember when.
Was I really that deprived? Or was there something about her-this broken, trembling girl-that made me feel like a teenager again, ki**ing someone for the first time?
She wh**pered when I pulled away for breath. "No... don't..."
But I couldn't stop. I didn't want to.
My hand found her waist, sliding around to her back, holding her against me. My other hand wrapped around her wrist. She smelled clean, like rain or fresh cotton. Untouched.
And I wanted to ruin her.
I wanted her to smell like me.
And just when I thought she was starting to respond-everything changed.
She jerked.
Hard.
I froze. Pulled back, just enough to see her face-only for her to suddenly roll over, lurching toward the edge of the bed.
And then it happened.
"Ugh-"
She vomited violently, the sound tearing through the room, raw and sudden.
The stench of al**hol and bile hit me like a punch. I looked down and saw the mess-on the floor, on the bedspread... on me.
The carpet was ruined. My shirt was drenched in it.
Any heat, any de**re I'd felt-it vanished.
She stayed hunched over the edge of the bed, her hair a tangled curtain hiding her face, her shoulders shaking. She looked wrecked. Broken.
Like someone who didn't belong here. Like someone who had fallen into the wrong life.
I stood there in stunned silence, watching the disaster unfold in slow motion.
The night, my mood, my intentions-it all came crashing down.
Chapter 4 Aria's POV-Sleep With Me Once
Early the next morning.
The moment I opened my eyes, it felt like my skull had been split open.
A dull, throbbing pain pulsed through my head, and my entire body ached like I'd been hit by a truck. Every bone in me seemed to be protesting in agony.
I tried to turn over and go back to sl**p, but something beneath me jabbed into my spine, hard and unyielding.
What the h**l?
Why did my bed suddenly feel like a slab of concrete?
With a gr**n, I forced myself upright. My eyelids felt like they weighed a ton. It took everything I had just to sit up. I glanced down-
And froze.
I was completely n**ed.
Lying on the floor.
"Ah!"
A scream tore from my throat before I could think.
Panic surged like a tidal wave, wiping out all coherent thought.
I scrambled to my feet, grabbing the towel from the back of the couch and wrapping it tightly around myself.
I looked like a deranged marsupial, stumbling and flailing around the room, desperate for answers I didn't have.
Shame, fear, confusion-they all crashed over me at once, making it hard to breathe.
Then, the bathroom door swung open with a sharp click.
A man stepped out. A stranger. Tall. Broad shoulders. Dressed in nothing but a towel, water still dripping from his hair. His eyes locked on me-cold, sharp, and pissed.
"S**T UP!" he barked before I could process what I was seeing. He snatched a vase from the table and hurled it at the floor, just inches from my feet.
Crash.
Porcelain shattered, shards skittering across the room.
I flinched, heart thundering, and felt a sharp sting at my heel. I looked down-bl**d. A red trail began snaking across the floor from the cut on my foot.
"Ah!" I screamed again, this time from the pain.
He stormed over and grabbed me without a word, tossed me onto the mattress like I weighed nothing.
Then he shoved a pillowcase into my mouth, his voice low and furious, "I said s**t up."
I whimpered, staring up at him in terror. My whole body trembled. There was something in his expression-disgust, yes, but also... something else.
A flicker of familiarity. And just like that, pieces of the night before began to return.
Blinding lights. The bitter burn of al**hol. His face, distant and cold.
He stepped away after a moment, apparently satisfied I wasn't about to lose it again.
He picked up a phone, barked out orders with casual indifference. "Send someone to clean the room. Bring up a first aid kit. And breakfast."
Then he turned his back and walked toward the wardrobe, opening it as if I weren't even there.
I lay there, still wrapped in the sheets, trying to pull myself together. My thoughts were a tangled mess. All I knew was, I needed to get dressed. Fast.
I pulled the pillowcase from my mouth and yanked the blanket tighter around me, sitting up slowly. I checked between my legs-no pain, no signs of... vi**ation.
My ch**t loosened a little. Maybe... maybe nothing happened.
My clothes were crumpled in the corner like they'd been thrown there.
I limped to them, wrapped in the blanket, and hurried into the bathroom to get dressed. My hands wouldn't stop shaking.
Soon, someone had left a first aid kit just outside the door.
I sat on the cold tile floor and patched up my foot as best I could. Then I caught my reflection in the mirror-hair a disaster, eyes puffy, skin pale.
I forced myself to breathe, then stepped back into the room.
But the man was gone.
The room was empty.
My eyes drifted to the untouched breakfast on the table. Not a single bite taken.
I didn't kid myself into thinking it was meant for me.
He didn't strike me as the kind of man who'd offer kindness out of nowhere-especially not after the way he looked at me last night, like I was a problem he couldn't wait to get rid of.
That breakfast wasn't an invitation.
It was a silent message: You know what to do. Leave.
Fine by me.
I didn't want to stay a second longer than I had to. This place-his presence, even in absence-felt like it pressed down on me, thick and suffocating.
Still, before I walked out, I let a quiet word slip into the emptiness.
"Thank you."
I just considered it a thank you to the man who took me in for the night, and left without looking back.
The elevator doors closed behind me, and only then did I finally exhale. The shame, the confusion, the fear that had been crushing me all morning finally began to ease. Just a little.
But my hands were still shaking.
We were out last night promoting al**hol. Coming back drunk wasn't exactly rare.
But the way I looked this morning-hair like a bird's nest, rumpled clothes clinging to my body, foot wrapped in gauze-I looked like a walking scandal.
And I had no memory. No way to defend myself if anyone started asking questions.
Of course, the moment I stepped into the locker room, the whispers started.
"...her dress was t**n..."
"I told you, there's no way she hits those sales numbers without-"
Their voices slithered into my ears like poison. I clenched my jaw and kept my eyes down, refusing to let the tears win.
Who would believe me if I said I spent the night with a man and nothing happened?
H**l, I didn't even believe it myself.
I changed quickly and headed for the door, just wanting to disappear. But as soon as I stepped outside, I heard it:
"Aria!"
It was Hank-my manager-barreling toward me like a freight train. Sweaty, out of breath, his gut bouncing with every step.
"Hank?" I blinked.
"There's... there's a guy out front looking for you!" he wheezed, grabbing my arm. "Real expensive car, too. Brought an entourage! They're waiting at the entrance!"
"What?" I blinked, stunned.
My mind flashed back to the man in the hotel room. Cold eyes. That piercing glare. Was it... him?
My foot throbbed like it remembered too.
Before I could ask anything else, Hank was dragging me outside.
A black Rolls-Royce Cullinan sat at the curb, sleek and menacing like a predator waiting to pounce.
My throat tightened as the car door opened. Men in black suits stepped out-stoic, muscular, definitely bodyguards.
"Boss," one of them said. "She's here."
I couldn't breathe.
Then a polished leather shoe touched the pavement. A tailored trouser leg followed, then the broad figure of a man stepping out of the car like he owned the world.
It was him.
The same man from this morning.
He adjusted the button on his blazer with practiced ease. When his eyes found mine, a chill ran down my spine. Each step he took made the air feel heavier.
I stepped back, trembling. "S-Sir... what do you want?"
He didn't answer. Just flicked his gaze toward the bodyguards.
They closed in, forming a wall around us, blocking out the curious onlookers. The street fell silent.
He turned his gaze back to me, his voice low and biting. "You left without my permission."
What?
I stared at him, stunned. I remembered that sharp "Get out" from the night before. The look of utter disgust on his face.
And now here he was-close, burning hot, his fingers curling around my wrist.
"I... I thought you wanted me gone," I stammered. "Last night... thank you-"
"You SHOULD thank me," he said coolly, leaning in.
Cologne. Warm skin. A dangerous smile.
"You puked all over me."
My head snapped up. Another memory hit me-his furious expression, the sound of ri**ing fabric, a flash of muscle under soft light-
Oh my god.
The mu**le wasn't the point right now!
"I... I can pay for the cleaning-"
"Sl**p with me once," he interrupted smoothly. "We'll call it even."
His voice was calm, almost casual.
Like he was asking about the weather.
Chapter 5 Kane's POV-Remember It
There she stood--frozen, trembling, eyes wide with fear--but still glaring at me with defiance burning behind those lashes.
Like a cornered kitty.
Terrified out of her mind, but baring her teeth anyway.
Yeah...that's it. A kitty. The perfect word for her.
Last night, the way she te**ed me, her flushed skin, those lips brushing against mine--I was this close to losing control. I was ready to take her, right there and then.
But just as I leaned in, drunk on l**t--
She puked all over me.
F**king unbelievable.
And the worst part?
I cleaned it up. With my own d**mn hands.
Scrubbed the floor, wiped her down, even helped her into bed. N**ed, vulnerable, right there in front of me, and I didn't to**h her.
Not once.
If anyone heard about that, they'd think I'd gone soft. Or worse--im**tent.
Normally, I'd have kicked someone like her straight out the door.
But there was something about her last night...all curled up, unconscious, tears caught in her lashes. Fragile. Breakable.
A woman like that lay next to me all night, and I hardly sl**t a wink.
And when I woke up this morning, my body reacted honestly, and I had to admit that at that moment I de**red her intensely, and I knew clearly that it was this woman in front of me that I de**red.
I figured a cold shower might help.
But the moment she opened her eyes, she screamed like I was a monster. Like I'd already done something unspeakable.
The rage hit me fast--hot and bitter. I shattered a vase before I could stop myself, but all I managed to do was scare her even more...and worse, I hurt her.
Great. So much for self-control.
