Kierra's POV

I didn’t look up.

Francis paused for a beat, his voice heavy with guilt. But I wasn’t buying it.

“Probably some occult group kidnapped him,” he said, his voice flat and emotionless. “I heard they starved him for three days before he passed. When I found him, vultures had already picked him apart, and his bones... were treated like some ritual offering.”

He finished speaking and handed me a small, weathered photo of Percy taken before he died.

“Please accept my condolences,” he added, his voice too smooth, like it was rehearsed.

I calmly looked up at him. There were fresh, suspicious red marks on his neck, like a cruel joke reminding me just how foolish I was.

The mockery felt like a slap to my face.

For six years, I had played the dutiful wife, accepting a marriage without intimacy to stay close to him.

Every night, he claimed to be lost in worship, kneeling and praying for his 'supreme higher being,' but all I could think was that he was probably with Natasha.

Last night, he didn’t come home.

Of course, he didn’t. He had stayed in Silverstone with her.

He had no clue. No clue that I had already cremated Percy, his ashes quietly resting in my hands now, a painful reminder of everything I’d lost.

For days, I had been losing my mind.

I called the police, hired private investigators, and threw money at the problem as if it could bring him back. Exhausted and delirious, my body finally gave out, burning with fever.

And that was the day I was admitted to the hospital…

This was the first time Francis showed me the first flicker of tenderness I'd ever seen from him.

“Why don't you take a rest first, Kierra?” Francis asked in feigned concern, his words almost foreign to me. “I’ll take care of everything. I’ll find Percy. I’ll bring him home.”

But now? He handed me a broken photo of Percy as if somehow it would replace my son.

I wanted to laugh, but the tears burned my eyes.

“Francis, did you really treat Percy like your own child?” My voice cracked, but I couldn’t stop myself.

He froze for a moment, then nodded, convinced of his lies. "Certainly. We've maintained a celibate marriage, and Percy is our sole child.”

I laughed, though it wasn’t a sound of joy. It was bitter and cold.

He never even wanted to touch me.

So, how could he have had children with me?

We’d spent six years together, Francis in his world of spiritual rituals, while I desperately tried to win his affection. I racked my brain, thinking of ways to strengthen our marriage.

But Francis? He wasn’t worried about us. He was thinking about Natasha, about getting her back.

I trembled as I took the photo and said cynically, “You really worked hard, didn’t you?”

He thought I believed him.

Right then, Francis retreated to his study, calling Natasha in a voice that wasn’t quite as careful as it should’ve been.

“Natasha, Kierra believes it. She’s upset now, but she’ll come around in a few days. After that, I’ll bring Ella and Noah back.” His voice dropped lower, but there was an unmistakable spark of anticipation. “In three months at most, we’ll be a family. I’ll finally be able to be with you openly.”

I didn’t want to hear it, but the words cut through me, anyway.

The child we had raised together for five years, my son, was dead, and Francis hadn’t shed a single tear.

Instead, he was already planning the next steps as if nothing had happened.

I stood there, leaning against the wall, my body shaking as I laughed bitterly through my tears.

What was I doing?

What was I holding on to for six years?

Why had I stayed with him, compromising every part of myself?

It all came back to that moment ten years ago, at a party, when I saw Francis with such compassion save an injured bird.

I couldn’t let go of that image, that feeling. That secret crush slowly consumed me until I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore.

Back then, my best friend had caught on and warned me with a serious look. “You really like him, don’t you? You’d better not, Kierra. Everyone knows Francis is not into women. Even if you were the most beautiful girl on the planet, he wouldn’t even look at you.”

But I didn’t listen. I didn’t believe it.

I chased him for ten years. I used every trick, played every game, and tried everything I could think of to get him to notice me. But he still ignored me.

Francis never smiled, never even looked my way.

I was ready to give up, to walk away. I cut up all the pictures of him, buried my secret crush diary, and promised my family I would settle for the marriage they arranged for me.

Kierra's POV

But then, out of nowhere, Francis came downstairs into my home and found me.

