Carly Perkins clutched Zamir Peterson’s shirt, her voice gentle, her eyes calculating. “Zamir, your wedding to Sol is tomorrow. Why not spend the night with me and the baby?”

Zamir dropped his gaze. He knew exactly what she was doing—trying to pull him in—but his mind drifted, unbidden, to Sol Kelly’s cold, piercing stare. Irritation he couldn’t explain washed over him. He pulled away from Carly, his tone ice-cold. “I’ll have someone take you home. Until the baby’s born, don’t come to the office.”

“Is this Sol’s doing?” Carly’s voice cracked as she clung to his shirt. “How can she be so selfish? She doesn’t appreciate how hard you work. You’re killing yourself trying to give her a better life, and all she does is cause drama…”

Zamir’s icy stare shut her up. “Do you really think you get a say in what happens between Sol and me?”

Carly bit her lip, suddenly too scared to speak.

Before, even a little jab at Sol would’ve earned Carly his sympathy. But today? His whole demeanor was different.

After two years of bending over backward to please him, Carly realized she still couldn’t measure up to Sol Kelly.

Why?

What did Sol have besides a pretty face? Carly was the more attentive partner. The more capable assistant. She was sure of it.

A deep resentment curled in her chest. As she watched Zamir walk away without a backward glance, a scheme took shape—something vicious. If Sol Kelly lost face before the wedding, would Zamir still marry her?

She snatched up her phone and sent Sol a message.

...

Zamir got back to the house in Sandy Bay. He opened the front door to nothing but darkness and the chill of silence.

Panic hit him out of nowhere. He rushed through the entryway. Sol was nowhere.

Frowning, he dialed her number—only to find he’d been blocked.

He grabbed the landline and tried again.

“Where are you?”

Sol was lounging on the bed. Surprise flickered across her face when she answered. Wasn’t he supposed to be with Carly right now?

She kept her voice calm. “I went out to buy a few things. Are you keeping tabs on me?”

She planned to leave tomorrow, and she didn’t want any complications before then.

Zamir’s tone softened instantly. “The thought of our wedding tomorrow got me nervous. I wanted to see you.”

Was he checking to make sure she hadn’t run off? Afraid of being humiliated alone on their wedding day?

Sol’s voice turned deliberately soft, compliant. “Traditionally, the bride and groom spend the night before the wedding apart. It’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the ceremony. Zamir, if you’re going to marry me, don’t break the rules.”

The same woman who’d sworn in broad daylight that she wouldn’t marry him had suddenly changed her tune?

Relief washed over Zamir. She just couldn’t do without him after all.

“Sol, don’t worry. If you still can’t accept me within a year of marriage, we’ll adopt a child from the orphanage. We’ll live a good life. What happened with Carly won’t happen again.”

Sol laughed coldly to herself. She didn’t believe a single word.

“Okay. I believe you. Now go back.”

“See you tomorrow.”

The second she hung up, a message alert pinged.

Sender: Carly Perkins

[Sol, I’m pregnant. But don’t worry—I won’t fight you for the Mrs. Peterson title.]

Attached was an ultrasound, the outline of the gestational sac glaring up from the screen.

Expression blank, Sol filed the message—along with every previous provocative text from Carly—into an encrypted document.

She replied: [Meet me at the Downtown Café.]

...

“Sol…”

Carly spoke cautiously, but Sol’s gaze was unwavering, steady as an ancient well. No hatred. Only a disquieting emptiness.

Carly dropped the act. A smug smile spread across her face.

“I love Zamir, and I’m carrying his child. I won’t leave him. He told me he can’t resist my young body, and he even agreed to let you raise the baby. I assume you’re not the type to raise another woman’s child?”

She took a sip of coffee, her tone casual, like she was talking about someone else’s life.

“Why don’t you tell me about you and Zamir?”

Uncertain what Sol was up to, Carly assumed she’d given up and eagerly started bragging about her time with Zamir.

“Last March, on your birthday, Zamir took me to Paris on a business trip. He chartered a yacht and spent the whole night showing me the lights along the Seine. In April, you had your appendix out. After he signed the surgery consent, I told him a bulb had gone out, and he left you to stay with me. During the June storms, he said he was working late, but he was really with me at the office… And your second anniversary? I told him a client was giving me a hard time, and he rushed over—leaving you behind.”

As Sol listened, every word was a needle. It stung—but it also cleared her mind.

Every understanding gesture she’d made had become an excuse for his betrayal. Every faithful wait had become the backdrop for his little romance with Carly.