Fine. I told myself I'd hit pause. Let her clean up, calm down, maybe get some food in her before we talked again. It wasn't easy, but I held back.
Honestly, I must be the most decent d**n man on this planet.
And what did she do?
She ran. Slipped out the moment I left to check the security footage.
The second I realized she was gone, all my patience turned to ash. My so-called kindness? A joke. So I did what any sane, slightly pissed-off man would do: I tracked her down.
Pulled the footage. Dug into her background.
Turns out she's a liquor rep--bouncing from b*r to bar in short skirts and high heels, smiling pretty for dr**k men who think a bottle means they own her.
It doesn't take a genius to figure out how she makes her money.
And the thought of her dressed like that every night, parading through sleazy b*rs, letting desperate men l**r at her, maybe even sl**ping with one or two for the right price…
It lit something dark inside me.
If she's selling, why shouldn't I be her client?
But the moment I suggested it--her whole body flinched. She went pale, lips trembling. For a second, I thought she might faint.
My anger fizzled out.
Replaced by...curiosity.
Even now, standing in front of me, she looked like she could snap in two--but that chin of hers stayed high. Proud. Stubborn. She didn't say no, but her expression screamed it.
She didn't realize--that look only made me want her more.
I leaned down and br**hed my lips against hers. Just a t**se. Just to rattle her.
Then--
"AH!"
Pain exploded across my mouth. I jerked back, stunned.
Bl**d.
She bit me. This kitty actually bit me!
I touched my lip--my fingers came away red.
She stood three paces away, shivering like a leaf in the wind, but her eyes sparkled with fury. My bl**d stained her lips.
"Sir," she said, voice shaking but clear, "SHOW SOME RESPECT."
Respect?
I laughed, low and bitter, wiping the bl**d with the back of my hand.
"I only respect people who've earned it."
The words hit their mark. Her fists clenched at her sides, rage flaring behind her eyes, turning the soft vulnerability into something sharper. Fiercer.
"If this is about last night," she said through gritted teeth, each word deliberate, "I'll apologize. I'll pay for the suit. But I'm not for sale. And if you insist on degrading me…"
She paused. Breathing hard. Like a fish out of water, gasping to survive.
I waited, intrigued.
"…then I swear, I'll take you down with me."
Now that got my attention.
The cut on my lip burned, but the anger didn't come. Not really.
What I felt was...entertained.
"And how do you plan to do that?" I took a step forward. She stepped back, just like I knew she would. "You going to the media? Call the cops?"
Another step. Closer. Close enough to smell the faint trace of al**hol still in her hair.
"Let me guess--'He ki**ed me against my will,' or maybe, 'I walked into his room completely n**ed, and somehow, he's the problem'?"
But she didn't flinch at my provocation.
"This has nothing to do with you," she snapped, her chin lifting in quiet defiance. "And remember--I've got nothing to lose."
Then her gaze shifted past me--to my car, my bodyguards, my entire world--and she added, almost too softly:
"But you do, sir."
Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried a kind of weight that demanded attention.
That quiet fire, that unyielding edge--she looked straight at me like she wasn't afraid, not really. Like she was daring me.
Just like that stray kitten I rescued as a kid--backed into a corner, no claws, no escape, trembling with fear but still baring its teeth, still arching its back like it could take on the whole d**n world.
It's a strange feeling, like the anger of being offended, yet also the excitement of discovering a new toy.
God, I hadn't felt this alive in years.
I wasn't angry anymore. I was intrigued.
Not because I believed her threats. Not because I felt guilty. But because I wanted to see what she'd do next.
I wanted to see her claws.
"I'll remember that," I said with a smirk, pulling a handkerchief from my pocket and pressing it to my lip. "Kane Wolfe. That's my name."
She needed to remember it.
Because one day, she'd whisper it herself.
And beg.
Chapter 6 Aria's POV-We Slept Together
The moment he let go, my wrist still burned from the force of his grip-like it had been seared into my skin.
I stood frozen, watching his back as he walked away without a second glance.
That was it? He just... left? What the h**l did that mean?
I'd braced myself for the worst-his fury, being dragged away by his bodyguards, maybe even a desperate scuffle using the bits of self-defense I'd barely managed to learn.
But he didn't do anything. Nothing. Just left his name behind: Kane Wolfe.
The name rang a bell. Familiar, like something I should remember-but couldn't.
Bang-
The back door slammed open. A flurry of hands grabbed my arms, hauling me inside like I was nothing more than a ripped tr**h bag.
"Aria! Are you out of your d**n mind? Do you even know who that was?"
My coworker was hysterical, her voice trembling. "Kane Wolfe! The CEO of ATTA Group! Don't tell me you've never heard of ATTA!"
The harsh white light of the storeroom painted everyone's faces an unhealthy shade of gray. It buzzed overhead, flickering slightly like it too was holding its breath.
Someone silently handed me a towel. Only then did I notice the crescent-shaped welts in my palms. My ears rang as whispers drifted around me.
"Last month... a paparazzo snapped a photo of him. The next day he just-"
She didn't finish. She didn't have to. Everyone shuddered. I stared down at my trembling fingers. In their eyes, I was already a dead woman walking.
From that day on, I lived with my nerves strung tight. Every time my phone vibrated, my heart skipped a beat. Every time a black sedan passed by, my legs moved faster, almost on instinct.
That primal fear-the kind prey feels when a predator has them in its sights-took root deep in my bones.
But strangely, three days passed... and nothing happened.
By the next day, I was back to my routine, hawking li**or, bouncing from one b*r to the next.
I didn't even avoid Neon Pulse, the place where everything had gone down. I kept waiting-for someone to corner me, threaten me, make me vanish.
But no one came.
It was as if that whole night had never happened. Like a bad dream I couldn't wake up from.
Until tonight.
I finally understood what it meant to be truly out of options.
Like any other night, I showed up at the back entrance of Neon Pulse, ready to pitch our products. My bag slung over one shoulder, my head buzzing with numbers and quotas.
That's when I saw Jaxon, the head waiter, standing stiffly in the hallway. His tie hung loose around his neck, sweat beading at his temple. He looked like a man who didn't want to say what he had to say.
"Hey, Jaxon," I called. "Everything okay?"
His eyes swept over me, full of conflict and exhaustion. It took him a long moment to respond.
"Aria... don't come here anymore."
I blinked. "Sorry-what?"
"I'm just following orders." He rubbed the back of his neck, his voice flat.
"The boss said you're banned from selling li**or here. I tried to vouch for you, but... I nearly got fired myself."
A cold weight settled in my ch**t. "Do you know why?"
He looked away, then muttered under his breath, "It's ATTA."
My breath caught.
"ATTA sent letters to every licensed venue on this street." He pulled a white envelope from his pocket and pressed it into my hand. His eyes were apologetic.
"Anyone who lets you in loses their license."
My knuckles whitened around the paper.
So that's how it was. They let me walk away-to corner me quietly, ruthlessly. One step at a time, choking off every exit.
But I wasn't ready to give up.
If I could still breathe, then I could still fight.
If I couldn't sell to b*rs, I'd find another way.
I began reaching out to supermarket buyers, e-commerce managers-anyone who might take a chance on Oak, our small, unheard-of brand.
We didn't have name recognition, but we had quality. Fair prices. Pa**ion.
I thought that would be enough.
It wasn't.
Two weeks later, the reality hit hard.
Every buyer I met with frowned, sneered, or tossed my brochure straight into the tr**h.
"Don't come back," they snapped.
Online retailers weren't any better.
"I'm sorry," one customer service rep said. "It's out of our hands. Company policy..."
One rejection. Then another. Then another.
My feet ached. My inbox filled with automated replies:
"Unfortunately, we are unable to proceed with your request at this time..."
Not a single bottle sold.
By tonight, my body felt like it might collapse. I locked myself inside the storeroom and sank to the floor, hugging my knees.
Tears streamed down my face, silent and uncontrollable.
Outside, I could hear coworkers murmuring through the thin door.
"Why are there so many returns again?"
"The warehouse is overflowing."
"It's all because of Aria... "
They weren't wrong. This was my fault.
And if I made the mess, then I had to clean it up.
***
The next morning, just before dawn, I left my apartment.
I stood across the street from the ATTA building, its glass facade gleaming in the early light. The tallest skyscraper in the city.
Once, I'd dreamed of walking through those doors in heels and a tailored suit, negotiating deals on my terms.
Now I was here for something else. Not power. Not pride.
I was here to beg for a chance to survive.
Drawing a deep breath, I walked into the lobby.
The receptionist smiled politely as I approached. "Good morning, miss. Do you have an appointment?"
My throat tightened. I shook my head. "No. But... he knows me. You can tell him... I'm Aria Vale."
Her smile faltered for a moment, and then she reached for a form. "Understood. Just a moment. For security purposes, may I ask-what is your relationship with Mr. Wolfe?"
My heart hammered against my ribs. My mind scrambled for answers-business contact, acquaintance, client...
But I didn't want the safe answer.
I wanted the one that left no room for retreat.
I met her gaze, forced a smile, and said evenly: "We sl**t together."
......
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&5&
His beloved woman suffered a terminal illness, and he indulged her repeated provocations against his wife. Heartbroken, his wife finally gave up, divorcing and vanishing, prompting him to block the whole city in a frantic search for her.
=====
Leaving the hospital, Thea Dawson could barely contain her excitement as she clutched the test results and hurried to call her husband, Jerred Willis.
"Jerred... I... I need to tell you something." Her voice trembled, her palms damp against the paper in her hand.