He just walked straight up, his eyes unreadable, closing the distance like he’d already made up his mind.

Then he backed me up against the wall, leaned in close, and said, “Will you marry me?”

It was the heaviest snowfall Brookfield City had seen in years. I’d always hated winter—hated the biting cold, the way snow muffled everything like a silencer over grief.

But in the six years that followed, I found myself longing for that night.

Not because it was beautiful. Not because it was still.

But it was the last time I let myself believe in something impossible.

That maybe Francis Weston had truly seen me, or that the man I had loved in silence for a decade had finally looked back.

And for a breath and a second, maybe he would feel something too.

But dreams are delicate things. And fantasies? They don’t survive the freeze.

Mine didn’t.

They cracked beneath the weight of reality.

And when they shattered, all that remained was the truth. Stripped of all illusions, the world revealed itself for what it really was.

Cold. Blunt. Unforgiving.

...

The private detective slid the surveillance footage and evidence across my desk.

“Miss Kierra, you were right. Based on everything we gathered from Silverstone City, it was indeed Francis’s doing. Would you like to call the police?”

I gripped the photo tightly.

Percy had not suddenly disappeared.

It wasn’t an accident.

Francis orchestrated everything. He had gone to Silverstone City to watch a magic show because Francis had instructed him to go with the driver.

And my sweet, innocent boy obeyed. He believed in his father and didn’t know he was being led to his death. Until Percy was thrown into the desert of Silverstone, starved to death, and then pecked by vultures.

My poor baby, Percy, who never doubted his father, whom he revered, and didn’t realize that his father only wanted to kill him.

“Call the police. I want to report this," I said through my clenched teeth.

I had all the evidence. I was going to hand it over myself. But before I could even move, Francis came back with two kids in tow.

Ella, the five-year-old girl, and Noah, the three-year-old boy.

“Kierra,” Francis began, his tone almost too rehearsed, “I know you’ve been through the pain of losing a child. I couldn’t handle it either, so I took the liberty of adopting two children. They have no parents. They’re very well-behaved and... look a lot like Percy.”

Before I could respond, Francis crouched down, guiding the children.

“Ella, Noah,” he said gently, “call her ‘Mommy.’”

I froze, staring at them. My eyes scanned their faces with forced calm.

Their features were so similar to Francis’s that it was like they were cut from the same mold. Anyone who saw them would immediately know who their father was.

And yet, Francis still treated me like I was blind.

“Why adopt children now?” I asked, my voice steady despite the storm inside me. “Percy just passed, and I don’t have the energy to take care of them.”

Francis blinked, taken aback for a moment. “You don’t need to worry about that. I’ve hired nannies and tutors for them.”

He tried again, this time coaxing them to call me 'Mommy.'

Ella, the older girl, hesitated, then reluctantly mumbled, “Mommy.”

But Noah, the younger one, crossed his arms and scowled.

“I don’t want to,” he said stubbornly. “She’s not my mommy.”

Ella, in a moment of childhood sweetness, hugged Francis’s leg. “Daddy, I miss Mommy. Can you take Noah and me to find her? Please?”

A flicker of panic flashed in Francis’s eyes, but he quickly masked it, his voice shaky as he tried to explain.

“Don’t misunderstand,” he said, his tone too casual. “I often visit the orphanage with the temple, give them snacks, and pray for them. The children call me ‘Dad’ sometimes.”

He was trying so hard to make me think it was normal, but his actions and words told a different story.

I looked at Ella’s face—the one that looked so much like Natasha’s—and my heart broke. If I were to be honest with myself, I’d already started connecting the dots.

If I went by the timeline, Ella would’ve been born the same year Francis and I got married. No wonder he had always found excuses to leave, to travel far away, to pray in distant places.

The truth was simple.

Francis loved Natasha.

He had always loved her. He longed to be with her and their children.

I should just let them be together.

I nodded slowly, as calm as I could muster. “I won’t overthink it. You’ve always been clear about wanting a sexless marriage, haven’t you? As for these two kids... do as you see fit.”

