Chapter Two

The world returned in fragments.

First, the sterile scent of disinfectant.

Then, the sharp sting of a light too bright against my eyelids.

Voices floated above me, muffled and distorted, as though I were trapped beneath water.

"She's stable," a man said softly. I caught the faint rustle of papers. "Weak... most likely stress-induced collapse. Her vitals are erratic, but she'll recover with rest."

Stress. That word again. Always stress. Always my fault. Never anything more.

I forced my eyes open. The ceiling glared down at me, plain, sterile, and endless. The rhythmic beeping of a monitor pulsed beside me, steady but unnerving.

I turned my head slowly, the movement heavy, and found the doctor standing near the bed with a clipboard. His face carried the practiced calm of a man who had seen too many people break.

"Mrs. Cobbs," he said gently. "You need to avoid strain. Whatever situation you're under, your body is telling you it cannot handle more. You must rest, or..."

"I'll break," I whispered, finishing for him.

His eyes softened. "Exactly. I'll prescribe something to calm your nerves, to help with the dizziness. But please, do not ignore your limits. Your body will only forgive so much."

He did not know. None of them ever knew.

How could they? How could a stranger understand the weight of a husband's betrayal announced before the world, the sharp burn of gossip still echoing through glittering halls, the way Elizabeth Sterl's smile felt like a knife twisting between my ribs?

What medicine could fix a humiliation filmed and shared across every screen in the city?

Before I could gather my thoughts, the door creaked open. The sound was small, but it cut through me. My body stiffened instinctively.

Daniel.

He filled the doorway, tall and sharp in a tailored suit that whispered money and power. His expression was unreadable, sculpted into a mask of indifference. To the world, he looked like a man who owned it all.

To me, he was the man who had ripped the ground out from under me with a single public declaration.

And trailing behind him, her heels clicking with maddening precision, was Elizabeth. Of course.

The doctor cleared his throat, as though my husband's presence carried weight even in a room meant for healing.

"Mr. Cobbs, your wife..."

"She's fine," Daniel cut in smoothly. His tone was cool and dismissive. "She always is."

My lips trembled. My throat formed his name before my mind could stop it.

"Daniel..."

He stepped closer, his shadow falling across me like a curtain. The doctor, clearly uncomfortable, placed a small bottle of pills on the side table and murmured something about dosage.

He excused himself quickly, shutting the door behind him. The silence that followed was far heavier.

Daniel's hand shot out. He snatched the bottle from the table, weighed it in his palm for a heartbeat, then hurled it onto the bed. The plastic burst open. Pills scattered across the sheets and clattered onto the floor, rolling in every direction.

"Pathetic," he hissed. His voice was low, dangerous. "Collapsing like some fragile doll, making me look like the villain. Was that your plan, Ava? To fake weakness in front of everyone, to claw at sympathy from people who matter more than you ever could?"

The words sliced into me, cruel and precise.

"I didn't..." My voice cracked against my will. "I didn't fake anything. I..." The tears burned hot as I swallowed them back. "I could not breathe, Daniel. My chest..."

"Save it," he cut in sharply. "I know you. You live for attention. Always playing the victim. Always trying to turn the story in your favor. Did you think this stunt would change my mind? Did you think anyone looked at you and felt pity?"

His eyes were steel. Unforgiving. He wanted to believe I was acting, because the truth, that I was breaking, would not suit his pride.

Then came the sound I dreaded most.

Laughter.

Soft. Feminine. Cruel.

Elizabeth.

She leaned lazily against the wall, her arms folded, her eyes glinting like glass.

"She is very convincing, Daniel," she said sweetly, her tone dripping with venom. "If I did not know any better, I might almost believe her."

Her lips curved as if mocking my pain was a private joke meant only for them.

Daniel's jaw twitched, and for the briefest second, satisfaction flickered across his face. He didn't look at me like his wife. He looked at me like a nuisance, a liability, an obstacle already being removed.