On the other end of the line, Jerred's response carried an unexpected chill. "Interesting. I have something to say to you, too. Make sure you're back home by seven."
Before Thea could reply, the line went dead, leaving her with the flat tone buzzing in her ear.
A tightness spread through her ch**t.
Something about Jerred's voice was amiss--it was far colder than usual.
She drew in a steadying breath and patted her cheeks, forcing a small smile. She urged herself not to think too much about it.
Jerred was the CEO of Braptin's largest multinational company; the weight of constant pressure was bound to make him feel frustrated sometimes. His cold tone didn't necessarily mean he was upset with her.
When the clock struck seven, Thea was already seated at the perfectly set dining table, her eyes flicking to her watch as each minute dragged.
Wanting to ease what she imagined might have been a grueling day for Jerred, she had carefully prepared all of his favorite dishes.
Yet, to her surprise, the man who prided himself on punctuality was late today.
An hour later, at last, the front door of the house opened.
Jerred stepped inside, his presence immediately filling the space with authority. The evening chill clung to his coat as he shrugged it off and passed it to the waiting maid.
Thea stood quickly, her smile soft and welcoming. "What kept you so late?"
"Got held up with something," he answered curtly.
With a folder in hand, he moved toward the table, his stride composed.
He then lowered himself into a chair, legs crossing with casual elegance. "You said you wanted a word with me?"
His unreadable eyes lingered on Thea, cold and probing, while the untouched food sat between them. His voice was cold as he said, "Go ahead; say it."
His icy demeanor made her fingers curl against her lap, and the news of her pr**nancy stuck in her throat.
Her lips twitched into a forced smile. "You also said you wanted to tell me something. Why don't you start first?"
For a long beat, he didn't answer. His stare remained locked on her, steady and suffocating. Then, in a voice slow and deliberate, he said, "Jaylynn's back."
Thea felt those words crash over her like an icy tide, leaving her stunned.
The Jaylynn he mentioned was none other than her cousin, Jaylynn Dawson.
Jaylynn had grown up alongside Jerred, their deep bond forged from childhood.
A year ago, Jaylynn had been the one destined to become Jerred's bride.
But for reasons unknown, Jaylynn had vanished the night before the wedding.
To shield both families from scandal, the Dawson family had dragged Thea out of her quiet countryside life and thrust her into Jerred's arms instead.
Thea had always known Jerred's heart belonged elsewhere. The moment Jaylynn returned, she'd be expected to step aside.
She had just never imagined that day would come so abruptly.
Her fingers curled around the crumpled pr**nancy test results hidden in her pocket. "So..."
Her voice trembled as her eyes flicked to the document on the table. "Is that a divorce agreement you've brought?"
"It isn't," Jerred replied, his tone flat. "I'm not filing for divorce--at least not yet."
A faint breath escaped Thea's lips, but the brief relief tightened into dread just as quickly.
His words carried the weight of inevitability, hinting that her marriage was already counting down to its end.
With her ch**t tight, Thea let out a quiet sniffle. "Then what is this document..."
"Jaylynn told me she disappeared because she thought she was dying," Jerred said evenly.
"She didn't want to burden me with her illness. She didn't come back to rekindle anything between us this time."
He then slid the document across the table toward Thea, unfolding it with deliberate precision. "She needs your help."
Thea froze for a moment. Her gaze then dropped instinctively to the page.
The bold heading made her pulse stutter--it was a bone marrow compatibility report.
Her eyes traced the lines until the truth slammed into her ch**t: her bone marrow was a perfect match for Jaylynn's.
As her eyes traced the words, a stab of pain shot through her ch**t.
She racked her memory, unable to recall ever having such a test.
Except...
Her throat tightened as she pieced it together. Forcing down the rising pain, she lifted her eyes to Jerred, sorrow etched across her face.
"Two months ago, when your assistant said I needed a check-up... was that test for this?"
Jerred gave a clipped nod. "That's right. I kept it from you because Jaylynn's return had to remain confidential."
Each word that left his lips struck her heart with brutal force.
That check-up--the only time in over a year of marriage he had shown even a shred of concern toward her--hadn't been about her at all.
She had been elated then, convinced it meant their relationship was finally moving forward.
Now, in hindsight, she must've seemed both pathetic and laughable at that time.
What she had once believed was a breakthrough in their relationship now revealed itself as nothing more than Jerred arranging a test for the woman he had truly cherished all along...
Lifting her head, Thea locked eyes with Jerred across the table he hadn't even noticed she had painstakingly set. "I'm not doing it," she declared, her voice firm.
Her fingers drifted protectively to her still-flat belly.
The tiny life in there, just two months along, was too fragile and too precious to endure something like this.
Jerred was caught off guard by her outright refusal, his expression hardening as his brow knitted together.
"I'll arrange for the best medical team. Everything will be handled with precision. You won't be at risk. Jaylynn's situation can't wait."
Thea held his gaze, her composure steady despite the storm gathering inside her.
After a long, tense silence, she drew a breath and said slowly, "Jerred... I'm pr**nant."
Chapter 2 Mommy Will Protect You
Jerred's taunt sliced through the room like a bl**e. "You'd spin any excuse just to avoid donating bone marrow to Jaylynn."
Silence lingered for a beat before he added with a mocking curl of his lips, "We've been using protection for an entire year. You can't possibly be pr**nant."
Thea's face froze. Then, her expression turned into a strained, bitter smile.
Her mind flitted back two months, to that day his assistant had dragged her out for the so-called check-up.
That night, Jerred had shocked her by waiting for her at home with an extravagant bouquet of scarlet roses.
He had dr**k a lot, and their in**macy had been wild.
She had reminded him of using protection, but Jerred, reeking of al**hol and grinning wickedly, had leaned close to her ear and murmured, "Tonight, I want to be closer to you."
Swept along in the deceptive haze, Thea had believed every gesture from him--the flowers, the sudden tenderness, even the in**mate recklessness--meant he was finally softening toward her.
Only now did the truth hit like a bucket of ice water. All of it--the odd check-up, the roses, the intense pa**ion--hadn't been for her at all.
It was because Jaylynn had returned.
Only Jaylynn could unravel Jerred, the man who was usually so composed and reserved, driving him to act impulsively.
He had forgotten about everything the next day because he had been too dr**k.
Thea's silence only fed Jerred's conviction that her pr**nancy was nothing more than an excuse to dodge the bone marrow donation.
"Thea," he called out, his brows drawing tight as his voice hardened. "I know you've never felt any real bond with Jaylynn, even though she is your cousin."
While speaking, he set a sleek black card down on the table, the gold-embossed J gleaming under the light. "There's ten million on this card. Consider it compensation."
Thea's eyes lingered on the glittering card, a self-mocking smile breaking across her face.
In their year of marriage, every allowance, every so-called gift Jerred had ever offered her had barely amounted to a single million.
Yet for the woman he truly cherished, he could toss away ten million as if it meant nothing.
"If you want something else instead," he added, his tone flat. "Just name your terms."
Jerred pressed on when Thea stayed silent. "If you agree to donate, I'll make sure you're compensated in every way I can."
Lifting her gaze, Thea studied Jarred as if he were a stranger.
His distant, businesslike tone reduced the moment to nothing more than a cold negotiation.
Their shared year--the fleeting tenderness, the fragile warmth--suddenly felt like a story she had invented for herself.
Yet the undeniable truth was that she carried his child.
Bitterness welled in her ch**t when she thought about that, her lashes lowering as she shut her eyes for a moment.
When she opened them again, determination steadied her expression. Her voice came firm as she said, "I don't care how you think of me because of this. I'm not donating my bone marrow."
Jerred's brows drew tight, but Thea's gaze only sharpened with a fierce resolve. "If you think I'm heartless or selfish, we can end this marriage."
The title of Jerred's wife had never truly belonged to her--and neither had his love.
The only thing she could claim without question was the fragile life growing inside her.
She would never risk her child's safety for Jaylynn, a woman who meant nothing to her.
The atmosphere in the dining room grew heavy, silence pressing down like a storm waiting to break.
A sense of unease stirred in Jerred's ch**t; he had a nagging fear that something precious was slipping away from him.
For a year, Thea had played the obedient wife--soft-spoken, accommodating, smiling as she accepted every request he tossed her way.
Tonight, though, she was transformed into something fierce, bristling with defiance, challenging him at every step, and even daring to throw divorce in his face.
Just then, the suffocating quiet was shattered by the abrupt ringing of Jarred's phone.
"Jaylynn." He quickly answered the call, his voice shifting at once--gentler, almost tender. "What's wrong?"
The house was so quiet that Thea, sitting rigid at the table, could hear the fragile, trembling voice on the other end of the line.
"Jerred, I'm in so much pain..." Jaylynn sobbed, her voice breaking.
"When I tried to stand, I banged my hand against the metal frame of the bed. The IV came loose, and bl**d's spilling everywhere. Am I not going to make it through the night..."
"I'm coming over now." Jarred's reply was urgent.
He stood abruptly, chair scraping against the floor, and while murmuring words of comfort into the phone, he strode toward the door.
As he reached the doorway, he paused, turning back to glance at Thea, who was still frozen in place.
His voice stayed calm, but his words were edged in steel.
"Marriage isn't some toy you toss around when you're upset. I'll pretend I didn't hear that talk about divorce. As for the bone marrow donation, I expect you to think it over seriously. I won't be back until later. Don't wait up; just get some rest on your own."
With that, he strode out, the heavy door soon slamming shut behind him.
The crash of wood meeting frame splintered Thea's ch**t, as if the sound itself had cracked her heart.
Her eyes drifted closed, and her trembling hand moved protectively across her belly.
