Three years after Vivian and I married into the Domingo family, our husbands' childhood crush Niama Guido came back to the town.

Vivian and I had a whole escape plan.

But the night before we bailed, Vivian threw herself off a high-rise.

I called her husband, Pedro Domingo.

He laughed, his tone nasty and cold.

"Reena, my brother asked, since she jumped today, are you going to drown yourself tomorrow?"

Pedro's voice hit like a slap, sharp and smug. My ears rang. My heart was sinking.

I stared at Vivian, blood pooling under her, and croaked, "Pedro, I'm serious. She's dead."

He snorted.

"Dead? For real? And what, I'm supposed to hold a funeral for her now? Reena, just 'cause I've played nice doesn't mean I see you as family. You, Vivian, and your little stunts are pathetic."

It was summer, but I felt frozen.

I should've known he wouldn't believe me. Vivian was merely a pawn used to shield him from his parents' nagging.

Still... a part of her must've hoped he'd care.

In the end, he let her down—again.

A girl's voice came from the other end of the phone. "Pedro, why are you still on the phone? Come sing with me!"

Pedro's voice flipped, syrupy sweet. "Alright, alright, my princess. I'm hanging up."

The night was pitch black. Somehow, I felt suffocated as if it wrapped me tightly.

I held Vivian's blood-soaked body. Eyes blank. Mind gone.

It made no sense.

Yesterday, she was dead set on leaving the Domingos with me.

Now she was the girl who jumped.

She hated heights. Couldn't handle pain. Still—thirty stories. Gone.

I went through the motions—police, paperwork, cremation.

By sunrise, the loud, lively Vivian was just ashes in a box.

As the first light cracked through the sky, I stepped out of the crematorium, clutching what was left of her.

"Miss, your phone's ringing," someone called.

Snapped back, I fumbled for my phone, eyes too blurry to read the screen.

I answered. My husband Marco's voice hit, deep and accusing.

"You didn't come home last night."

"Yeah," I said, flat.

He got colder. "What's that tone? Were you and Vivian off pulling your stunts again? Reena Rayne, I told you—stay away from her."

The phone felt like lead in my hand.

I took a shaky breath. "Vivian's dead. You don't have to trash her anymore."

Silence. Then Marco's voice came back.

"You're really going along with her crap now? She jumps today, what—are you dying tomorrow? Or is this some fake-death prank? We're too busy to play your games, Reena."

He hung up. No hesitation.

And honestly? I felt relieved.

Let them believe whatever they wanted.

For her to jump like that... maybe Vivian had already let go. Of the Domingos. Of Pedro.

I wiped my face and took her to the sea.

She had no family. No place to go back to.

When we were planning our escape, she said the ocean was what she wanted to see most—besides the mountains and rivers.

So I let part of her go there.

As her ashes slipped from my fingers, the wind picked up, sweeping them into the water.

My throat tightened. "Vivian... is that you?"

The breeze blew harder, like she was answering.

I smiled, blinking through tears. "Go on. When it's all over, I'll finish the road we never got to walk."

The wind died down. Quiet. Just like her.

By the time I got back to the Domingo estate, it was already noon.

Both Marco and Pedro were there—go figure.

As soon as I stepped in, their eyes were all over me. Heavy.

Pedro smirked.

"Reena, you're back. So... where's Vivian? Don't tell me she's still living it up at the hotel?"

I clenched my fists, trying to stay calm. "She's not coming back."

Pedro chuckled, but his eyes were icy. "Oh yeah? She shacks up with some sugar daddy and decides she's too good for my family?"

So even now, that's all she was to him—disposable.

I let out a bitter laugh. All those years she loved him, totally wasted.

"If you thought so little of her, why didn't you just divorce her? Would've saved you both the trouble."

He scoffed. "So she DID find someone. Come on, who is he?"

Right then, he looked feral—eyes gleaming, ready to tear someone apart.

I turned and bolted up the stairs. I didn't come back to fight. I needed answers.

Vivian wouldn't have jumped. She hated death. She's scared of it.

But before I hit the second floor, Pedro grabbed me and slammed me into the wall.

His breath was hot, right in my face.

"Reena Rayne, tell me—who's she with? Say it!"

The fake smile Pedro was wearing gone. This one was wild.

And honestly? Seeing him snap like that... felt weirdly satisfying.

If he figured out too late that she was actually gone—would he lose it completely?

"What are you laughing at? Being my sister-in-law doesn't mean I won't lay a finger on you. Ask Marco if he cares. Now quit playing and tell me—where is she?"

I laughed, tears blurring my vision.

"She's dead. Jumped from thirty stories last night. Her body's wrecked, soaked in blood. Don't believe me? Go see for yourself. You're good at digging up dirt, right?"

