“This is Steven.”
The name jolted through me like an electric current.
My grip tightened on the phone, my pulse pounding in my ears. Steven Jones. My mortal enemy in college. My rival.
The man who once swore he’d rather die than breathe the same air as me—now the one who had donated his blood to save me.
My lips trembled as I forced the words out. “Why? Why did you save me?”
A low chuckle echoed through the line, maddeningly calm. “You sound disappointed, Caroline. Would you rather be dead than owe me your life?”
I shut my eyes, memories surging. Late nights in the university library, him deliberately switching my books so I’d fail an exam. Debates in class where his voice would cut like a blade, always countering mine, always trying to prove I was beneath him. The endless competitions—who got higher marks, who aced the projects, who the professors favored. We hated each other with an almost theatrical passion.
And yet… he had saved me.
“What do you want, Steven?” I demanded, my voice cracking. “Men like you don’t do anything for free. What’s the price?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Marry me.”
The words stunned me into silence. Then, despite the heaviness in my chest, a bitter laugh broke free. “Marry you? You hate me. I hate you. Why would you even suggest something so ridiculous?”
“Because,” he said evenly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, “I need a wife. You’re available. And as much as I hate to admit it, you’re not a bad choice.”
“Not a bad choice?” My laughter sharpened into hysteria. “That’s the most unromantic, insulting proposal I’ve ever heard in my life.”
“Good,” Steven replied, unbothered. “Because this isn’t about romance. This is about convenience. Business. Protection. You want out, don’t you? Out of that poisonous house, away from that husband who isn’t even really your husband? I can give you that. In return, you’ll be Mrs. Jones.”
If this had been any other day, any other version of my life, I would have thrown my phone across the room and never spoken to him again. But today… with betrayal cutting deeper than any wound, with my so-called family sharpening their knives behind my back… today, his words sounded less like madness and more like salvation.
I swallowed hard. “Fine. I’ll marry you. But you have to get me out of here within three days. I need time to settle things.”
“Three days,” he said. “Consider it done.”
The line went dead.
I stared at my phone, my breath coming in short bursts. Marrying Steven Jones—God, it was absurd. But better absurdity than death. Better a deal with the devil than chains around my neck.
Not even the whole day had passed, yet the silence was deafening. No one came. No one called. No flowers, no cards, no voices asking how I was. It was as if I had vanished from their world already, erased as easily as dust brushed off a table.
For five years I had lived for them, endured for them, sacrificed everything to hold our family together. And in the moment I lay broken and sick in a hospital bed, they couldn’t even spare a glance.
I realized then—I had no family left.
I discharged myself quietly while no one was watching.
On the ride home, I scrolled through social media—and froze. Post after post filled my feed: “Welcome back, Cara.”“Family always forgives.” Photos of my siblings embracing her, of Keith holding her hand as if she’d never left. Not a single mention of me. Not even my name. I had been erased.
My chest burned, but my fingers were steady as I dialed my attorney. “Transfer my entire inheritance to Steven Jones.”
There was a shocked silence. “Caroline… you can’t be serious. He’s your enemy.”
“Not anymore,” I said coldly. “I’m going to marry him. And the house I’m living in now—sell it at auction. Within three days.”
The lawyer stammered but finally nodded. “Understood.”
Before returning home, I stopped by a shop and bought a sturdy parcel box. Inside, I placed the marriage certificate of Keith and Cara, the fake wedding ring Keith had once given me, and a letter. A letter confessing that I knew everything. That their lies were not hidden anymore. I scheduled it for delivery in three days’ time.
When I finally stepped inside the house, the air was thick with the smell of liquor and stale smoke. Empty bottles littered the floor, confetti stuck to the furniture. A party—celebration for Cara, no doubt.
Leon spotted me first. “Caroline. Good. You’re back. Go clean this up, will you? You know Cara’s asthma. Dust triggers it.”
My lips curled. “Why would I? You made the mess. Clean it yourselves.”
Martin’s face darkened. “What did you say?”
“I said I’m not your maid.”
For a moment, silence hung thick. Then Martin’s expression twisted. He strode toward me, fists clenched, and shoved a paper into my hands. “Then sign this. Transfer all the inheritance to us. If you won’t act like family, then you’re nothing but a nuisance.”
I shook my head, the paper trembling between my fingers. “No. I won’t.”
The slap came so fast I barely saw it. My cheek burned, tears stinging my eyes.
Leon joined in—another blow, harder, sharper. I stumbled, but they didn’t stop. Again and again, until the room spun and my body screamed in pain.
Cara cried out, pretending to shield me. “Stop it, please! She’s weak, she’s sick!” But I saw the flicker in her eyes, the satisfaction behind her crocodile tears.
Then Keith’s hand clamped around mine, his grip iron as he shoved a pen between my fingers. “I should’ve done this long ago. You’re useless, Caroline. Useless in business, useless as a wife. Sign it.”
My head swam. Blood pounded in my ears. Somewhere, I thought of Steven’s voice, steady and cold. Three days.
The pen dragged across the paper as I scrawled my name, not from surrender, but from survival.
Keith smirked. “Good. Don’t worry—we’ll let you stay here. Just remember your place.”
I sank to the floor, my face swollen, my body trembling. My mind was blank—but one thought remained.
Just days. Days, and they’ll regret everything.