"Baby," she whispered softly, voice quivering with fragile strength. "Don't be afraid. Mommy will protect you."
Given that Jerred had chosen Jaylynn over her, she decided at that moment that she would never choose him again.
Chapter 3 End Your Marriage To Her Now
Outside, rain hammered the windows, the steady roar filling the night.
Thea lay restless beneath the covers, her body shifting, sleep refusing to come. A year of memories with Jerred replayed in her mind, unbidden and relentless.
Their grandfathers were close friends, binding the Dawson and Willis families together. That bond had placed Jerred in her life when she was very young.
Even as a boy of eight, Jerred had carried himself with a solemn maturity, dressed sharply in a black suit, aloof and distant from the world around him.
At five, Thea had been his opposite--bright, clingy, always tugging at his sleeve, desperate to pull his attention her way.
Jerred's innate courtesy never let him brush her aside. He had stayed near, tolerating her chatter, even taking on the quiet role of her protector.
One summer afternoon, her reckless play had ended in disaster when she tumbled into a lake, sinking under frigid water.
Jerred had leapt in without hesitation, dragging her to shore and forcing breath back into her lungs.
When her eyes finally fluttered open through the haze of cold and fear, she thought she was staring at an angel as her eyes landed on Jerred.
After her parents' tragic accident, though, she was left in her grandparents' care, and the Dawson family came to see her as a burden.
They carried her off to the countryside, and from then on, she had never again returned to Braptin nor crossed paths with Jerred.
It wasn't until a year ago that her uncle finally tracked her down in the small, weathered cabin where she had been living all that time.
People all assumed she had married Jerred to escape the hardships of life in the countryside and to claw her way into wealth and status.
But only Thea knew the truth--how her heart had pounded with joy when she first learned she would become Jerred's bride.
Even so, she understood the marriage for what it was: a fleeting dream granted by fate, fragile and short-lived.
Now came the moment to wake up from that dream.
Outside the house, the storm raged across the night sky, lightning splitting the darkness while thunder rolled like cannon fire.
Curled beneath her blanket, Thea pulled the covers tighter around her, her heart gradually calming down.
The next morning, it was the shrill buzz of her phone that pulled her from sleep.
Jerred's mother's voice cut through Thea's drowsiness like a bl**e, dripping with disdain. "Still in bed at this hour? How did my son end up stuck with someone so lazy like you?"
For a full year, Thea had endured Maggie Willis' barbed remarks without a word in return.
Her silence had never come from weakness.
She had held her tongue because clashing with Maggie would only make Jerred's life harder.
As the head of Braptin's most powerful company, he already shouldered enough weight; she had never wanted to add family strife to his burdens.
But today, something inside her shifted. She was done enduring something like this.
Maggie's scorn only deepened. "If my family hadn't been desperate last year, I'd never have agreed to you marrying my son. You don't deserve to be with him. You'll never be good enough for him--"
Thea sat up, her voice calm but edged with steel. "You're right. I've never been worthy of Jerred. But marriage isn't only about one person; it's about both of us."
Drawing a steady breath, she continued, "If I'm such a disappointment, then tell your son to divorce me and marry someone you think is worthy. Jerred married me a year ago because he had to, but now, those problems your family was facing are gone, aren't they? He can divorce me."
Maggie froze, her tongue knotted. She was stunned by Thea's retort.
She couldn't believe that the woman who had always been submissive and quiet now had the guts to snap at her.
Was Thea out of her mind?
Just then, Thea's voice echoed again, sharp and unyielding.
"Did you really call me just to scold me, Maggie? If you have that much free time, maybe use it to convince your son to divorce me. I'm not wasting another second on you. I'm going back to bed. Bye!"
She ended the call in one decisive motion, leaving Maggie no chance to reply.
Maggie's fury spiked when Thea ended the call, her ch**t heaving.
Not only had Thea brushed off her scolding, but she'd also dared to show not the slightest shred of respect toward her.
That insolence gnawed at Maggie until her temper boiled over.
Seething, she dialed Jerred's number. The instant he answered, she unleashed her rage, exclaiming, "Has your wife lost her mind? I called to wake her up, but she snapped at me instead--told me to tell you to divorce her! Who does she think she is, acting so arrogantly?"
In the hospital corridor, Jerred stood motionless, gaze drifting to the rain-washed leaves outside the window.
A faint crease deepened between his brows as frustration pricked at him. "Thea really said that?"
"She did!" Maggie spat the words like da**ers.
"Jerred, I've told you over and over again this past year to divorce her, but you always make excuses to avoid it. Now that she's the one bringing it up, it's the perfect chance. I don't care what excuses you have; you need to end your marriage to her now! Do you have any idea how many people in high society laugh at our family behind our backs just because you married her? You--"
"Mom," Jerred interjected, his frown remaining. "The storm last night probably kept Thea awake with all that thunder. She was probably just in a bad mood."
He flicked his eyes to the glinting metal watch on his wrist, then added evenly, "It's only seven, and there's nothing urgent today. Why disturb her rest?"
As the words left his mouth, his gaze shifted toward the ward's doorway, where a frail figure in a hospital gown stood leaning against the frame.
His expression tightened, and he lowered his voice. "Something's come up. I'll hang up now."
Sliding the phone into his pocket, he walked toward Jaylynn. "Why are you out of bed?" he asked, his voice edged with concern.
Looking pale and weak, Jaylynn offered him a faint smile. "I overheard your mom saying Thea wants a divorce... Is it because of me?"
Tears shimmered in her eyes as she looked at him. "Jerred... Should I never have returned?"
Chapter 4 It's Been Some Time
Jerred cut Jaylynn off with furrowed brows, saying, "Don't read too much into it. Thea had a spat with my mother; she was just riled up and blurting out whatever came to her mind."
He steadied Jaylynn with a firm hand as he guided her back to the hospital bed. His voice was resolute as he said, "I'm not divorcing her for now."
At his unyielding tone, a faint shadow crossed Jaylynn's eyes.
She lowered her head, her lashes trembling, her voice nasal from crying.
"You've already been married for over a year. If word gets out that you divorce the moment I return, everyone will think that I ruined your marriage..."
Jerred remained quiet for several seconds before giving a short, final nod. "Yeah. We can talk about that later."
The heaviness in Jaylynn's expression lifted slightly at his reply.
Once tucked beneath the sheets, she let her gaze drift to the horizon, where sunlight spilled into the room. "I've been trapped in here day after day..."
Her eyes slid back to Jerred, her tone softening, almost coaxing. "Could you take me shopping today? I'm about to step back into the public eye; I need new clothes and jewelry."
Her hand brushed the brim of her hat as she tilted it back to expose a small patch of newly shaved scalp. Her voice quivered slightly as she admitted, "I can't let anyone see me like this."
The sight of her bare scalp softened Jerred's expression, a flicker of sympathy passing through his eyes. "Alright," he murmured, his tone unusually gentle.
***
It was the weekend today.
After ending her call with Maggie, Thea tried to sink back into sleep, but no matter how she shifted beneath the sheets, rest refused to come.
Irritation mounting, she eventually rose, wandering through the house before distracting herself with chores and packing.
She had spoken of divorce the night before. Jerred hadn't given her an answer, but she knew in her bones he'd agree to it eventually for Jaylynn.
So, she needed to pack up her things and be prepared for it.
Determined, she folded clothes neatly into her luggage, her movements sharp with purpose.
While she was tidying the dining room, her eyes landed on the black card Jerred had left on the table.
With the servants in the house at all hours, she didn't want to leave it there and lose it.
Just as Thea slid the card safely into her bag, ready to give it back to Jerred later, her phone buzzed with a call.
The name flashing on the screen made her ch**t loosen slightly--it was Brielle Dale, her close friend.
"Thea, tell me everything!" Brielle's warm voice quickly came through the line. "Did your husband lose his mind with excitement when he found out about your pr**nancy?"
Brielle and Thea had known each other since kindergarten, and after Thea's parents passed, Brielle and her family had been the ones making the long trips to the countryside to keep her from feeling alone.
Thea had never kept any secret from Brielle.
Thea kept her tone even as she muttered, "Brielle, I've decided to divorce Jerred."
On the other end of the line, silence stretched until Brielle's stunned reply slipped out. "What happened? Why are you suddenly saying this?"
Only yesterday afternoon, Thea had been humming with anticipation, filling her cart with fresh ingredients to cook Jerred's favorite dishes.
Yet now, in less than a day, she wanted to divorce him?
Thea sank into a chair, exhaustion pressing down on her. "Jaylynn's back."
"Unbelievable!" Brielle's tone hardened, slicing through the air. "She really chose the exact day you find out you're pr**nant to come back?"
"Not exactly," Thea said, pressing her fingertips against her throbbing temple.
Her voice steadied as she explained the situation. "She's actually been back for two months. I just found out about her return yesterday."
It almost felt like fate was giving her a sign.
When Jaylynn came back, she co**eived Jerred's baby.
And on the very day she learned of her pr**nancy and wanted to share the news with Jarred, she discovered Jaylynn's return.
Fate offered her a real family just before her marriage would end.
Brielle, unsure how else to console Thea, said in a low voice, "Thea, how about we hit the mall? Let's go shopping."
Maybe wandering aisles and trying on clothes could lift Thea's mood.
Thea agreed without hesitation.
Yet she had never imagined she would run into Jerred and Jaylynn in the mall.
When her eyes caught them, she happened to be standing in front of a mirror, trying on a beautiful dress.
She had never dared wear something so form-fitting before, always thinking it too bold for her image as Jerred's wife.
