“You’re defying me now?” Rowan repeated, each syllable sharp enough to slice through the air.
His tone cracked beside my ear like a snapping cable. Shock widened his eyes, so dramatic it would’ve been funny if I wasn’t already drained down to my bones.
“No,” I murmured, my voice scraping against my throat. “I’m exhausted. I was hurt, Rowan. I called you… didn’t I?”
For a split second, his expression wavered—his performance face slipping before he slid it back on. The caring husband mask. The gentle protector persona he saved for witnesses.
“Oh, sweetheart, I thought you were messing around,” he cooed, stepping closer to stroke my cheek, as though that tiny gesture could erase the pounding ache in my ribs.
“You should’ve told me properly. Where does it hurt? I swear I’ll find whoever did this and make them regret it, okay? Just relax. Let me take care of my girl—”
A piercing shriek erupted down the hallway.
“Rowan! Help me!”
Seraphine.
The taste of betrayal never even reached my tongue because Rowan spun away instantly—didn’t spare me a glance, didn’t finish his sentence, nothing.
“Seraphine! I’m here!” he yelled, practically sprinting to her room, as if gravity itself dragged him back to her side.
I stood alone in the corridor, staring at the empty space where he’d vanished. Then a laugh escaped me—a thin, hollow sound that barely counted as laughter. I didn’t know anymore if I was mocking him… or myself.
From her room, I heard his panicked voice: “It’s alright, Seraphine, I’m right here. I’ll get the doctor. Don’t worry.”
Then loudly, like I was invisible:
“Kiera! Go call the doctor!”
As if I were a servant. As if I hadn’t poured years into playing the role of a wife I never actually was.
I turned to leave, but Seraphine’s frail little voice drifted out, sugary and weak. “Kiera! Please… come here.”
Before I could think, I found myself beside her bed. She gazed at me with those doll-like features everyone adored.
“Oh, my dearest friend,” she whispered dramatically. “I missed you so much. Rowan told me everything… how you took care of me, and my brother, and the whole house. Thank you for holding everything together while I was gone… and now I’m finally awake.”
The words were syrup-coated poison.
My hand moved almost on its own—I nudged her shoulder. Not hard. Just enough to push her back against the pillows.
She gasped, eyes widening. “Sister… why would you do that? What did I do wrong?” Then she looked at Rowan, trembling like a scared child.
Rowan’s fury snapped instantly toward me. “Have you lost your mind? She’s still recovering! What if she fell? She’s injured!”
A dry laugh slid from my lips. “I’m injured too, in case you forgot. I didn’t shove her. She leaned on me. It hurts.”
Rowan’s jaw tightened. “You can’t even apologize properly? Seraphine has always been nothing but kind to you—”
“Rowan, please,” Seraphine whispered, putting on a trembling-lip performance flawless enough for an award. “Don’t scold her like that. I didn’t realize she was hurt. Kiera… I’m sorry. Truly. Please forgive me.”
Rowan folded his arms, verdict sealed. “Say sorry to Seraphine.”
“No,” I breathed.
His expression darkened. “Then you’re forcing my hand. I’ll lock you inside the house until you learn how to respect your own family.”
A humorless scoff burst out of me. That was it—the real Rowan revealing himself now that Seraphine was awake. To him, I was less than a shadow.
“Fine. Lock me up,” I muttered. Then I met his eyes. “You didn’t even care that I lost our child.”
His face twisted in confusion. “What did you just say?”
But I didn’t repeat it. I turned away. He didn’t follow—Seraphine whispered something and he stayed by her side. He always stayed.
I would never be fine again.
When I got home, I went straight to the small altar I’d built for my father… and now, for the baby I’d never meet. I lit a candle with steady hands even as tears blurred everything around me.
My phone chimed.
A message from my mother:
Everything will be arranged in three days. Your fiancé will arrive by helicopter. Come home.
I pressed the phone against my chest, nodding slowly. Three days. I only needed to last three more days.
Later that night, Rowan returned. He didn’t glance at the burning candle—not once. Of course he didn’t. He simply flashed me that rehearsed, tired smile and said, “Sorry about earlier, baby. I was stressed. Anyway, Seraphine wants a big celebration tomorrow. You’ll organize it, right?”
I gave a broken laugh. “You want it tomorrow? That’s impossible.”
His fake smile vanished. “This isn’t a request. Do it.”
Seraphine appeared behind him, looping her thin arms around his waist. “Rowan… it’s fine. We can do it next week—”
“No. It has to be now,” he insisted. “People need to know she’s alive so no one will try anything again.” His gaze cut toward me. “Kiera will take care of everything.”
And that was final.
They left me to arrange an entire event—calling contacts, pulling strings—preparing a celebration for the woman who had ordered my death.
I didn’t sleep. Not even for a second. I worked until my hands stung, the candle burning low.
Hours before sunrise, I passed their bedroom—and froze.
Soft moans drifted out. The door was half-open.
I didn’t cry. I didn’t even flinch. There was nothing left inside me to break.
I went to my room, retrieved the unworn wedding dress, the ring, and the copy of their marriage certificate. I placed them in a box along with a letter explaining the child he never cared about.
I scheduled it to arrive on the date that would’ve been our anniversary—no, their anniversary. The same day I planned to disappear forever.
Later, I half-dozed until I heard Rowan rummaging. He walked straight to the vase my father had crafted—the only piece of him I still had.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Seraphine wants this,” he said casually.
“No,” I whispered. “Not that one. Please. That’s the last thing I have from my father. Why would you give it to her?”
He didn’t even pause. “She wants to gift it to the surgeon who treated her. It’s just a vase, Kiera. You have many.”
When I reached toward it, he shoved me aside. I hit the floor hard, biting back a sound.
He didn’t even turn around.
—
The day of Seraphine’s banquet looked almost magical if you ignored the reality—that I was nothing but a well-dressed servant in my own home.
Seraphine lounged on a chaise like royalty, smiling sweetly at the guests who came to marvel at her miraculous return from a three-year coma. Rowan hovered beside her, every touch dripping adoration like slow poison.
I drifted through the ballroom carrying trays, bowing, offering drinks—pretending each smile didn’t shred me further.
When I brought Seraphine her wine, she gripped my wrist with dainty fingers.
“Kiera, everything looks incredible. Truly. Thank you.” Her voice dripped honey. She lowered it slightly. “You know… your husband really adores me. Don’t you agree?”
I stayed silent.
She chuckled softly, delighted by her own cruelty. “He arranged all of this for me. Everything. He’d do anything for me.” She tilted her head, eyes glittering. “Tell me, Kiera… how will you celebrate your wedding anniversary?” A mocking pause. “I mean—assuming it’s really your anniversary?”
Of course she knew. They’d been laughing at me for years.
I looked right through her. “Don’t worry,” I whispered. “I’ll be gone. You can enjoy him all you want on our anniversary.”
For a moment, she froze—surprised. Then her smile returned, sharp and triumphant. “Good,” she murmured. “Then run.”
I turned away before she noticed my trembling fingers.
For hours, I watched from behind the crowd as they basked in the glow of my work. Music flowed, guests cheered, Seraphine swirled around Rowan like silk, and I wondered if I had ever been wanted that way.
Probably not.
And then—
It happened.