My fingers curled into the sheets until my nails bit into my palms. I felt something crack inside me, but alongside that fracture, something else began to stir.

A burn. A spark.

Elizabeth's voice floated again, cutting into me like glass.

"She will not last much longer. Look at her. She can barely sit up. Do you really want the world to think you are still tied to this?"

She gestured toward me as though I were less than human, as though I were some broken object she would have tossed in the trash.

Daniel's eyes followed her gesture, and for a breath, I thought I saw contempt so sharp it could kill.

"I made a mistake," he muttered, not even to me. To himself. To her. "I should have ended this sooner."

Elizabeth smirked. "Then end it completely."

My chest tightened, but my body refused to break further. I would not give them that.

I pressed my hands against the mattress, forcing myself upright despite the dizziness that screamed at me. My vision swayed, but I held on.

Daniel's gaze snapped to me, a flicker of surprise crossing his cold face.

"I am not weak," I whispered. My voice trembled, but the words were iron. "And I am not done."

Elizabeth's laugh rang out again, louder this time, sharp as glass breaking.

"Listen to her. Trying to sound strong when she can barely sit."

Daniel's lips curved, not with amusement but with something darker.

He stepped closer until the bed creaked under his weight. His hand came down suddenly, gripping my jaw so tight I thought he might shatter it. His breath brushed my ear, low and venomous.

"You belong on the floor, Ava. That is where I put you, and that is where you will stay."

The pressure of his grip sent fire down my neck. My vision blurred with tears, but inside, something hardened.

If they wanted me destroyed, they would have to try harder. Much harder.

Because I would not die on this bed.

And I would not die as Daniel Cobbs' discarded wife.

Chapter 3

The ride home was silent, except for the occasional hum of tires against the asphalt and Elizabeth's laughter, soft and threaded with familiarity. She leaned into Daniel as though the seat beside me were empty, as though I were nothing more than a shadow carried along for the ride. Her perfume drifted back, cloying, filling the narrow space until it settled into my lungs.

I pressed myself against the leather, staring out the window. The city lights streaked by in fractured blurs, each one a reminder of a world that kept moving even as mine stood still. My fingers curled into my dress until the fabric wrinkled beneath my grip. Every laugh from the front seat cracked through me like a whip, but Daniel never once glanced back.

By the time the gates of the mansion swung open, dread pooled so heavy in my stomach that it felt like stone. The servants waited in two neat lines as we entered, their faces lowered in practiced politeness, yet their whispers ran quick and sharp through the air, impossible to miss.

"She looks worse," one maid murmured, voice shaking with a mixture of pity and thrill.

"Worse? She collapsed in front of everyone. Right there on the marble floor."

"I heard Mr. Cobbs told the whole crowd he was divorcing her."

"Divorcing her? In public?"

"Yes. He called her a burden. Said he couldn't carry dead weight."

A sharp intake of breath, a hiss of warning, but the damage was done. The words lingered like smoke, impossible to clear. And then the butler's voice, low and weary, cutting deeper than the rest:

"The house isn't blind. Everyone can see it. The mistress is fading. The master doesn't look at her anymore. His attention... belongs elsewhere."

Each word burrowed into me like glass. My back straightened on instinct, my chin lifted higher, and I walked past them with the grace drilled into me long ago. I would not let them see me bend. Not here. Not yet.

Inside the bedroom, Daniel pressed a small bottle into my palm. His eyes were cool, detached.

"The doctor says you need this," he said flatly. "Take it before you cause another scene."

No softness. No concern. Just dismissal.

Elizabeth lingered in the doorway, red lips curved into a smirk that dared me to resist. Her presence alone made the air suffocating.

So I obeyed. Two white pills, bitter against my tongue, swallowed dry because neither offered me water.

Daniel didn't wait. He loosened his tie and brushed past her, his hand grazing her arm in a touch that was too familiar, too intimate. As if it belonged there. Her laugh followed him into the adjoining room, low and satisfied, until even the walls seemed to thrum with it.