But Brielle had coaxed her, saying that with divorce around the corner, she no longer needed to play the dutiful wife; it was time for her to try something daring.
"That figure of yours is truly gorgeous!" Brielle exclaimed, circling Thea with her phone and snapping photos.
Heat rushed to Thea's cheeks at the blunt praise. She was about to laugh it off and tell Brielle to stop when her gaze lifted and landed on Jerred and Jaylynn walking side by side.
Jerred cut a sharp figure in a long black coat, his polished demeanor radiating a cold, untouchable authority.
At his side, Jaylynn clung to his arm, her frame delicate and frail. Illness had drained the color from her face, yet her every movement remained graceful.
A small entourage trailed them--bodyguards laden with shopping bags.
The sight stirred a bitter pang in Thea's heart.
She couldn't help remembering the time she had asked Jerred to go shopping with her.
It had been only a month into their marriage when Brielle had urged her to use the outing to draw closer to Jerred.
But Jerred hadn't even paused before refusing, his voice firm, dismissing the idea as a waste of his valuable time.
But with Jaylynn, his time seemed hers to use freely.
"What's got you staring so hard?" Brielle asked, her brow arched.
She caught Thea's lingering stare and followed her line of sight. Her lips then curled into a cold smile.
"Talk about bad luck. We're just trying to shop, and we run into them." Her tone was edged with mockery, loud enough to draw curious glances from nearby shoppers.
Both Jaylynn and Jerred turned at the sound.
Jerred's gaze landed on Thea, and for a split second, his expression shifted. In the sleek, form-fitting dress, she looked breathtaking.
He had known her body's every cu**e, ki**ed and to**hed every inch of her, but he had never expected her to look so radiant when she wore a dress cut to flatter her figure so perfectly.
The subtle change in Jerred's look didn't escape Jaylynn's notice.
A sting of jealousy flared inside her, but she smoothed it over with a practiced smile as she said to Thea, "Fancy seeing you here, Thea. It's been some time."
Chapter 5 Her Sudden Defiance
Thea's smile came tight and brittle as she focused on Jaylynn's forced warmth. "It really has been some time, Jaylynn."
A decade had slipped by since their last meeting--when Jaylynn had dragged her into their aunt's new salon, insisting she be the practice model for erasing the butterfly-shaped birthmark on her ch**t.
"So, are you two out shopping?" Jaylynn asked breezily, her arm still looped through Jerred's as if it belonged there.
Her smile remained as she gave Thea a slow once-over. "That dress is too extravagant, too daring for someone like you."
After a pause, she added with a tilt of her head, "Something simpler, more modest would suit you better."
Then, angling her face up toward Jerred towering beside her, she inquired sweetly, "Jerred, don't you agree?"
The sweet inflection in her voice made it feel as if she, not Thea, were Jerred's wife.
Jerred's gaze traced Thea's b**e shoulders and collarbone, his brow knitting as if the sight unsettled him. "The dress indeed doesn't suit her."
In his eyes, Thea--so often quiet and restrained--had no business standing out in something so bold.
"Why not?" Brielle countered sharply. She hooked an arm around Thea's shoulders. "She's got the body for it. Why shouldn't she show it off in such a dress?"
Her eyes then flicked to Jaylynn, cold and mocking. "Or maybe you'd rather she hide her great figure because you're jealous. After all, you have no cu**es."
Jaylynn's face drained of color at that. Her fingers clamped tighter around Jerred's arm, her voice unsteady. "It's true. I've dropped so much weight this year. No matter what I do, I can't..."
She faltered, her tone weakening into a whisper. "I can't compare with Thea's figure..."
Tears welled up in her eyes as she turned toward Thea, her words breaking into a sob. "But I wasn't jealous, I swear. I just thought the dress didn't match your style. I only meant to give honest advice."
Brielle snorted, folding her arms and saying, "What a performance, Jaylynn. Crying right on cue."
Her gaze cut into Jaylynn with open disdain. "You know exactly whether that was advice or a smug little jab at Thea."
Jaylynn's tears came down in torrents at Brielle's sharp words.
"Thea." Jerred's frown deepened, his tone edged with ice. "Tell your friend to watch her mouth."
Then, with a gentleness that made Thea's ch**t tighten, Jerred patted Jaylynn's trembling hand.
He tried to comfort her, saying, "Don't cry. Don't let this upset you. Your health is already fragile."
From where she stood, Thea caught the tender flicker in his eyes--an expression she had never once been on the receiving end of.
A jagged stab of pain ripped straight through her ch**t.
In the year they'd been married, whether she had been sick, exhausted, or quietly hurting, Jerred's gaze toward her had always been cool, distant, untouched by concern.
She had once thought that it was just because of Jerred's reserved nature, that he wasn't good at expressing emotions.
But now, seeing how he looked at Jaylynn, she understood everything.
The contrast was brutal--love and indifference were separated by nothing more than a moment's gaze.
Thea, after wasting a year bleeding love into their marriage, realized she'd been nothing but st**id before.
A heat rose in her ch**t, burning away the silence she had usually clung to.
She leveled Jerred with a frosty gaze, her voice cutting through the air.
"Mr. Willis, you pride yourself on being a seasoned and perceptive businessman. Surely you can hear the contempt dripping from Jaylynn's tone when she speaks to me."
Jerred's eyes narrowed, but he offered no reply.
Thea continued, "When someone humiliates me and my husband keeps his mouth shut, why can't my friend say something? She's standing up for me. Tell me, why would I stop her?"
Her words fell like stones into still water, stilling the murmurs of the onlookers.
Brielle's shock froze her in place, her eyes wide. She looked as if she couldn't process what she had just heard.
Thea, once as bold and spirited as Brielle, had lost her fire after her parents' deaths, becoming quiet and reserved.
Whenever others mocked or bullied Thea and Brielle stood up for her, Thea used to tug at Brielle's sleeve, whispering for her to drop it.
She had always claimed it was simpler to swallow her grievances than stir up trouble.
But now, Thea stood her ground, her spine straight, her tone cutting through the tension as she voiced her frustration.
And the person she confronted wasn't just anyone--it was Jerred, the man she had loved for years.
Jerred clearly hadn't foreseen such defiance from Thea, either.
He looked at her, irritation sharpening his tone. "Turns out my mother was right about you. You're nothing like yourself today."
Before, Thea had always been compliant, taking every slight with quiet patience.
Now, she wasn't like that anymore...
......
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&5&
Many years ago, she left his world carrying their unborn child. Now, the man who had abandoned her felt as if his heart were in pieces, filled with endless regret. He was determined to tear the world apart to win her and their daughter back.
=====
"NO... PLEASE... STAY AWAY! Don't hurt my baby, PLEASE!"
My voice was barely audible, I curled up in the farthest corner of the operating room, my body pressed against the icy wall.
The white dress I wore was wrinkled and stained, as crumpled as the chaos in my heart.
I must've looked like a mess-my hair tangled and stuck to my tear-streaked face, my lips bitten raw, streaked with bl**d.
But none of that mattered anymore. Not here. Not now.
The doctors moved with sterile precision, dressed in pale blue scrubs, their gloved hands calmly arranging gleaming instruments that shimmered under the harsh fluorescent lights.
The anesthesiologist adjusted the IV bag above me, the silver glint of the needle burning into my vision.
"It's a simple procedure," he said with a professional smile. "It'll be over quickly."
"Liar!" I shook my head violently, as if I could somehow shake his words out of my mind. "You're all liars! Mu**erers! You're trying to k**l my baby!"
That child was all I had left-the only thing anchoring me to this life. How could I just give up on him?
The head nurse stepped forward. Her face was colder than any of the doctors'. She grabbed my wrist with a grip like iron, sharp and emotionless.
She motioned to the two orderlies. "Hold her down."
As they reached for me, something primal surged up inside me. I screamed, broke free with every ounce of strength I had, and shoved her backward.
She stumbled, crashing into the others. The room descended into chaos.
And then-
The door burst open.
For a moment, my heart leapt. Kane? Did he change his mind? Did he finally come to save us?
But no.
It wasn't him.
It was Baron-his assistant.
He stood in the doorway, brows furrowed, his eyes filled with disdain. The way he looked at me... like I was nothing more than a madwoman causing trouble.
Still, I had no choice. I had to try. This was the only sliver of hope left to me.
"BARON! Baron, please!" I threw myself at him, collapsing to my knees and grabbing onto the fabric of his trousers. "Please-don't let them hurt my baby. I'm begging you..."
There was no pride left in me. No dignity. Every ounce of strength I had was poured into this desperate plea.
But he didn't even flinch. Not a flicker of sympathy.
Without a word, he raised his foot and drove it into my shoulder. Pain exploded down my arm as I hit the cold floor, my face pressed against the tile.
"I thought you'd come to your senses by now," he said, his voice like ice.
I couldn't stop the tears. They poured down my face, hot and endless.
My voice cracked as I whispered, "I don't understand... why? I just want to keep my baby. The baby hasn't done anything wrong..."
"The boss doesn't want the baby," Baron said flatly.
"I DON'T CARE WHAT HE WANTS!" I choked, my voice raw. "He doesn't have to raise the baby-I'll disappear, I swear. I'll leave and NEVER show my face again. Just... PLEASE, Baron, call him. Let me talk to him. Let me beg him, one last time.."
I clung to his leg, sobbing, but he only looked down at me like I was a lunatic.
"Fine," he muttered. "Then let me show you how things really are."
He pulled out his phone.
St**idly, I still hoped. I still thought maybe-just maybe-he was calling Kane for me. That maybe he still cared.