On her birthday, she’d made a table full of his favorite dishes, only for him to call at the last minute and say he had to travel. The day of her appendicitis surgery, while she lay there in pain, he used “urgent business” as an excuse to be with another woman. On their anniversary, she waited two hours in a new dress, only to be brushed off with “I’ll make it up to you.”

Every sacrifice she’d made had been a farce.

Her lips curled with bitter irony. “If you love Zamir so much, why don’t you take my place at tomorrow’s wedding?”

Carly hesitated, but the idea tempted her.

“You’d really let me?”

Sol recited a code.

“That’s the entry code for Sandy Bay. Go tonight.”

Carly eyed her suspiciously.

“You’re not setting me up?”

If Zamir found out she’d impersonated Sol, he’d be furious. He’d make a scene.

“We’re having a traditional wedding. During the ceremony, you’ll keep your face hidden beneath an opaque veil until the groom lifts it at the altar. Zamir cares about appearances. He won’t make a scene. Once the ceremony’s over, there’s no going back. Didn’t you say he can’t resist you? Use your charm. He’ll be at your mercy.”

Her words hit Carly like a shot of adrenaline. Her resolve wavered again.

“And you?”

“I’m leaving Manchester. Never coming back.”

With that, Sol stood and walked toward the café exit.

Watching her go, Carly dialed a number.

“Do it. Just like we planned. Get HD footage of every part. Don’t miss a single detail!”

Her voice bubbled with excitement and malice, her eyes gleaming like a serpent poised to strike.

A cold autumn wind tore down the streets, carrying leaves that whispered like trouble. Sol Kelly hugged her coat tighter. Tears welled in her eyes as she tipped her face to the dark sky. She’d just stepped to the curb to hail a cab when a rough hand clamped over her mouth and nose. The smell hit her—sweet, sickening, chemical. It flooded her senses fast. Dizziness rolled through her like a wave. Strength drained from her limbs, and the streetlights smeared into a blur of scattered stars.

Seconds later, everything went black.

When she woke, she was in a bedroom she didn’t recognize. Her body lay limp, refusing to listen. Footsteps echoed outside. The door swung open a beat later, and three shirtless men stepped in. Their eyes gleamed with unchecked lust and greed.

The one in front crouched beside her, fingers trailing over her collar like he was mocking her. “They weren’t kidding. Zamir’s woman is a real prize.”

Another laughed, his stare vicious, every word filthy. “You haven’t lived till you’ve had a taste like this. Brothers, tonight we feast.”

“I heard she’s untouched. Bet that’s an experience.”

“Nobody better get in my way—I’m going first.”

“Why do you always get first pick? You always take the best.”

“How about we take turns?”

Their intentions passed between them in shared glances—predatory, locked on her.

Sol’s pupils shrank. Terror gripped her heart, panic rising hot in her throat. She tried to part her lips, but only a faint, helpless sound came out—a plea for help swallowed by the room.

“Make her drink this!” the leader barked. Another man stepped forward and gripped her jaw like a vise, forcing her head back.

A cold cup rim pressed to her lips. Liquid poured down her throat, harsh and fast, making her cough and sputter. She couldn’t summon the strength to turn away; her limbs only twitched weakly against the drug.

The liquid settled low in her stomach and caught fire. Heat crawled from her core to her fingertips, leaving a tingling burn under her skin. Her vision blurred. The men above her doubled, then swam out of focus.

Heat fused with exhaustion until she couldn’t keep her eyes open. Through slitted lids, she watched in horror as they closed in, rough hands brushing her skin, every touch unbearable.

Despair swallowed her whole. Memories crashed over her—another terror, another room, a fate she’d barely escaped three years ago. Back then, Zamir Peterson had appeared like a savior and pulled her out of hell.

But this time, Zamir wasn’t coming.

She shut her eyes and surrendered to what was coming.

The heavy oak door shattered against the drywall with a concussive blast. Fists met flesh. Screams flared, then died into silence.

Sol’s lashes fluttered. Her fingers curled into her clothes, eyelids heavy as she fought to open them.

Backlit by the light, a tall, imposing figure strode toward her with lethal grace. The cold clinging to him eased the moment his gaze landed on her.

He knelt beside her, silent, and stripped off his black coat, wrapping her in its warmth.

The coat swallowed her whole, shielding her from the cold—and from shame.

He reached down, cradling her limp neck with a grip both firm and gentle, and lifted her into his arms.

His warmth bled through her clothes, and a shiver ran through her.

“Don’t be afraid. I’m getting you out of here.” His voice was low, steady, reassuring as he carried her away from the chaos.

