By the time I reached the house, my lungs still felt too tight, like I’d been breathing smoke instead of air. I had barely stepped inside when Lucinda rushed at me, her face flushed with fury.

“Did you really sell off Nathaniel’s belongings?” she snapped. “His ring, his bike, the aircraft—everything that carried his name?”

“I did,” I replied without emotion. “All of it went to auction.”

Her mouth fell open. “Do you even understand what you just threw away? Those were assets worth millions. That wealth belongs to the Carrington family!”

“He was my husband,” I said coolly. “Those things were mine to decide on.”

Her voice dropped. “Then where is the money?”

“I gave it away,” I said. “Every cent. Donated.”

The room went silent, the kind of stillness that buzzes in your ears before a storm. Then her hand was in my hair, yanking my head back until pain tore through my scalp.

“You vile little ingrate!” she screamed. “So this is who you really are. You’ve been pretending all these years!”

I clenched my jaw and stared straight back at her. “You’re the one pretending. You played the loving mother, acted like you cared about me—”

Her slap came so hard my vision burst with light.

Then another. And another. The blows kept coming. By the fifth, my ears were roaring. By the tenth, I could taste blood. She didn’t stop until she’d struck me over and over, until I couldn’t even keep count anymore.

All the while, Nathaniel—hiding behind his brother’s name—stood nearby and watched.

“She deserves it,” he said flatly. “Delilah told me everything. How you ruined the auction and tried to hurt her. You even stole the spotlight from her painting.”

My legs finally gave way. I collapsed onto the floor, palms pressed to the carpet, breath tearing painfully through my chest. No one moved to help. No one intervened.

It didn’t matter. This would be the last time.

Later, as I lay on the bed trying to recover, my phone vibrated on the nightstand. It was a message from Adrian.

Everything is set. I’ll come for you tomorrow. Wrap up whatever you still need to do.

My thumbs hovered before replying: There’s just one more thing. After that, I’ll leave with you.

I dropped the phone, only noticing the shadow by the door when I turned my head.

Nathaniel was leaning against the frame, arms folded. “Who were you texting?”

“It doesn’t concern you,” I said.

His eyes darkened. “Is it the guy who bought the ring? Tell me his name. I’ll buy it back.”

I laughed softly, without humor. “Why would you? It was never yours to begin with.”

“I’m doing it for my brother,” he insisted. “You’re really going to remarry instead of staying here? You could live with us, help with the baby, be a proper aunt—with Delilah.”

I studied him, then let out a short laugh. “Your brother is dead. Our marriage died with him. I don’t belong here anymore.”

He stared at the suitcase by the wall. “You’re leaving?”

Before I could answer, Delilah screamed from downstairs. “Nathaniel! Something’s wrong with Leo!”

His face drained of color. “Our son!”

I stayed where I was.

He snatched his keys. “Don’t you dare disappear, Eleanor. We’re not done talking. You’re not marrying anyone else.” His words were sharp with command as he rushed out with Delilah.

The door slammed.

I picked up my phone immediately.

Take the baby. That’s the final step. Once they believe I’m dead, everything will end.

Adrian replied almost instantly: Got it. I’ll take care of it. Be ready.

I dragged my suitcase into the hall, every step feeling like breaking free of chains. Outside, a taxi idled at the curb.

I didn’t look back.

---

Nathaniel

The smell of disinfectant burned my nose as I paced the hospital corridor. Delilah’s sobs drifted from the room, while Leo’s cries had weakened to a raspy whimper. Doctors were still running tests, and my heart felt like it was splitting apart.

My phone buzzed. Irritated, I answered without checking the screen. “What is it? I’m busy.”

“Sir…” the butler’s voice came through, shaking.

“I said I—”

“Sir, please listen. There’s been an accident.” He swallowed. “Miss Eleanor was in a car crash.”

I stopped cold. “What are you saying?”

A long pause. Then, barely audible:

“She didn’t make it.”

Nathaniel froze, the phone pressed so tightly against his ear that his knuckles whitened.

“Are you trying to make some kind of joke?” His voice came out sharp, almost threatening. “Did she pay you to say that?”

On the other end, the butler sounded rattled. “No, sir… I wouldn’t dare. Miss Eleanor… she was in a car crash. She’s gone.”

“No, impossible! Why would she be in a car crash when I told her to wait at home?” He was fuming.

“Well,” the butler sighed. “We’re not sure, but we think that she was going somewhere because she brought a lot of her things.”

Nathaniel's jaw clenched, ready to snap back, when a second call came in. Without even saying goodbye, he switched lines.

“This is Officer Landers. Are you related to a Eleanor Carrington?”

Nathaniel’s instinct was to say I’m her husband. The words almost slipped out—until reality slammed back into him. His lies. His carefully built façade. He couldn’t risk it.

“I’m… her brother-in-law,” he said instead. The words felt foreign in his mouth, acidic.

The officer’s tone was grim. “I’m sorry, sir. We’ve recovered ashes and several personal belongings from the crash site. The body… it’s unrecognizable because the car exploded after collision.”

For a moment, Nathaniel’s entire body went numb. “No,” he said sharply. “Impossible. How? Are you pranking me? Did she get you in this so we pay her attention?”

“No, Sir. Of course not,” he denied. “If you want to confirm, then go to the crime scene in Lake Shore. We all have the evidence to prove it was her.”