His grip on my collar tightened. I didn't budge. Just stared him down.

His rage clashed with my stillness like fire against ice.

Then—Marco. His hand landed on Pedro's.

"That's enough. If you really wanna know, go find out. Don't take it out on her."

Pedro's hands dropped. He backed up, dark eyes locked on me—then that fake smile crept back in.

"Fine. I'll check. But Reena, if this is a setup... I won't touch you. But Vivian? She's done."

I just gave him a faint, bitter smile and watched him storm out the door.

"Done staring?" Marco's voice sliced through.

I didn't answer. Just walked past him, heading for Vivian's room.

Didn't get far.

He grabbed my arm, yanking me back fast. I stumbled, barely keeping up.

"Let go. Let me go."

"You vanish all night, come back looking like a wreck, and say Vivian's dead? You've lost it."

He shoved open a door and flung me onto the bed like I was nothing.

Then he loomed over me, fingers clamping around my chin, forcing my gaze up.

He smirked. "Have I been too soft on you? Didn't I tell you to stay away from her?"

Marco never liked Vivian. Everyone knew that.

After her family crashed three years ago, she ditched school, threw herself into every social circle she could—just to lock down an investor.

Marco thought she was flirtatious. Never saw her as more than a girl who sold herself to survive.

Even after she married Pedro, nothing changed.

In Marco's words? "All she did was go from serving many to serving one."

To Vivian, marrying Pedro was like diving straight into fire.

She thought she'd found a prince—turned out, he wore horns under that crown.

I stared at Marco. Same face, but the guy I knew? Gone.

"Marco, I want a divorce."

Five years together. Three married. I used to picture forever with him.

Then Niama came crawling back six months ago. My hope? Dead.

I was done. I wanted out. No more strings.

He froze, jaw tight, eyes flickering. "What?"

"I said I want a DIVORCE."

Maybe I'd finally snapped, because when I said "divorce," all I felt was peace.

The room went quiet. I just stood there, waiting.

Marco had no reason to say no. Niama was back. Once we were done, he could run straight to her—no drama, no family gossip, no pretending.

Then his phone rang. I knew that sound. Niama's exclusive ringtone.

His eyes flicked with panic. He answered, right in front of me.

Her voice came through loud and needy.

"Marco, I think I caught a cold. Can you take me to the hospital? I called Pedro, but he didn't pick up."

She sounded so fragile, like always.

And just like that, I saw it—that flash of worry in his eyes. I'd told myself I was ready for this, but yeah, it still hurt.

She had a cold and he was falling apart.

Me? I once had a 104 fever. Begged him to take me in. He threw a "call an ambulance" my way and left to check on Niama.

Even now, after I dropped the divorce bomb, he still picked her.

He almost tripped when rushing out, with his phone pressed to his ear.

"Niama, I'm coming. Hang on, okay?"

And when he was gone, it hit me—if she was in the picture, I'd never matter.

Three years. That's how long it took me to finally get it—some hearts? You just can't warm them.

I rummaged through Vivian's room for hours.

I found nothing. Just a diary, cover worn, with Pedro's name all over it.

It started with love. Then came the letdowns. By the end? Pure heartbreak.

The last page hit like a punch:

[From this moment on, I will never love Pedro Domingo again.]

My chest heaved with emotion. It felt like a thousand tiny needles stabbing straight through my heart.

Three years back, one night, Vivian blew up my phone.

[Ree, guess who I'm marrying.]

[It's Pedro Domingo.]

[The Prince Charming I told you about.]

[He said he's going to marry me.]

[My family is saved.]

Every message screamed joy.

I knew it wasn't just about saving her family. What really lit her up was marrying Pedro—the guy she'd crushed on for three years.

We talked till 3 a.m. that night.

She was glowing.

Now? That spark was long gone. Six months of silence, and all that joy had shattered into pieces.

I clutched her diary, and somewhere along the way, I fell asleep.

The dream was too real.

Vivian and I were on a snowy mountain. The wind was biting, but she was in this thin coat, totally unbothered.

She raced ahead, face glowing.

"Ree, I made it! I'm at the top! I can't hear anything from the bottom anymore. I'm free!"

Sunlight hit her like she was wrapped in gold.

I started to smile—

Then she fell, slipping backward into the snow. Silent. Gone.

"Vivian!"

I reached out, but my hands caught nothing.

I shot awake, soaked in sweat, heart racing.

It was dark out.

I set the diary down and prepared to head to the place she jumped from.

But as soon as I opened the door, someone was there.

Pedro.

His eyes were like winter.

"Why did Vivian jump?"