As they passed through the doorway, Adrian Lopez glanced at her, then at the groaning men on the floor. His expression iced over, his words sharp as frost. “Interrogate them.”

His head of security nodded. “I’ll get them talking.”

The car was too hot. Sol curled against Adrian, the drug burning hotter by the second, her mind melting into a fever haze.

“Hot… so hot…” Her thoughts drifted like she was floating on clouds. The only anchor left was the clean, masculine scent wrapping around her.

She fisted his shirt collar, fingers brushing his throat, her face burrowing into the crook of his neck. Her lips skimmed his jaw, breath coming in soft, desperate pants.

Adrian went rigid, muscles drawn tight. His grip tightened, and his voice came out rough, restrained. “Hold on. We’re almost at the hospital.”

But she was past reason. Her face was flushed, eyes misted, and she clung to him, arms winding around his neck, pulling him into a kiss.

The second their lips touched, her breath mixed with his. Her exploration was urgent, her tongue shy but pushing forward.

Every clumsy attempt only made her want more, her teeth catching his lip in frustration.

Adrian’s Adam’s apple bobbed. Desire hovered at the edge. His narrowed eyes went dark with temptation, and then he took control—past her defenses, claiming her mouth with dominance.

The driver quietly raised the partition and hit the gas in silence.

Adrian’s lips traveled down her neck, leaving heat in their wake, the car’s temperature climbing with every inch.

At the crucial moment, he caught the dazed glaze in her eyes. The fire in his chest snuffed out. He caught her wandering wrist and turned his head away from her seeking lips.

His voice was rough but firm with restraint. “Sol, focus. Look at me. See who I am.”

Taking advantage of her like this went against everything he was.

He cradled her against him, holding her wrist tight, his gaze a storm of warring emotions.

Sol’s lashes trembled. She barely seemed to recognize him.

“Adrian… Lopez?”

He swallowed hard. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

Confusion flickered through her eyes, then the heat swallowed it whole, leaving nothing but raw need.

“I want you…” Before she could finish, her lips found his.

“Mr. Lopez, we’re at the hotel…” The driver’s voice cut through the haze as the car stopped.

Adrian carried her out of the car, through the hotel foyer, and into the elevator.

She was soft and pliant in his arms, clinging to him, demanding kisses.

“Heh.” A low chuckle rumbled in his throat. He leaned in and captured her lips, their mouths moving in a feverish dance.

Once inside, he guided her hand to swipe the card, then moved them through to the bedroom. Clothes fell along the way, and he peeled away her layers like the first bloom of spring.

Under the cover of night, they gave in to a spiral of passion, the room becoming a cocoon of endless indulgence.

As the first pale light of dawn crept over the horizon, Sol Kelly slowly blinked her eyes open. Every muscle in her body ached. She pushed herself upright, the thin sheet sliding off her shoulders, and the night came rushing back—a messy, blurred tapestry of intimate moments she couldn't fully untangle.

Last night, after leaving the café, she'd been ambushed and drugged. Her dignity had nearly been stolen from her—until Adrian Lopez showed up just in time. Under the drug's haze, she'd clung to him with a desperate, feverish need.

The room was bathed in a soft early-morning glow from the window. As she took in the wreckage of the night, panic crawled up her throat. Then her eyes landed on the figure beside her—a devastatingly handsome face, peaceful in sleep. Sol froze. Her mind raced through every way this could go when he woke.

This man had saved her, and she'd repaid him like this. Her instincts screamed one word: Run.

The thought had barely formed before she was out of bed, yanking on her clothes—bra, skirt suit—her hands clumsy with haste. She grabbed her suitcase and tiptoed out like a fugitive.

In the living room, she paused. She left a signed blank check for fifty thousand dollars on the mahogany table as insulting "restitution".

As she headed back to prepare for her flight, a heavy sense of finality settled over her. Sol blocked Adrian Lopez's contact on WhatsApp, cutting their fragile thread for good. A fleeting encounter. Never to be revisited.

Adrian's eyes snapped open to the cold awareness that she was gone. The faint warmth beside him was the only proof she'd ever been there. His gaze dropped to the white sheets—untouched except for the vivid red mark stark against them. A complicated storm of emotions rolled through him.

A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. It was his assistant.

“Mr. Lopez,” the assistant said as Adrian shrugged on his jacket and sank onto the sofa, lighting a cigarette.

“The three men from last night confessed. Carly Perkins, Zamir Peterson's assistant, paid them twenty thousand dollars to ruin Ms. Kelly's reputation.”

The assistant paused, taking in the marks on Adrian's neck and chest—an unusual sight on a man known for his composure.

