I stared at Dr. Dior Veneracion, his name now carrying a weight I never expected. His wife… killed because of Gerard? It didn’t make sense at first. Why would he blame my ex-fiancé? How did the pieces fit together?
I swallowed hard, my voice barely above a whisper. "How… how is Gerard responsible for your wife’s death?"
Dior’s hands clenched on the balcony railing, knuckles turning white. He took a deep breath before turning to me, his dark eyes clouded with something deeper than anger—grief.
"My wife was an investor in Faulino Medical Corporation," he started, his voice steady but laced with pain. "She believed in Gerard’s vision, trusted him. But then, millions went missing from the company’s funds. They needed a scapegoat." He let out a bitter laugh. "And who better than a woman who had no power to fight back?"
My stomach twisted. I remembered that scandal. It had been all over the news when Gerard and I were still together. Back then, I hadn’t thought much of it—I was too wrapped up in my own world, too in love to notice the destruction he left in his wake.
"She tried to prove her innocence," Dior continued, rubbing a hand over his face. "She had documents, evidence… but before she could speak out, she was found dead in her office. 'Suicide'—that’s what they called it." His jaw tightened. "But I know better. She would never have left our daughter like that. Gerard made sure she was silenced."
My hands trembled as I processed his words. The Gerard I once loved—the man who had abandoned me without a second thought—was capable of something far worse than betrayal. He had destroyed lives.
I met Dior’s gaze. "We can’t let him get away with this."
His eyes flickered with surprise.
"I want revenge," I said, my voice stronger this time. "For you. For me. For our children." I placed a hand on my stomach. "Gerard took everything from us. He ruined my life. He took your wife. We deserve justice."
For a long moment, Dior just stared at me. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Then let’s do it."
The days blurred into weeks, and I found myself adjusting to life in hiding. Dior’s house was tucked away in a quiet town, far from the chaos of the city. No reporters, no threats. Just peace.
Lizzy, his daughter, became my little shadow. At first, she kept her distance, her big brown eyes watching me with suspicion. But eventually, she warmed up. I read her bedtime stories, braided her hair, and in return, she clung to me like I was the only safe thing in her world.
For the first time in months, I felt safe.
But that peace was fragile. The world outside wasn’t quiet. News had spread—Stephanie had twisted the story, painting Dior as my kidnapper. There were posters, news segments, online posts demanding my "rescue."
I laughed bitterly as I watched the headlines. "They really want to turn you into a villain, huh?" I glanced at Dior, who sat beside me on the couch, flipping through news articles.
He smirked. "Let them try. They’ll never find us."
And they didn’t. Months passed, and during that time, my belly grew. Dior was there for every moment, taking me to secret medical appointments, making sure I had everything I needed. He never once treated me like a burden.
Then, one rainy night, the contractions hit.
Pain shot through my stomach, sharp and unbearable. I gasped, gripping the sheets. "Dior—!"
Within seconds, he was at my side. "It’s time," he said, his voice calm but urgent. "Let’s get you to the clinic."
Hours of agony followed, but when I finally heard my baby’s first cry, the pain melted away.
"A boy," Dior murmured, placing the tiny, squirming newborn in my arms.
Tears blurred my vision. "Seung," I whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. "Seung Veneracion."
Dior’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. He nodded. "A strong name."
We had made a deal before my labor—Seung would take Dior’s last name. A layer of protection, a new identity to shield him from Gerard’s reach. It was the only way.
Months passed again, and I watched as Dior naturally stepped into the role of a father. He held Seung like he was something fragile, like he couldn’t believe he was real. Lizzy adored her "little brother," always watching over him, protective and fierce.
It was a strange little family we had built. Unconventional, born from tragedy and secrets. But it was ours.
Then, one night, Dior approached me with an unexpected request.
"I need your help," he said, standing at my bedroom door.
I sat up from the bed, confused. "With what?"
He hesitated, then sighed. "We need to clear my name. The only way to do that is by making the world believe we were together all along."
I blinked. "You want to fake a relationship?"
He nodded. "It’s the only way to shift the narrative. If the world believes you willingly stayed with me… they’ll stop hunting us."
I chewed on my lip. It made sense. The only way to take control of the situation was to rewrite the story ourselves.
"Fine," I said. "I’ll do it."
Days later, Dior invited me to a grand charity event—a perfect stage to manipulate public perception. I dressed the part, slipping into an elegant black gown, my hair swept into a simple updo.
As we arrived, cameras flashed, reporters whispering excitedly. The rumors had already spread—Sarah Lin, the lost heiress, appearing in public for the first time with the infamous Dr. Dior Veneracion.
Dior’s hand found my waist as we entered the ballroom. He leaned down, whispering, "Are you ready for this?"
I took a deep breath, nodding. "Let’s do it."
The event was a blur of socializing, polite smiles, and well-rehearsed lines. Then, as the night was coming to an end, Dior suddenly took the microphone.
The room fell silent. Every eye was on him.
I stiffened as he cleared his throat, his voice calm and authoritative.
"I know the rumors," he began. "And I know the lies that have been told about me. But tonight, I want to set the record straight." He turned to me, his gaze unreadable.
My breath caught.
"Sarah Lin is not my hostage," he continued. "She is my love."
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. The reporters scrambled, their pens flying across their notepads. My body froze.
Then, before I could react, Dior lowered himself onto one knee.
My heart stopped.
A velvet box appeared in his hand, the diamond inside catching the light.
"Sarah," he said, his voice steady but filled with something dangerously real. "Marry me."
The world blurred around me, the weight of a thousand eyes pressing against my skin.
This wasn’t part of the plan.
Or was it?