At first, there was nothing. Just silence pressing in on me. Then it began, the warmth, slow, almost harmless. But it spread quickly, curling in my stomach, burning its way into my veins. My hands shook as I stumbled to the mirror.

The reflection staring back at me was a ghost. Pale, lips drained of color, eyes sunken into shadow. The glow I once carried had fled. My skin looked dull, as if light itself had abandoned me.

Stress, I told myself. Stress and exhaustion. A trick of the mind. But Elizabeth's voice haunted me still, a cruel whisper etched into memory: She will not last much longer.

Later that night, voices drifted through the crack beneath my door. Servants again, careless, believing me asleep.

"They say the master has already ordered the divorce papers."

"And that woman... Elizabeth. She's always near him now."

A pause, then the youngest maid's hushed voice:

"He told the steward to ready the guest room. Tonight. He doesn't want her weakness in his chamber anymore. He wants Elizabeth where she belongs."

A silence followed, broken only by a sigh. "Poor Mrs. Cobbs. A wife erased while still alive."

The door creaked open. Daniel stood there, face blank, eyes colder than stone.

"You'll be staying in the guest room from now on," he said. No hesitation. No remorse. "It's better this way."

Elizabeth hovered just behind him, perfume thick in the air, her lips curved in quiet triumph.

I rose without a word, every ounce of dignity wrapped around me like armor. My steps carried me past them, steady though my knees trembled.

The guest room was colder than I expected. The walls bare, the air hollow. Stripped of warmth, stripped of history. As if prepared for someone who did not belong.

I sank onto the bed, pressing my palms to my ears, desperate to block out the world. But the mansion betrayed me.

Elizabeth's laughter seeped through the walls, followed by Daniel's voice, low, commanding, the same tone he once used for me. Then the rhythm. Their rhythm. The sounds I had once prayed for, sounds that once tethered me to him, now carved through me like blades.

Each gasp. Each sigh. A wound I could not close.

My nails dug into the sheets until the fabric tore. Tears stung, but I refused to let them fall. Instead, I turned toward the mirror propped against the far wall.

The woman who stared back was trembling, faded, her light stolen piece by piece. Not dying, not yet, but poisoned slowly, deliberately, erased a little more each night.

And still, somewhere beneath the frailty, something stirred. A spark that refused to die.

They wanted me erased. They wanted me broken.

But as the walls shook with their laughter and moans, I whispered the truth to myself, low and steady.

Not yet.

I would not give them my ending.

Chapter Four

‎The first light of morning filtered weakly through the curtains when the maid's knock came.

‎"Madam, breakfast is ready."

‎Her voice was soft, but I caught the hesitation, the pity that trailed after the words.

‎I rose slowly, every limb heavy. My reflection in the glass was no better than the night before. My skin, pale and lifeless. My lips drained of color. The bottle of pills on the nightstand gleamed accusingly, its cap half open, waiting.

‎Two pills already felt like chains around my throat, but I swallowed them dry anyway, forcing my body into motion.

‎The corridor outside hummed with whispers. I caught them before the maids scattered.

‎"Did you see? They moved her to the guest room. It is as good as exile."

‎"And Elizabeth... she slept in his chamber. The master did not hide it."

‎"Poor woman, imagine serving the mistress in your own house."

‎Their giggles, sharp and cruel, scattered like glass shattering.

‎I descended the stairs. At the long mahogany table, Elizabeth sat already, wrapped in silk the color of blood. She smiled lazily, like the throne was hers. Daniel sat beside her, reading the morning paper, unbothered by the storm he created.

‎"Good morning," I managed, my voice low.

‎Daniel did not answer. He flicked his hand instead, the signal for me to sit. The chair at the far end of the table, distant from him, had been set for me. A small plate, plain, almost insulting.

‎The butler appeared with a tray, but it was not for me. He placed steaming eggs and glazed ham before Elizabeth. Fresh fruit in crystal bowls. A glass of rich wine at her elbow, though it was still morning.

