When the guards finally brought me back upstairs the following morning, I didn’t resist them. I didn’t raise my voice or struggle in their grip. I simply walked into Dominic’s study, placed both hands flat on his desk, and said what had been pressing against my chest like a blade for days.
“I want a divorce.”
Dominic didn’t bother looking up from the documents in front of him. He only let out a slow sigh, as though I had said something trivial and mildly inconvenient, like changing the curtains or rearranging furniture.
“Don’t be absurd, Sofia.”
My fingers tightened against the edge of the desk. “I’m not being absurd,” I replied, my voice unsteady but controlled. “You took my child. You gave my mother’s jewelry to Liliana. You locked me in the basement while you paraded her around this house like she belonged here more than I do. There’s nothing left for me in this place.”
Only then did he lift his gaze.
His eyes were cold, stripped of anything that once resembled warmth.
“There is still plenty here for you,” he said evenly. “You are Mrs. Dominic Ashford. That name carries responsibility. You are expected to maintain it.”
A bitter laugh escaped me before I could stop it. It sounded broken even to my own ears. “Responsibility?” I repeated. “You destroyed my name last night in front of your own staff. You called me a thief.”
“And you confirmed it by trying to take what wasn’t yours,” he replied without hesitation. “But that stays within these walls. Out there, we remain exactly what we’ve always been—the city’s ideal couple. A marriage people admire. I will not let you ruin that because you’re emotional right now.”
He pushed himself up from his chair and came around the desk, leaning against its edge with his arms folded, as if this entire conversation bored him.
“And besides,” he added calmly, “people are already talking. They saw your scene at the gate. There are rumors you’ve become unstable, jealous of your sister’s return.”
“I am not unstable,” I snapped, my voice breaking. “I just lost my baby!”
“That is precisely why,” he said, pointing lightly as if making a correction, “you will attend the charity gala tonight. You will wear what I’ve prepared. You will smile when necessary. You will play your role as the grieving wife who is still loyal. And you will stand beside Liliana as though her return brings you joy.”
“I won’t do it,” I said quietly, though it felt more like a plea than a refusal.
He stepped closer, lowering his voice until it turned sharp and suffocating.
“You will,” he said, each word measured. “Because where exactly do you think you would go without me? You have nothing.”
The certainty in his tone made my stomach drop. He knew exactly where I was weakest.
“…Fine,” I whispered after a moment. “I’ll go.”
That night, the gala blurred into a series of flashing cameras, polite laughter, and suffocating elegance.
I wore a black velvet gown with a high neckline and long sleeves, chosen deliberately to hide the bruises that had begun to form on my skin. I stood beside Dominic like a quiet shadow while he moved effortlessly through the crowd—smiling, shaking hands, accepting sympathy for our “loss” as though it belonged to both of us equally.
“My wife has been through a great deal,” he would say, squeezing my hand just a little too tightly each time. “She is devastated, of course. But having her sister back has been a comfort to us both.”
And then there was Liliana.
She wore my emerald necklace.
The one Dominic had torn away from me without hesitation.
It rested against her throat like it had always belonged there, sparkling under the lights while everything I had lost seemed to hang from it like a cruel reminder.
She moved through the crowd with ease, laughing softly, accepting sympathy, playing the role of the long-lost miracle returned.
“Oh, Sofia is incredibly strong,” I overheard her telling a group of guests. “I’m only here to support her. Dominic has been such an anchor for both of us.”
Across the room, she met my eyes and gave me a small smile—soft, sweet, and unmistakably victorious.
I felt sick.
I slipped away to the restroom, splashing cold water over my face until my reflection steadied. When I finally stepped out again, I intended to find Dominic and tell him I wanted to leave.
Instead, I found them.
Out on the balcony.
Hidden in the shadows beyond the lights and music, Dominic stood with his back partially turned, but I could see everything clearly. Liliana had her arms wrapped around his neck, leaning in close as she whispered something that made him laugh—an easy, genuine sound I hadn’t heard directed at me in years.
Then he leaned down.
And kissed her.
It wasn’t brief. It wasn’t careless. It was deep, deliberate, and far too familiar.
Possessive.
I couldn’t move. I just stood there, watching my husband and my sister exist in a world where I no longer seemed to matter.
The next morning, I woke to the sound of construction echoing through the hallway.
Still half-dazed, I followed it until I reached the nursery.
The door stood open.
Inside, workers were dismantling everything. The crib was being carried out piece by piece. The rocking chair was gone. The soft yellow wallpaper with its tiny duck patterns was already being stripped from the walls.
My voice barely came out. “What are you doing?”
Liliana stepped into view wearing a silk robe—my silk robe. She smiled as if nothing was wrong at all.
“Oh, good morning,” she said brightly. “Dominic thought it would be too upsetting for you to keep seeing the nursery now that… well, there’s no baby. So he decided I’ll take this room instead. I’ll be staying here for a while.”
She gestured casually toward the workers.
“Careful with that dresser! It’s antique.”
Then she turned back to me, her expression soft and almost apologetic.
“You don’t mind, do you, Sofia? You weren’t going to use it anymore. Dominic said it would help you move forward.”
Move forward.
My child wasn’t even gone long enough for the world to stop rearranging itself around the absence.
“No,” I said quietly, forcing the words out. “It’s fine. Take it all.”
I walked back to my room without another word and closed the door behind me. This time, I locked it.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I pulled my phone from beneath the mattress, my hands trembling as I opened my messages.
There was one unread notification.
Sender: Madame Verena
The arrangement is ready. The client has agreed to your conditions. He wants a wife who is compliant, discreet, and already stripped of everything that matters. Are you prepared to disappear, Mrs. Ashford?