I turned and walked away, back to my room, my feet heavy as I moved. The door shut quietly behind me, but I still heard the sigh of relief escape Francis’s lips.

And just like that, he started openly playing with the two children in front of me.

Kierra's POV

If Francis wasn’t buying toys, he was in the study telling the kids stories and making them laugh.

“Daddy, do you think the family portrait I drew looks good? This is me, this is my brother, and this is mommy…” Ella’s childish voice echoed from the study.

Francis’s voice followed, warm and amused. “Ella, you’ve done a great job! You’re definitely my daughter.”

I froze, the sharp sting of a needle pricking my finger. A drop of blood quickly welled up.

Once upon a time, Percy had drawn family portraits. His were always the best, full of life and love.

Before he died, he had clung to my leg, his voice shaky as he murmured, “Mommy, do you think Daddy will like the family portrait I drew? He doesn’t seem to like me lately. He won’t talk to me. Did I do something wrong?”

Poor Percy. He was so careful, always worried about upsetting Francis.

A single look or a cold gesture from Francis would leave Percy silently heartbroken, and he would be sad for days. He shouldn’t have had to carry that burden.

The thought twisted my chest.

...

Later that afternoon, I fell into a light sleep on the couch. Then, a loud bang from the study, followed by the unmistakable sound of something shattering.

I didn’t think much of it at first, but when the nanny came by to clean the trash can, something caught my eye.

A broken urn.

I felt the world tilt. My heart raced as I rushed into the study.

“What are you doing?” My voice came out sharp, panicked.

In front of me, Ella and Noah were playing with Percy’s ashes, spreading them across the floor and using them like paint on a canvas.

Ella looked up at me with a mix of annoyance and arrogance. “We’re drawing. Can’t you see? Are you blind?”

I could barely process the scene in front of me. Percy’s ashes—the last piece of him I had left—were scattered, destroyed, scattered across the room.

“Put that down!” I snapped.

Ella didn’t even flinch.

She tilted her head defiantly. “No! This is my daddy’s house, and my daddy said I can do whatever I want.”

As if to prove her point, she poured water over the ashes, turning them into a muddy mess.

Something inside me broke. I lost control. In a rush of anger and pain, I slapped her across the face.

Noah, wide-eyed and frightened, cried out, the sound cutting through the air like a knife.

Just as I turned to gather the ashes, Francis burst into the room.

He saw the scene and immediately shoved me to the ground, shielding the two children with his body.

“Kierra, what the hell are you doing?” he growled, his eyes flashing with rage.

I didn’t respond, tears streaming down my face as I desperately tried to salvage the ashes that were slipping away.

The weight of everything from Percy’s death to Francis’s betrayal was too much.

Francis stood there, confused and somewhat stunned, his brow furrowing. “It’s just ashes. Percy’s dead, Kierra. You should let it go. Now you’re the mother of these two kids, and you should focus on taking care of them.”

That was it. My restraint cracked.

I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Francis, do I owe you something? Or is it Percy who owes you something?” My voice broke, the words heavy with everything I’d been holding in. “You had Percy killed for your illegitimate kids! And now you won’t even let me have his ashes?”

The words hit Francis hard.

He stepped back, his face paling as he absorbed what I’d just said.

“What... what did you say? When did you find out about this?”

I didn’t answer. I just stared at him, every ounce of anger and betrayal swelling inside me.

“Kierra,” he said, stepping closer and grabbing my arm. “Listen, those are just rumors. I couldn’t stand seeing you in so much pain after losing Percy, so I adopted these two kids. You’re their mom now, and I thought—”

I looked down at his hand gripping my arm.

I couldn’t help it. I smiled bitterly, the coldness of the moment sinking in.

Six years we’d been married, and Francis had never wanted any physical contact with me. He wouldn’t hold my hand, let alone kiss me or sleep beside me.

On special occasions, I could only hold on to the sleeve of his jacket.

And now, here he was, desperate to explain himself, to cross all the boundaries he’d set for himself for the sake of keeping these two children.

I pushed his hand away and closed my eyes, blocking out the man I once thought I knew.