‎"Too much," Elizabeth murmured with a laugh, turning her gaze toward me. "Why don't you serve me? I would so hate to waste."

‎The butler froze, uncertain. Daniel lowered his newspaper, his expression unreadable.

‎"Go ahead," he said. "It is only polite."

‎My throat tightened, but my hands moved before I could protest. I took the silver spoon, ladled eggs onto her plate, cut fruit into neat slices. The humiliation burned, every motion a reminder that this was my table, my house, yet I was reduced to waiting on the woman who wanted me erased.

‎Elizabeth's smirk widened. "Careful," she purred. "You nearly dropped the spoon. How clumsy weakness makes you."

‎I stilled. The maids along the walls tried to look away, but I saw their eyes flicker, hungry for the drama.

‎Finally, I set the last dish before her.

‎"Is that enough?" I asked quietly.

‎Elizabeth leaned back, tilting her head as if studying a servant. "For now. Though I hear you are not eating much yourself. Perhaps you should feed me first, so you remember how it feels."

‎My fingers clenched around the spoon. The insult cut sharp.

‎Daniel folded the paper, at last giving me his attention. "Enough, Elizabeth."

‎For one heartbeat, I thought he would spare me. That he would call back some shred of the man who once swore vows to me.

‎But then his eyes shifted, cold and assessing. "Do not look at her like that," he told me flatly. "She has done nothing wrong. If anyone has, it is you."

‎I swallowed, tasting the bitterness at the back of my throat. "I am your wife," I whispered.

‎The words cracked the air.

‎Elizabeth's laugh spilled, low and taunting. "Not for much longer."

‎The room went still. My heart pounded. Something inside me, raw and desperate, finally broke.

‎"You humiliate me in my own home," I said, my voice trembling but loud enough to carry. "You put me in the guest room like a stranger. You let them all whisper. And now you sit here, letting her take what was mine. How much more, Daniel? How much lower must I fall before you are satisfied?"

‎Gasps rippled among the staff. The butler's hands tightened over the tray he held. Even Elizabeth's smile faltered for a breath.

‎Daniel's gaze hardened. His jaw set. Slowly, deliberately, he rose from his chair.

‎"Enough," he said.

‎"No," I answered, surprising even myself. My hands shook, but the fire that had stirred in me since the pills began their slow torment burned hotter. "Not enough. I will not be silent while you destroy me."

‎The silence afterward was suffocating. Elizabeth's smirk returned, thin and sharp, as though she wanted to see what he would do.

‎Daniel's hand moved before I could react. The slap cracked across my face, hot and stinging. My head snapped to the side. The taste of blood filled my mouth.

‎The maids gasped aloud this time. One dropped a fork to the floor.

‎I did not fall. I stayed standing, my palm pressed to my burning cheek, blood coating my tongue. My eyes blurred, but I did not cry.

‎Daniel's voice was ice. "Know your place. If you cannot accept it, then leave this house."

‎Elizabeth rose, looping her arm through his. Her smile gleamed like victory.

‎"She will learn," she said sweetly, resting her head against his shoulder. "Or she will fade away."

‎Their laughter carried as they walked out, leaving me standing at the end of the table, the maids frozen in horrified silence.

‎I straightened, though my cheek throbbed, though blood lingered on my lips. My gaze swept over the servants. They dropped their eyes, ashamed of being caught watching.

‎But I knew they would talk. They would repeat it all in whispers by nightfall.

‎The madam slapped in front of them. The madam bled at breakfast.

‎I walked out slowly, my hand trembling, my mind reeling.

‎In the guest room, I shut the door behind me and pressed my forehead to the wood. The toxin churned inside me, making my skin crawl, making my strength falter. But the fire inside did not go out.

‎They wanted me erased. They wanted me weak, forgotten, discarded.

‎But I tasted blood, and with it came resolve.

‎This was not my end.