But then the speaker crackled to life.
"What if she refuses?" Baron's voice came through.
"Refuse?" That voice...
I'd know it anywhere. Deep, low, once warm enough to make me believe in forever.
Now it sounded like a bl**e being dragged across stone.
"She won't refuse. She knows it herself."
Kane. My Kane.
The man who used to whisper love into my ear like promises.
Now his words carved through me like kn**es.
"She is unworthy of being the mother of my child." he said, almost amused.
And just like that-I broke.
I didn't scream. I didn't wail.
Just a quiet whimper escaped my throat, like a wounded animal.
The world around me faded. All I could hear was the thunder of bl**d in my ears. My heart felt like it had been hollowed out with a rusted spoon.
So this... this is what heartbreak really feels like.
Not a cinematic explosion of pain.
Just... emptiness.
Numbness.
I stood up slowly, legs trembling under me like wet paper. The massive window at the far end of the room caught my eye.
Outside, the sky was the color of lead.
How strange!
The world looked so calm, even as mine crumbled to ash.
The figures rushed toward me again, voices sharp and urgent.
But I didn't hear them anymore.
I climbed onto the windowsill, the wind sweeping my hair back from my face. One last glance at the sterile room behind me-filled with faceless people, masks, gloves, orders.
They were still talking, but it didn't matter.
I'd already made my choice.
"Tell Kane... I'll do what he wants." My voice was clear, almost serene. "Goodbye."
And then I leaned back, surrendering to the pull of gravity.
As I fell, I didn't feel fear.
Only peace.
For once, this choice was mine.
I touched my gently rounded belly one last time.
I'm sorry, baby.
I couldn't protect you.
But at least now, they'll never separate us again.
Chapter 2 Aria's POV-It's Dangerous Out There
Years ago
It was a Saturday night. The b*r pulsed with noise-shouting, laughter, the thumping beat of music that rattled your bones.
Strobe lights cut across the room like bl**es, and the air was thick with the mingling scents of perfume, ci**rette sm**e, and al**hol. It choked me, made it hard to breathe.
Before coming here, I'd downed a handful of hangover pills, praying I could hold my li**or long enough to sell more drinks tonight.
That was how I made a living-selling al**hol on commission. The more I sold, the more I earned.
But in places like this, business was rarely just business. Lately, the men didn't want to pay for the drinks-they wanted to see us drink them.
They weren't buying al**hol. They were buying control. Amusement.
And we, the salesgirls, were just part of the entertainment.
I knew that. And I still did it. Because I had to.
But tonight, I'd gone too far.
The al**hol hit me hard. One second, I was trying to make another sale; the next, my vision blurred, and the floor tilted beneath me.
I stumbled toward the restroom, barely making it to the toilet before I dropped to my knees and vomited violently.
My stomach twisted like someone had their hand wrapped around it, squeezing. Nothing came up except bitter bile.
I collapsed on the cold tile floor, forehead pressed against it, my body shaking uncontrollably. Toilets flushed all around me-mine, someone else's, I couldn't tell anymore.
I don't know how long I stayed there before I managed to move. Slowly, painfully, I pushed myself up, one hand braced against the wall.
My legs trembled under me, barely able to support my weight. My head felt like it was packed with cotton. The buzzing in my ears was constant.
Voices filtered through the haze. I couldn't make out the words, just the rhythm-people searching for someone. Calling out. Laughing.
I staggered forward, still hugging the wall. My stomach burned, and every step sent nausea clawing up my throat. I didn't care what they were saying. I just wanted to get out.
And then-everything spun.
Without warning, someone grabbed me from behind and hoisted me into the air. I let out a strangled g**p, but no sound came.
I was slung over someone's shoulder like a rag doll, my stomach pressed hard against them, making my nausea flare.
"She's not one of ours," a voice said hesitantly.
"So what?" a woman sneered. "She's blackout drunk. Won't remember A DAMN THING tomorrow."
Panic snapped through me like lightning.
In b*rs like this, it wasn't unheard of for drunk girls to go missing-too far gone to scream, too weak to fight.
Everyone's heard the stories.
Doesn't matter the city, the country, the continent-there's always someone lurking, waiting to drag a girl away the moment she lets her guard down.
God... don't tell me tonight I became that story.
The thought slammed into me like ice water.
My buzz snapped in half.
Panic surged in its place.
I tried to move, to fight, but my limbs felt like they'd been filled with cement. My arms wouldn't cooperate, and my legs-useless. I couldn't even lift my head.
I was being carried-thrown over someone's shoulder like a sack of flour. His shoulder dug into my stomach, jostling me with every step.
The pressure made the nausea worse, bile rising in my throat.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to run.
But all I could do was hang there, limp and helpless, the world spinning sideways as they dragged me into the dark.
The mattress dipped beneath me, the world spinning as I tried to push myself up. My knees gave out beneath me, and I slumped to the floor, hitting the ground hard.
I heard a click-the door shutting.
I bit down on the tip of my tongue until I tasted bl**d. The sharp, metallic tang jolted me a little more awake. I couldn't let this happen. I had to get out.
My back was drenched in cold sweat, my clothes sticky and clinging to me. I forced myself to stand, grabbing the edge of the bed for support.
Then I heard footsteps. The door opened again.
I froze.
A man stepped inside-b**e-ch**ted, his skin glistening like he'd just come out of the shower. Water dripped from his hair onto his broad shoulders. His eyes landed on me.
And in that moment, everything stopped.
He looked at me with disgust. Cold, r*w, unmistakable disgust.
I must've looked like h**l-smeared makeup, tangled hair, clothes clinging to me, neckline too low, skirt too short. Pathetic.
He walked over and grabbed a towel from the couch, tossed it at me without a word.
"Get out," he said flatly.
I flinched, catching the towel instinctively. Before I could say anything, he disappeared into the bathroom and slammed the door shut.
I wanted to leave. God, I wanted to run.
But I couldn't. My legs wouldn't move. I was like a puppet with its strings cut. Trembling, I clutched the armrest of the couch and pulled myself up again.
One step. Pain flared through my knee as I slipped and hit the ground. I barely managed to catch myself.
I couldn't go out there-not like this. Not into the chaos of the b*r. Not when I couldn't stand straight.
I looked around the room-foreign, unfamiliar, but at least it was closed off from the outside.
Whoever this man was... he hadn't touched me. He didn't look like the type to take advantage.
He looked like he wanted nothing more than to be left alone.
Maybe that was the safest place I could be right now.
I dragged myself to the table, picked up a glass of ice water, and downed it in one go. The cold shocked my senses, made me shiver violently-but it helped. Just a little.
I heard the bathroom door open behind me. The man stepped out, now dressed, his towel gone. I turned and hesitated before walking toward him.
I raised a hand and knocked lightly on the doorframe.
He saw me and immediately scowled.
"I told you to leave."
"I know..." My voice trembled. "Please, sir. Just let me stay here for a bit. It's dangerous out there..."
He yanked his arm away from me.
"Not my problem," he snapped.
He threw his damp clothes aside, marched to the door, and flung it open. "Three minutes. If you're still here, you'll regret it."
I tried to beg again, but the words stuck in my throat. My knees buckled beneath me, and I crumpled to the floor.
I barely registered the sound of him cu**ing, or the slam of the door as he shut it again. My vision blurred, my body burning and freezing at once.
I think he said something. But I couldn't make sense of it. My mind was slipping, drifting...
And then I felt arms scoop me up.
He threw me back onto the b*d.
And then-nothing.
Darkness swallowed me whole.
Chapter 3 Kane's POV-The Kiss
She hit the bed with a soft bounce, her body weightless, like she didn't belong in the real world. I stood beside her, looking down, watching her.
She looked troubled. Even unconscious, her brows were furrowed, her lashes trembling like she was trapped in a nightmare she couldn't escape.
Her fingers clutched the bedsheet in a white-knuckled grip.
I'd seen scenes like this before. More times than I cared to admit.
I was used to women throwing themselves at me. They knew exactly what to do-how to smile, how to m**n on cue, when to feign innocence, when to beg.
It always felt like a performance.
And frankly, it bored me.
But this one... she was different.
She wasn't putting on a show. She wasn't trying to se**ce. Her lipstick was smeared, her makeup ruined, her breath hot with the sting of al**hol.
When I reached out to touch her, her body flinched-not in invitation, but in fear.
Genuine fear.
That was new.
I leaned down and gripped her chin gently but firmly, tilting her face toward me.
She whimpered and tried to push me away, her arms trembling with the effort. But it wasn't the fl**tatious push of a co**ette-it was weak, desperate, real.
There was something raw in the way she resisted. Something fragile. Something human.
I should've stopped.
Instead, I traced my thumb along her bottom lip.
"Do you know where you are?" I asked, voice low, almost a whisper against her skin.
Her lips were slightly parted, her breath laced with w**e and regret. She didn't answer. Just turned her head as if she could disappear from my touch.
Of course, she couldn't.
I tightened my grip. Her breath hi**hed, ch**t rising fast and uneven. Her eyes blinked open-wild, glassy, pleading.
"Let me go..." she whispered.
I leaned closer, our faces inches apart.
"Let go?" I echoed, my voice curling into something dark and teasing. "Sweetheart, it's too late for that."
I knew what I was doing. I knew the pressure in my voice, the weight of those words. I wanted her to understand-this was my room, my rules.
She clearly understood what I meant, her body suddenly tensed up, and she resisted my hands even more forcefully, but this force was not so much resistance as it was an invitation.
And that only made me want her more.
