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.

Kierra's POV

“Francis, I’ve had enough of this life. Let’s get a divorce.”

There was a long silence.

It felt like an eternity before he finally spoke, “Do you really want a divorce? Are you sure this isn’t just a momentary impulse?”

I didn’t hesitate. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“Alright.” He let out a deep breath, almost like he was steeling himself. “Then come with me to a party. After it’s over, I’ll sign the divorce agreement.”

I felt numb, like I had already died inside. I just wanted to escape him as quickly as possible, so I agreed without a second thought.

That night, I slipped into the evening gown he’d given me—a dark, form-fitting dress—and showed up at the extravagant banquet.

The entire place reeked of excess.

Francis, the aloof, distant man who had always avoided women, especially loathed these kinds of events.

He didn’t even try to tell me what to do, so I ended up sitting alone in the corner of the room, nursing a drink as I watched the festivities unfold.

I was deep in thought when a female server approached. She smiled apologetically and then spilled something on my gown, the liquid spreading across the fabric like an unforgivable stain.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” the server said, pretending to be flustered. “Let me take you to a room to change.”

I didn’t think much of it at first.

I simply nodded, letting the female server guide me through a hallway. But when she turned to leave, the door clicked shut behind her.

The lock snapped into place.

And then the air grew thick, a suffocating haze filling the room as smoke poured in. I couldn’t breathe.

My eyes burned, and I coughed violently, desperate to see and get out. But there was no one coming, no one answering my frantic shouts for help.

And then the beam above collapsed, and I couldn’t move fast enough to avoid it.

The last thing I remembered was the world crashing down around me.

...

When I opened my eyes, everything was blurry. I could barely focus, but I could tell by the sterile smell and the beeping of machines that I was in a hospital.

“Don’t move, Kierra.” Francis’s voice cut through the haze, unusually soft.

He was sitting by my hospital bed, looking concerned in a way that didn’t sit right with me.

“I just had your skin graft done. You were hurt. The doctor will be performing cosmetic surgery on you later.”

I glanced at him, but my thoughts were foggy.

His hand was wrapped around mine, and his voice was oddly gentle as he said, “Don’t worry. I’ll stay here with you.”

I could hear the nurses whispering nearby. “Your husband really loves you, doesn’t he? He’s so handsome and gentle. If I had a husband like that, I’d feel like my life was complete.”

I froze.

The words hit me like a punch to the gut.

I remembered the diary I had seen by accident not long ago—Francis’s carefully written plans.

It all made sense now.

'It won’t be long before I figure out how to make Kierra undergo cosmetic surgery to look like Natasha. By then, Natasha can return to my side, fully legitimate.'

The party.

The sudden fire.

The skin grafts.

The cosmetic surgery.

All scattered fragments of a puzzle that had tormented me in the dark. Now, each piece clicked into place with terrifying clarity.

So that’s what this was all for!

That cryptic phone call—Francis telling Natasha that within three months, their family would be whole again.

He wasn’t talking about me. He never was. He had planned to remake me and reshape me into her.

He wanted to erase me and turn me into a living replica of Natasha. And then bring her back to take my place, in my life, in my name, in his home.

A classic bait-and-switch. A cruel, sinister scheme.

I staggered back, nausea twisting in my stomach.

I wanted to run, to rip off the bandages and to claw my way out of this white, sterile prison and scream until someone listened.

But my body wouldn’t move.

And then I saw her.

Natasha.

Standing in the doorway, wearing my face—our face.

The woman who resembled me smiled a twisted, malicious curve to her lips.

“Kierra,” she hissed, her voice laced with venom, “you’ve always been just my stand-in. The one he truly loves is me. From now on, you’ll be the one trapped in Silverstone City, living my life... while I become you—the rightful Mrs. Weston.”

My heart clenched. Vision blurred. Her words crashed over me like a tidal wave I couldn’t outrun.

I had no strength left to fight.

Numb, shattered, I threw myself from the window.

As I fell, the last thing I saw was Francis. His arms were wrapped around Natasha, comforting her as she sobbed so pathetically, as if she were the one who had been betrayed.

...

Francis's POV

Natasha clung to me, her face pale, tears streaming down as she clutched me like I was her lifeline.

"Francis, I was just trying to help when I saw Kierra fall. I didn’t expect her to try to kill me with a knife..."

I turned to tend to her wounds, my hands shaking with frustration.

"Where is my wife?" I asked. "Haven’t you found her yet?"

My assistant stood there, helpless, shaking his head as if there was nothing more to be done. Then, just as panic started to grip me, one of the bodyguards rushed in, his face pale.

“Mr. Weston, something’s happened! Someone saw Madam trying to escape the hospital by jumping out of the window. It’s the 22nd floor. She fell... She fell to her death on the spot.”