The morning after that night with Roland, I felt numb.
Not just physically—but deep, bone-chilling numbness that crawled through every inch of me. I wrapped myself in the thick robe by the bed, still pretending I couldn't see, and stormed down the hallway toward my father’s office.
He looked up from his desk with that same cold smirk he always wore like a badge.
“You better have a damn good explanation,” I snapped.
He didn’t flinch. Just leaned back casually, like he was waiting for me to explode.
“You let him touch me?” I said, my voice shaking. “You ordered that?!”
“Of course I did,” he said calmly, like he was talking about the weather. “Roland needed to believe that the child was his. He wouldn’t marry you otherwise.”
I stared at him, horrified. “So you just—what? Let him violate me? Like I’m nothing?”
He stood slowly and walked over to me, his eyes hard. “That child will make everything better. Roland gets an heir. We get peace. Jed disappears. Everyone wins.”
“No,” I hissed. “He will never touch my child. Ever.”
My dad’s jaw tightened. “If you refuse this… I’ll kill Jed.”
My breath hitched. I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. The room spun around me as his words sank in. All I could do was nod. Like some puppet. Powerless. Again.
Days passed like thick molasses. Heavy. Suffocating.
I barely spoke to anyone. Just stared at the walls. At my fake blind reflection. I had to protect my baby. I had to survive this game.
Then, one morning, a box was left at my door.
Curious, I opened it—and froze.
Inside was a white, laced wedding gown. Carefully folded. Like a cruel joke.
I took it to my father and asked, flatly, “ A wedding gown, isn't? When is the wedding?”
He didn’t even look up from his phone. “Soon as we resolve a few company issues.”
Something about that hit me different. Company issues? Since when did business determine marriage dates?
I kept my mouth shut. Kept pretending. But I started to listen more, to observe every word and whisper in this twisted house.
Then, just like that, the wedding day came.
No grand announcements. No butterflies. Just cold pressure and numb silence.
With the help of my father, I walked slowly down the aisle. Each step felt heavier than the last. I could hear the priest’s voice, faint and distant. Could sense Roland waiting, probably smirking, at the altar.
And then… it was done. With a few words and the fake glint of a smile, I became Mrs. Roland Marquez.
After the ceremony, Roland leaned down, whispered into my ear. “You’ll be moving in tonight. I want my wife by my side.”
I forced a nod. “Of course.”
Weeks passed.
I acted like the perfect wife. Smiled when I needed to. Ate what they served. Slept when he slept.
Then, one evening, I told him what he’d been waiting to hear.
“I’m pregnant.”
Roland froze for a second, then his eyes lit up like he won a prize. “Finally,” he said. “An heir.”
He kissed my forehead and told me how proud he was, how all his work finally meant something. What he didn’t know was that everything he worked for was built on blood and lies—and I was determined to bring it all down.
Months later, I gave birth to a baby boy—Isaiah Walterson Marquez.
He was beautiful. Tiny lips, soft brown curls… and his eyes. Jed’s eyes.
I held him close and cried silently. Roland thought the baby was his, but I knew better. And somehow, that gave me hope.
When Isaiah turned three months old, I made my next move.
I faked a miracle.
Told Roland I could finally see again. Claimed the doctors couldn’t explain it—but I could see. Everything.
He was thrilled. Genuinely happy. Kissed me, told me this meant a fresh start.
But what he didn’t know was: I remembered his face. The night my mother died. I saw him through the crack in the door when I was only ten. And now, I would prove what I saw.
As the months flew by, Roland started introducing me to the public even more for attention.
“Meet my wife,” he’d say proudly at every event, every gala.
And I smiled.
Because each handshake, each room I entered, was one step closer to getting access to his files, his people, his business.
At night, while Isaiah slept beside me, I’d comb through Roland’s laptop. His emails. His banking history. I was searching for any link between him and my father—and the murder of my mother.
One night, it happened.
An anonymous email popped into my inbox.
Subject: I know the truth. Meet me. Tomorrow. 9PM. Café Silencio. Come alone.
The next night, I drove out secretly, praying Isaiah wouldn’t wake up.
The café was quiet, tucked away behind old buildings and neon signs.
Inside, I found a man already waiting—hood up, eyes sharp.
“You’re Selena,” he said.
“Who are you?”
“Name’s Arkinson Ropalé. I used to work for Roland. And your dad.”
He told me everything.
He’d done the dirty work—handling illegal deals, forging records, laundering money. Until one day, they blamed him for a missing load of cash. He was arrested. Spent years in prison.
“And while I was rotting there,” he said, voice low, “Walterson had my wife and kids killed.”
My stomach turned. “Why are you helping me?”
“Because I lost everything. And now I want them to lose, too.”
I sat in silence, processing everything.
But then—
Gunshots.
Outside.
Arkinson’s head jerked toward the door. “They found us.”
He stood, pulling a small blade from his jacket.
“No,” I whispered, grabbing his arm. “I’ll show myself. You run.”
“I’m not leaving you,” he said firmly. “You’re not important to them anymore.”
“W-What?”
He looked at me—pity in his eyes. “Roland never cared about you. He just wanted your baby. To sell. To a drug lord.”
I froze.
“What?”
“Your father agreed to it. In exchange for power and wealth. You didn't know?!"
I couldn’t breathe. My knees buckled. My baby… Isaiah… they were going to sell him?
Then suddenly—tires screeched outside.
A familiar voice shouted from a black SUV near the curb. Then it fired a glass window for it to broke into pieces, giving us the chance to walk out of the café.
Then the car window rolled down.
“Get in! You both. They’ve got too many men!”
My heart leapt.
I knew that voice.
Jed.
DANG!
