My brother still hadn’t opened his eyes.
Every morning and night, I stared at my phone waiting for something—an update, a call, a text—anything to tell me he was improving. But nothing ever came. The doctors repeated the same lines like a broken record: stable, yes, but still unresponsive. No progress. No difference.
And Kael? Not once did he bring it up.
Not even a single question about the only family I had left. He didn’t even bother to pretend interest. Instead, I bit down on the ache in my chest, kept my face blank, and carried out every single duty expected of me. I handled the flowers, tested menus, inspected decorations, arranged every last detail for his grand birthday party. All of it. Alone.
Meanwhile, Kael and Cassia were parading through designer shops, laughing together as they tried on jeweled chokers, bickered playfully over couture dresses, and posed like they were starring in their own romance drama. They basked in luxury and adoration while I lived on sleepless nights, raw hands, and exhaustion that gnawed at my bones.
“You’re incredible, Amara,” Cassia would purr sweetly whenever Kael happened to walk by, looping her arm through mine for show. “Truly, thank you so much for all this. I hope you’re not pushing yourself too hard?”
But the second his back was turned, her nails would dig into my skin, her eyes sharp and merciless. “Keep grinning like a loyal servant,” she’d hiss. “That role suits you.”
By the time the actual night of Kael’s birthday arrived, I was held together by nothing but sheer willpower. My body screamed in protest, my head throbbed endlessly, and my lungs were still far from healed—but I forced myself to appear. Someone had shoved a silver dress into my hands at the last moment, and I slipped it on, entering the glittering ballroom as if I belonged there.
Just one night. That was all I needed to endure. After tonight, I would be gone.
The documents had arrived earlier that morning—my name officially erased from the records. Amara had ceased to exist.
The venue shimmered with opulence. Crystal chandeliers painted the room in golden light, the clinking of champagne glasses mingled with the soft hum of violins, and camera flashes captured every glittering detail. At the center of it all stood Kael, radiating untouchable charm, his arm snugly wrapped around Cassia as he smiled at her like she was the only star in his universe.
He even raised a toast in her name. “And I want to give a special thanks to Cassia for her help in making this evening possible. Please, everyone, applaud her. She has always stood by me.”
The hall erupted in claps. I remained hidden in the sea of guests, my presence reduced to nothing more than that of hired help. No acknowledgment. No gratitude. As if the weeks of work had all been Cassia’s doing.
The lie was seamless. The crowd swallowed it whole. They believed she was the woman Kael had kept hidden. They thought she was his true wife. Not me. Never me.
I turned to leave quietly before the music and dancing began, but an event staffer stopped me, whispering that I was needed to serve drinks at the VIP section. His section.
My throat tightened. My hands shook. But I nodded anyway.
Carrying the tray, I walked forward, each step heavier than the last. And then, before I could steady myself, everything unraveled.
Cassia slid her chair back just so, the heel of her stiletto catching the edge of my dress. I stumbled, the tray tipping forward as crystal glasses toppled and shattered, spilling liquid across the marble floor with a deafening crash.
Gasps filled the air. The hem of Cassia’s gown was splattered, sticky with juice.
“Oh no! Are you all right?” she cried theatrically, clutching her hands to her mouth, her tone dripping with fake horror.
Kael’s fury was instant, his glare scorching me. “Amara, what the hell is wrong with you? Can’t you even manage serving drinks?”
I pushed myself up slowly, my knees raw, my dignity torn. “I didn’t—”
“Don’t bother making excuses,” he cut in sharply. “Pathetic.”
Before I could defend myself further, the atmosphere in the room shifted. Whispers spread, people gasped, phones buzzed, and the giant projector screen suddenly lit up.
And then I saw them. Images. Edited, fabricated, obscene. Photos of me naked, with Kael, in compromising poses—intimate touches, stolen moments twisted into something filthy.
The murmurs became daggers.
“Wait, isn’t she supposed to be his wife?”
“I thought she was only the planner.”
“That looks exactly like Kael.”
“Then what is she? Mistress? Affair?”
Dozens of eyes seared into me, their judgment suffocating.
Kael’s expression darkened, not with outrage at the lies, but with disgust at being connected to me at all.
He seized the microphone. “She is not my wife,” he declared, voice cold and sharp enough to cut through the chaos. “She’s nothing but a woman who tried to seduce me. A mistress, nothing more. Cassia is my wife—the love of my life.”
My entire body went cold.
Then the security guards appeared, their hands rough, pushing and pulling me toward the exit.
“Get her out!” Kael barked. “I don’t want her ruining tonight.”
And just like that, I was dragged away.