I hadn't felt like this in years.
Her flushed cheeks, her parted lips-I couldn't hold back any longer.
I dipped my head and brushed my lips against her ear, catching the sharp little shiver that ran through her body.
Her breath was hot against my neck-sharp and unsteady. It ignited something in me.
She had to be doing this on purpose.
I ca**ured her mouth in a k**s before I could think twice.
Her lips were unbelievably soft, the k**s consumed me.
My skin prickled with heat, every nerve ending on fire. I hadn't lost control like this in... I couldn't even remember when.
Was I really that deprived? Or was there something about her-this broken, trembling girl-that made me feel like a teenager again, ki**ing someone for the first time?
She wh**pered when I pulled away for breath. "No... don't..."
But I couldn't stop. I didn't want to.
My hand found her waist, sliding around to her back, holding her against me. My other hand wrapped around her wrist. She smelled clean, like rain or fresh cotton. Untouched.
And I wanted to ruin her.
I wanted her to smell like me.
And just when I thought she was starting to respond-everything changed.
She jerked.
Hard.
I froze. Pulled back, just enough to see her face-only for her to suddenly roll over, lurching toward the edge of the bed.
And then it happened.
"Ugh-"
She vomited violently, the sound tearing through the room, raw and sudden.
The stench of al**hol and bile hit me like a punch. I looked down and saw the mess-on the floor, on the bedspread... on me.
The carpet was ruined. My shirt was drenched in it.
Any heat, any de**re I'd felt-it vanished.
She stayed hunched over the edge of the bed, her hair a tangled curtain hiding her face, her shoulders shaking. She looked wrecked. Broken.
Like someone who didn't belong here. Like someone who had fallen into the wrong life.
I stood there in stunned silence, watching the disaster unfold in slow motion.
The night, my mood, my intentions-it all came crashing down.
Chapter 4 Aria's POV-Sleep With Me Once
Early the next morning.
The moment I opened my eyes, it felt like my skull had been split open.
A dull, throbbing pain pulsed through my head, and my entire body ached like I'd been hit by a truck. Every bone in me seemed to be protesting in agony.
I tried to turn over and go back to sl**p, but something beneath me jabbed into my spine, hard and unyielding.
What the h**l?
Why did my bed suddenly feel like a slab of concrete?
With a gr**n, I forced myself upright. My eyelids felt like they weighed a ton. It took everything I had just to sit up. I glanced down-
And froze.
I was completely n**ed.
Lying on the floor.
"Ah!"
A scream tore from my throat before I could think.
Panic surged like a tidal wave, wiping out all coherent thought.
I scrambled to my feet, grabbing the towel from the back of the couch and wrapping it tightly around myself.
I looked like a deranged marsupial, stumbling and flailing around the room, desperate for answers I didn't have.
Shame, fear, confusion-they all crashed over me at once, making it hard to breathe.
Then, the bathroom door swung open with a sharp click.
A man stepped out. A stranger. Tall. Broad shoulders. Dressed in nothing but a towel, water still dripping from his hair. His eyes locked on me-cold, sharp, and pissed.
"S**T UP!" he barked before I could process what I was seeing. He snatched a vase from the table and hurled it at the floor, just inches from my feet.
Crash.
Porcelain shattered, shards skittering across the room.
I flinched, heart thundering, and felt a sharp sting at my heel. I looked down-bl**d. A red trail began snaking across the floor from the cut on my foot.
"Ah!" I screamed again, this time from the pain.
He stormed over and grabbed me without a word, tossed me onto the mattress like I weighed nothing.
Then he shoved a pillowcase into my mouth, his voice low and furious, "I said s**t up."
I whimpered, staring up at him in terror. My whole body trembled. There was something in his expression-disgust, yes, but also... something else.
A flicker of familiarity. And just like that, pieces of the night before began to return.
Blinding lights. The bitter burn of al**hol. His face, distant and cold.
He stepped away after a moment, apparently satisfied I wasn't about to lose it again.
He picked up a phone, barked out orders with casual indifference. "Send someone to clean the room. Bring up a first aid kit. And breakfast."
Then he turned his back and walked toward the wardrobe, opening it as if I weren't even there.
I lay there, still wrapped in the sheets, trying to pull myself together. My thoughts were a tangled mess. All I knew was, I needed to get dressed. Fast.
I pulled the pillowcase from my mouth and yanked the blanket tighter around me, sitting up slowly. I checked between my legs-no pain, no signs of... vi**ation.
My ch**t loosened a little. Maybe... maybe nothing happened.
My clothes were crumpled in the corner like they'd been thrown there.
I limped to them, wrapped in the blanket, and hurried into the bathroom to get dressed. My hands wouldn't stop shaking.
Soon, someone had left a first aid kit just outside the door.
I sat on the cold tile floor and patched up my foot as best I could. Then I caught my reflection in the mirror-hair a disaster, eyes puffy, skin pale.
I forced myself to breathe, then stepped back into the room.
But the man was gone.
The room was empty.
My eyes drifted to the untouched breakfast on the table. Not a single bite taken.
I didn't kid myself into thinking it was meant for me.
He didn't strike me as the kind of man who'd offer kindness out of nowhere-especially not after the way he looked at me last night, like I was a problem he couldn't wait to get rid of.
That breakfast wasn't an invitation.
It was a silent message: You know what to do. Leave.
Fine by me.
I didn't want to stay a second longer than I had to. This place-his presence, even in absence-felt like it pressed down on me, thick and suffocating.
Still, before I walked out, I let a quiet word slip into the emptiness.
"Thank you."
I just considered it a thank you to the man who took me in for the night, and left without looking back.
The elevator doors closed behind me, and only then did I finally exhale. The shame, the confusion, the fear that had been crushing me all morning finally began to ease. Just a little.
But my hands were still shaking.
We were out last night promoting al**hol. Coming back drunk wasn't exactly rare.
But the way I looked this morning-hair like a bird's nest, rumpled clothes clinging to my body, foot wrapped in gauze-I looked like a walking scandal.
And I had no memory. No way to defend myself if anyone started asking questions.
Of course, the moment I stepped into the locker room, the whispers started.
"...her dress was t**n..."
"I told you, there's no way she hits those sales numbers without-"
Their voices slithered into my ears like poison. I clenched my jaw and kept my eyes down, refusing to let the tears win.
Who would believe me if I said I spent the night with a man and nothing happened?
H**l, I didn't even believe it myself.
I changed quickly and headed for the door, just wanting to disappear. But as soon as I stepped outside, I heard it:
"Aria!"
It was Hank-my manager-barreling toward me like a freight train. Sweaty, out of breath, his gut bouncing with every step.
"Hank?" I blinked.
"There's... there's a guy out front looking for you!" he wheezed, grabbing my arm. "Real expensive car, too. Brought an entourage! They're waiting at the entrance!"
"What?" I blinked, stunned.
My mind flashed back to the man in the hotel room. Cold eyes. That piercing glare. Was it... him?
My foot throbbed like it remembered too.
Before I could ask anything else, Hank was dragging me outside.
A black Rolls-Royce Cullinan sat at the curb, sleek and menacing like a predator waiting to pounce.
My throat tightened as the car door opened. Men in black suits stepped out-stoic, muscular, definitely bodyguards.
"Boss," one of them said. "She's here."
I couldn't breathe.
Then a polished leather shoe touched the pavement. A tailored trouser leg followed, then the broad figure of a man stepping out of the car like he owned the world.
It was him.
The same man from this morning.
He adjusted the button on his blazer with practiced ease. When his eyes found mine, a chill ran down my spine. Each step he took made the air feel heavier.
I stepped back, trembling. "S-Sir... what do you want?"
He didn't answer. Just flicked his gaze toward the bodyguards.
They closed in, forming a wall around us, blocking out the curious onlookers. The street fell silent.
He turned his gaze back to me, his voice low and biting. "You left without my permission."
What?
I stared at him, stunned. I remembered that sharp "Get out" from the night before. The look of utter disgust on his face.
And now here he was-close, burning hot, his fingers curling around my wrist.
"I... I thought you wanted me gone," I stammered. "Last night... thank you-"
"You SHOULD thank me," he said coolly, leaning in.
Cologne. Warm skin. A dangerous smile.
"You puked all over me."
My head snapped up. Another memory hit me-his furious expression, the sound of ri**ing fabric, a flash of muscle under soft light-
Oh my god.
The mu**le wasn't the point right now!
"I... I can pay for the cleaning-"
"Sl**p with me once," he interrupted smoothly. "We'll call it even."
His voice was calm, almost casual.
Like he was asking about the weather.
Chapter 5 Kane's POV-Remember It
There she stood--frozen, trembling, eyes wide with fear--but still glaring at me with defiance burning behind those lashes.
Like a cornered kitty.
Terrified out of her mind, but baring her teeth anyway.
Yeah...that's it. A kitty. The perfect word for her.
Last night, the way she te**ed me, her flushed skin, those lips brushing against mine--I was this close to losing control. I was ready to take her, right there and then.
But just as I leaned in, drunk on l**t--
She puked all over me.
F**king unbelievable.
And the worst part?
I cleaned it up. With my own d**mn hands.
Scrubbed the floor, wiped her down, even helped her into bed. N**ed, vulnerable, right there in front of me, and I didn't to**h her.
Not once.
If anyone heard about that, they'd think I'd gone soft. Or worse--im**tent.
Normally, I'd have kicked someone like her straight out the door.
But there was something about her last night...all curled up, unconscious, tears caught in her lashes. Fragile. Breakable.
A woman like that lay next to me all night, and I hardly sl**t a wink.
