She collapsed outside,” Timothy replied.
Her heels tapped closer. Then a soft sigh. “Poor thing. You’ve always been too delicate, Charlene. Maybe you need to eat more.”
She reached out to fix my hair, like I was some doll missing a bow. “You should rest, dear. You’ve been… overstimulated lately. The charity work, the heat—it’s just too much for someone like you.”
Someone like me?
I bit my tongue.
Then came him. Renze.
“Charlene,” he said gently, “You need fluids. I’ll have the kitchen send something. Coconut water, maybe.”
I looked up at him. My lawyer. My frend. His eyes held that same warmth he always gave me—reliable, steady. Fake.
And for the first time ever, I realized:
I wasn’t.
---
That night, I didn’t sleep. My brain kept playing a cruel movie. My father yelling. My mother crying. Timothy whispering promises in the dark.
“You leave with that man, Charlene, and you’re no longer our daughter!”
“You’ll never be alone again, baby. I’m your family now.”
He promised me everything. And I believed him.
He even built me a greenhouse. Said I reminded him of orchids—rare, exotic, delicate. He placed it right outside the estate, wrapped in imported glass and white steel, temperature-controlled down to the decimal.
Every week, he brought a new orchid. He’d say something like, “This one’s from Kyoto. We should go next spring.” Or “Found this in Ecuador. You’d look good in their forests.” He labeled each flower after a place we “might” visit someday.
I thought it was love. I thought I was being nurtured. Protected. Kept safe. But now? I know better.
That greenhouse wasn’t a gift. It was a display case. A trophy room. I wasn’t the gardener. I wasn’t even the muse. I was another bloom. A curated piece in his glass cage. He controlled the light. The soil. The temperature. The view. And he made me believe it was for me.
Then she showed up. Xandria. In front of me like she owned the place. Like she’d always belonged. She glanced around the orchid house and laughed—light, cruel, effortless.
“You thought this was love?” she said, eyeing the petals. “This whole garden? You were just another flower on display, Charlene.” Then she looked me up and down. “You’re a placeholder,” she added, her smile slicing clean. “I’m the real Mrs. Colombo.”
I felt the blood rush to my ears. My vision swam. “No…” I whispered, backing up into the glass wall. “You’re lying.”
And then I saw him. Timothy. Standing behind her like some beautiful lie in a tailored suit. Expression unreadable. Cold. Controlled. Same man who once held my face and whispered that I was his forever.
I reached for him, my hands trembling. “Timothy… tell her. Tell her she’s wrong. I’m your wife. I’m your—” He didn’t even look at me. He just slipped his fingers through hers. And walked away. Like I was nothing.
“Timothy!” My voice cracked. Splintered. Echoed through the orchids— And I woke up. Heart racing.
He was sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless, tattoos half-glowing in the moonlight. “Bad dream?” he asked, voice low, hand on my back.
I could barely speak. “Who... who am I to you, Timothy?”
He chuckled, leaned in, and pinched my nose like I was some little girl needing reassurance.
"You’re Charlene. My girl. The one I come home to."
Liar.
"Really?"
I wanted to ask—if I matter so much, why’d you fake our marriage? But before I could, his phone buzzed on the nightstand.
I glanced.
Xandria.
Of course.
He grabbed the phone and squeezed my hand. “We’ll... um... talk about the paperwork later, yeah? Some business just came up.” He stood and answered before he even left the room. “Xandria, yeah. I’m on my way. Sit tight.”
I got a call right after. From the Horizon Youth Foundation.
“Miss Riccardo, a couple’s inquiring about adopting Elio. Didn’t Mr. Colombo mention you two were planning to take him in? Can you come take a look?”
Elio. That quiet little boy Timothy had been oddly obsessed with lately. His biological son.
I changed fast. Drove over, still half-numb. Still bleeding inside. When I stepped into the center, the smell of polished floors and paperwork hit me. My heels clicked down the hall. My chest felt hollow.
Then I saw him. Timothy. Standing by the stairs. Sharp black suit. Stoic face. Like he didn’t just shatter my whole damn life a few hours ago. I lifted my hand—reflexively, stupidly—about to wave.
And then she beat me to it. Xandria. She ran straight into his arms like she never left. Like this was her spotlight. Tears already streaming, loud enough for everyone to hear.
“You’re here,” she gasped. “Timothy, please—don’t let them take Elio away.”
He pulled her close, one hand behind her head like he was some movie hero saving the damsel.
“No one’s touching our son. You hear me?”
I stopped breathing.
Xandria sobbed harder against his chest.
“I don’t want him calling someone else mom and dad.”
Timothy’s voice dropped, calm and deadly.
“He won’t. I’ll make it official. Elio’s going under the Colombo name. No one’s gonna question who he belongs to.”
Xandria sniffled, then looked up through those fake-ass lashes like this was her romcom moment.
“Legally, you and I are still married… but Charlene—”
Timothy cut her off instantly. “I did that to protect you. While you were overseas. I made sure no one could touch you.” His voice went all noble. All self-righteous. “Charlene didn’t do anything wrong. Don’t drag her into this shit.”
Xandria tilted her head, sweet as venom. “I’m not fighting for the title. I know I don’t deserve it.”
He bent down. Wiped her damn tears.
“Bullshit,” he whispered. “You gave me Elio. You’ve always had a place in this family. My mother never stopped asking about you.”
Timothy’s mother. The woman who smiled at me across crystal glasses and said things like, “You bring light into his life, Charlene.” She sent me birthday gifts. Called me daughter. Hosted charity luncheons with my name on the banners.
But I remember the way her eyes narrowed when I wore flats to brunch. The time she “accidentally” mentioned Timothy’s ex. The time she said, “You know, Xandria used to do his suits for him. You should ask her where she got them pressed.”
Turns out the serpent didn’t even bother hiding her fangs anymore. Mira had made her choice.
Xandria was the “real” daughter-in-law.
And me? Just a beautifully packaged intermission.