Three years ago, Sol Kelly had called off her engagement to Adrian, leaving him to face the gossip and the ridicule. Everyone had expected him to come for Sol, to make her pay for dragging his name through the mud.

Through the curling smoke, Adrian's expression was unreadable. “Where is she now?”

“Ms. Kelly is on her way to... the wedding,” the assistant replied, noticing how Adrian's fingers twitched around the cigarette. His eyes darkened as he reached for his phone. When he saw the vivid red exclamation mark—blocked—his gaze slid to the card on the table. An amused smile tugged at his lips.

Did she really think he was for sale?

...

Elsewhere, Carly Perkins was restless. She couldn't reach the three men she'd hired, and unease gnawed at her. She glanced at her perfectly made-up reflection, her lips curling with anticipation. By the end of the day, she'd be Mrs. Peterson.

At nine, the convoy arrived at the villa. Zamir Peterson, in a sharp grey suit, radiated an austere handsomeness. His slicked-back hair sharpened the severe line of his jaw as he approached the door, a bouquet of white roses in hand. His steps were steady but impatient, and he knocked, his voice magnetic and deep. “Sol, I'm here to marry you!”

Inside, Carly heard him and quickly lowered an opaque white veil over her face. As Zamir stepped in, his smile was tender with expectation as he approached the figure seated at the vanity.

“Let the groom see how beautiful his bride is today,” he murmured, reaching for the veil. Carly stopped him.

“It’s bad luck for you to see me before the ceremony. Let’s wait,” she said, her voice laced with fake happiness.

On the way to the hotel, Zamir held her hand firmly. He chalked up Sol's unusual silence to nerves—she'd always been outspoken, and her quietness today felt off.

The hotel buzzed with guests, laughter, and music. Sol, dressed inconspicuously with her hat pulled low, melted into the crowd. She watched the couple with cold detachment, her heart hardened by betrayal, as Zamir led Carly, her face hidden beneath an opaque white veil, into the vibrant banquet hall. The red carpet stretched ahead of them to the altar.

The officiant smiled warmly. “Groom, you may now unveil your bride and welcome your happiness.”

Zamir's eyes sparkled with affection as he lifted the veil with a delicate handkerchief. But the sight that greeted him froze his smile in disbelief.

“Why is it you? Where's Sol?” he demanded, his voice icy, glaring at Carly.

Silence fell over the room—then a wave of whispers.

“Isn't that Carly, the assistant? Today was supposed to be Zamir's wedding to Sol Kelly. How did she end up in the bride's outfit?”

“I always thought she had designs on Zamir, but who knew she'd be this bold.”

“Everyone knows Sol stood by Zamir from the beginning, while he built his company. She was always his number one. What a foolish thing to attempt.”

Carly's face went white, but she forced composure. “Zamir, Sol said she wished to bless us...”

“Impossible!” Zamir's eyes hardened as he gripped Carly's arm fiercely. “What did you tell her?”

Sol had promised to wait for him. She wouldn't have missed the wedding unless Carly had said something.

“It's true! Sol claimed she couldn't fulfill your needs, that she felt unworthy, so she wanted to step aside for us.” Carly winced, masking her pain. “Zamir, you told me you loved me, that we were soulmates...”

“Be quiet!” Zamir snapped, shoving her away.

Carly cried out, landing hard on the floor, instinctively protecting her stomach. Her gaze was pleading and vulnerable, but Zamir coldly looked away.

As Zamir prepared to order a search for Sol, the LED screen behind them flickered on, throwing the entire room into sensational shock.

One by one, images of Carly and Sol's conversations, audio recordings, and messages flashed across the screen, looping continuously.

The crowd erupted in gasps.

Everyone knew Sol Kelly had been Zamir Peterson's rock—from nothing to a successful company listing. She'd been his unfailing support when he announced her as his girlfriend at the company's celebration. Even the grand rooftop proposal had gone viral across Manchester.

The loving pair everyone had admired had ended in Zamir's betrayal with his assistant—Carly Perkins.

Carly's expression shifted dramatically as she shrieked, “Turn it off! It's not what it looks like!”

She dashed to the console, intending to pull the plug, but hotel security restrained her.

“Ma'am! Do not damage the equipment!”

As Zamir's face drained of color, his grip tightened around Carly's neck, fingers white with pressure. “You wretch! How dare you!”

He had believed her meek. He'd never suspected she'd orchestrate such a spectacle. And this was how Sol had discovered their affair.

As Carly clawed at his grasp, gasping in terror, she whispered, “Zamir, I just... I just love you too much... Please...”

...