And when I woke up this morning, my body reacted honestly, and I had to admit that at that moment I de**red her intensely, and I knew clearly that it was this woman in front of me that I de**red.
I figured a cold shower might help.
But the moment she opened her eyes, she screamed like I was a monster. Like I'd already done something unspeakable.
The rage hit me fast--hot and bitter. I shattered a vase before I could stop myself, but all I managed to do was scare her even more...and worse, I hurt her.
Great. So much for self-control.
Fine. I told myself I'd hit pause. Let her clean up, calm down, maybe get some food in her before we talked again. It wasn't easy, but I held back.
Honestly, I must be the most decent d**n man on this planet.
And what did she do?
She ran. Slipped out the moment I left to check the security footage.
The second I realized she was gone, all my patience turned to ash. My so-called kindness? A joke. So I did what any sane, slightly pissed-off man would do: I tracked her down.
Pulled the footage. Dug into her background.
Turns out she's a liquor rep--bouncing from b*r to bar in short skirts and high heels, smiling pretty for dr**k men who think a bottle means they own her.
It doesn't take a genius to figure out how she makes her money.
And the thought of her dressed like that every night, parading through sleazy b*rs, letting desperate men l**r at her, maybe even sl**ping with one or two for the right price…
It lit something dark inside me.
If she's selling, why shouldn't I be her client?
But the moment I suggested it--her whole body flinched. She went pale, lips trembling. For a second, I thought she might faint.
My anger fizzled out.
Replaced by...curiosity.
Even now, standing in front of me, she looked like she could snap in two--but that chin of hers stayed high. Proud. Stubborn. She didn't say no, but her expression screamed it.
She didn't realize--that look only made me want her more.
I leaned down and br**hed my lips against hers. Just a t**se. Just to rattle her.
Then--
"AH!"
Pain exploded across my mouth. I jerked back, stunned.
Bl**d.
She bit me. This kitty actually bit me!
I touched my lip--my fingers came away red.
She stood three paces away, shivering like a leaf in the wind, but her eyes sparkled with fury. My bl**d stained her lips.
"Sir," she said, voice shaking but clear, "SHOW SOME RESPECT."
Respect?
I laughed, low and bitter, wiping the bl**d with the back of my hand.
"I only respect people who've earned it."
The words hit their mark. Her fists clenched at her sides, rage flaring behind her eyes, turning the soft vulnerability into something sharper. Fiercer.
"If this is about last night," she said through gritted teeth, each word deliberate, "I'll apologize. I'll pay for the suit. But I'm not for sale. And if you insist on degrading me…"
She paused. Breathing hard. Like a fish out of water, gasping to survive.
I waited, intrigued.
"…then I swear, I'll take you down with me."
Now that got my attention.
The cut on my lip burned, but the anger didn't come. Not really.
What I felt was...entertained.
"And how do you plan to do that?" I took a step forward. She stepped back, just like I knew she would. "You going to the media? Call the cops?"
Another step. Closer. Close enough to smell the faint trace of al**hol still in her hair.
"Let me guess--'He ki**ed me against my will,' or maybe, 'I walked into his room completely n**ed, and somehow, he's the problem'?"
But she didn't flinch at my provocation.
"This has nothing to do with you," she snapped, her chin lifting in quiet defiance. "And remember--I've got nothing to lose."
Then her gaze shifted past me--to my car, my bodyguards, my entire world--and she added, almost too softly:
"But you do, sir."
Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried a kind of weight that demanded attention.
That quiet fire, that unyielding edge--she looked straight at me like she wasn't afraid, not really. Like she was daring me.
Just like that stray kitten I rescued as a kid--backed into a corner, no claws, no escape, trembling with fear but still baring its teeth, still arching its back like it could take on the whole d**n world.
It's a strange feeling, like the anger of being offended, yet also the excitement of discovering a new toy.
God, I hadn't felt this alive in years.
I wasn't angry anymore. I was intrigued.
Not because I believed her threats. Not because I felt guilty. But because I wanted to see what she'd do next.
I wanted to see her claws.
"I'll remember that," I said with a smirk, pulling a handkerchief from my pocket and pressing it to my lip. "Kane Wolfe. That's my name."
She needed to remember it.
Because one day, she'd whisper it herself.
And beg.
Chapter 6 Aria's POV-We Slept Together
The moment he let go, my wrist still burned from the force of his grip-like it had been seared into my skin.
I stood frozen, watching his back as he walked away without a second glance.
That was it? He just... left? What the h**l did that mean?
I'd braced myself for the worst-his fury, being dragged away by his bodyguards, maybe even a desperate scuffle using the bits of self-defense I'd barely managed to learn.
But he didn't do anything. Nothing. Just left his name behind: Kane Wolfe.
The name rang a bell. Familiar, like something I should remember-but couldn't.
Bang-
The back door slammed open. A flurry of hands grabbed my arms, hauling me inside like I was nothing more than a ripped tr**h bag.
"Aria! Are you out of your d**n mind? Do you even know who that was?"
My coworker was hysterical, her voice trembling. "Kane Wolfe! The CEO of ATTA Group! Don't tell me you've never heard of ATTA!"
The harsh white light of the storeroom painted everyone's faces an unhealthy shade of gray. It buzzed overhead, flickering slightly like it too was holding its breath.
Someone silently handed me a towel. Only then did I notice the crescent-shaped welts in my palms. My ears rang as whispers drifted around me.
"Last month... a paparazzo snapped a photo of him. The next day he just-"
She didn't finish. She didn't have to. Everyone shuddered. I stared down at my trembling fingers. In their eyes, I was already a dead woman walking.
From that day on, I lived with my nerves strung tight. Every time my phone vibrated, my heart skipped a beat. Every time a black sedan passed by, my legs moved faster, almost on instinct.
That primal fear-the kind prey feels when a predator has them in its sights-took root deep in my bones.
But strangely, three days passed... and nothing happened.
By the next day, I was back to my routine, hawking li**or, bouncing from one b*r to the next.
I didn't even avoid Neon Pulse, the place where everything had gone down. I kept waiting-for someone to corner me, threaten me, make me vanish.
But no one came.
It was as if that whole night had never happened. Like a bad dream I couldn't wake up from.
Until tonight.
I finally understood what it meant to be truly out of options.
Like any other night, I showed up at the back entrance of Neon Pulse, ready to pitch our products. My bag slung over one shoulder, my head buzzing with numbers and quotas.
That's when I saw Jaxon, the head waiter, standing stiffly in the hallway. His tie hung loose around his neck, sweat beading at his temple. He looked like a man who didn't want to say what he had to say.
"Hey, Jaxon," I called. "Everything okay?"
His eyes swept over me, full of conflict and exhaustion. It took him a long moment to respond.
"Aria... don't come here anymore."
I blinked. "Sorry-what?"
"I'm just following orders." He rubbed the back of his neck, his voice flat.
"The boss said you're banned from selling li**or here. I tried to vouch for you, but... I nearly got fired myself."
A cold weight settled in my ch**t. "Do you know why?"
He looked away, then muttered under his breath, "It's ATTA."
My breath caught.
"ATTA sent letters to every licensed venue on this street." He pulled a white envelope from his pocket and pressed it into my hand. His eyes were apologetic.
"Anyone who lets you in loses their license."
My knuckles whitened around the paper.
So that's how it was. They let me walk away-to corner me quietly, ruthlessly. One step at a time, choking off every exit.
But I wasn't ready to give up.
If I could still breathe, then I could still fight.
If I couldn't sell to b*rs, I'd find another way.
I began reaching out to supermarket buyers, e-commerce managers-anyone who might take a chance on Oak, our small, unheard-of brand.
We didn't have name recognition, but we had quality. Fair prices. Pa**ion.
I thought that would be enough.
It wasn't.
Two weeks later, the reality hit hard.
Every buyer I met with frowned, sneered, or tossed my brochure straight into the tr**h.
"Don't come back," they snapped.
Online retailers weren't any better.
"I'm sorry," one customer service rep said. "It's out of our hands. Company policy..."
One rejection. Then another. Then another.
My feet ached. My inbox filled with automated replies:
"Unfortunately, we are unable to proceed with your request at this time..."
Not a single bottle sold.
By tonight, my body felt like it might collapse. I locked myself inside the storeroom and sank to the floor, hugging my knees.
Tears streamed down my face, silent and uncontrollable.
Outside, I could hear coworkers murmuring through the thin door.
"Why are there so many returns again?"
"The warehouse is overflowing."
"It's all because of Aria... "
They weren't wrong. This was my fault.
And if I made the mess, then I had to clean it up.
***
The next morning, just before dawn, I left my apartment.
I stood across the street from the ATTA building, its glass facade gleaming in the early light. The tallest skyscraper in the city.
Once, I'd dreamed of walking through those doors in heels and a tailored suit, negotiating deals on my terms.
Now I was here for something else. Not power. Not pride.
I was here to beg for a chance to survive.
Drawing a deep breath, I walked into the lobby.
The receptionist smiled politely as I approached. "Good morning, miss. Do you have an appointment?"
My throat tightened. I shook my head. "No. But... he knows me. You can tell him... I'm Aria Vale."
Her smile faltered for a moment, and then she reached for a form. "Understood. Just a moment. For security purposes, may I ask-what is your relationship with Mr. Wolfe?"
My heart hammered against my ribs. My mind scrambled for answers-business contact, acquaintance, client...
But I didn't want the safe answer.
I wanted the one that left no room for retreat.
I met her gaze, forced a smile, and said evenly: "We sl**t together."
......
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