Nathaniel didn’t hear the rest. He was already moving—grabbing his jacket, his phone still in his hand, striding for the door with a speed that made the butler step back.

In the hallway, Delilah appeared, her face pinched with confusion. “What’s happening? Where are you going?”

“I need to get to Eleanor.” The words came out clipped, urgent.

Her eyes widened, shock morphing into anger. “Are you insane? Why would you—”

But he was already past her, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.

Delilah’s frustration only deepened when her phone buzzed. The hospital doctor was on the line, requesting her presence immediately.

She arrived at Leo’s room moments later, finding the baby squirming in his crib, tiny fists waving in distress.

“We need to monitor him,” the doctor explained. “He refuses to take milk. We may need you to breastfeed for now—he needs the nutrients.”

Delilah recoiled. “I don’t want to.”

The doctor’s brow furrowed.

Realizing how suspicious she must sound, Delilah forced a sudden, sugary smile. “Oh… right. I’ll try. You can leave us.”

Once the door shut, her demeanor flipped like a switch.

“You damn baby,” she hissed, leaning over the crib. “What’s wrong with you? You can’t be sick. And you certainly can’t die. Do you hear me? There is no way I’m letting Harold walk away from me. You are my leverage—even if you’re not mine.”

The baby’s cries grew louder, shriller. Delilah’s frustration spiked.

No one knew the truth—that her pregnancy had been faked from the beginning. That Leo was never hers.

“Nurse!” she barked, throwing open the door. “Feed her—I can’t stop the crying. And make sure she lives, or you’ll regret it.”

While the nurse took the baby, Delilah called the driver. “I want to know where Nathaniel went and why he ran off without telling me.”

There was a pause before the driver said, “It might have to do with Miss Eleanor.”

“Yes, I know that—” Delilah’s voice sharpened. “That’s why I want to know why he’s in such a hurry. Why he’s choosing her over me—”

“Ma’am,” the driver interrupted quietly, “Miss Eleanor… she’s dead.”

Delilah froze, stunned for only a heartbeat before a slow, delighted smile spread across her face. Then, laughter—high, sharp, and cruel—spilled out.

“Dead? Really?” She tilted her head, savoring the thought. “Then let’s go see her and then celebrate.”

By the time Delilah was en route, Nathaniel was already at the crash site.

The air was thick with the stench of burned metal and smoke. The twisted remains of the vehicle lay crumpled against the scorched earth, barely recognizable as a car.

An officer led him toward the remains they had recovered. “We can’t identify her by sight,” the man explained. “But these were found at the scene.”

One by one, they showed him her possessions—a charred handbag, a half-melted phone, the faint outline of a familiar scarf.

And then… the necklace.

The necklace he had given her once, years ago, when promises still meant something between them. The sight of it ripped through him, stealing the air from his lungs.

He remembered his promise, “I will love you for the rest of my life. You are the only one for me, and I promise to make you happy forever.”

Nathaniel’s knees buckled. He sank to the ground, his palms pressing into the dirt as though he could steady the earth beneath him. “No,” he rasped. “No, I won’t accept this. This isn’t her.”

The officer hesitated, then handed him a document. “We ran fingerprints on the recovered items. They matched Eleanor Carrington.”

Nathaniel’s head lowered. For the first time in years, the world felt like it had dropped out from under him. His heartbeat was a dull, punishing drum in his ears.

He didn’t notice the murmurs of the officers nearby. He didn’t see the way Delilah’s car rolled up in the distance.

He just stood there, staring at the ashes in the metal tray, his expression unreadable—but his grip on the necklace so tight it left angry red marks in his palm.

“Eleanor, please…” he muttered. “Tell me this is just a joke.”

The morgue was silent except for the faint hum of the fluorescent lights above, their cold glow reflecting off the stainless-steel surfaces. The air was sharp with antiseptic and something heavier—finality.

Nathaniel, still pretending to be Harold, stood rooted to the spot, staring at the small metal tray beside the gurney.

A charred necklace lay there, twisted but still recognizable. He knew it too well. He had given it to Eleanor on their first anniversary.

The sheet covering her supposed remains seemed to press down on him like a weight.

Every fiber of him screamed that this wasn’t her—that this couldn’t be her—but the evidence kept piling up.

The police had confirmed fingerprints. Her belongings were found at the scene. The ashes. The scorched metal.

A sharp crack shattered the air. Pain bloomed across his cheek.

“What the hell—” He snapped his head toward the source. Delilah stood there, her manicured hand still raised, eyes blazing with fury.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she shot back, her voice laced with accusation. “I just slapped you to wake you up. You’ve been standing here acting like her husband since you got the call!”

Nathaniel’s chest tightened. “Well… I am her husband.”

Delilah’s lips curled into a mocking smile. “Oh, so now you admit it? Now that she’s dead, you’re ready to drop the ‘Harold’ act and go back to being Nathaniel? What’s the plan—suddenly announce she was your wife all along? Don’t tell me you’re having some moral crisis now.”

His eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that we planned this. You wanted her gone, remember? You said you couldn’t stand living this lie anymore, that you were done with her. And now you’re here—fuming, hysterical, acting like you’ve lost the love of your life.” Delilah’s voice dripped with contempt. “Didn’t we want this? So why are you looking at me like I’m the villain?”

For a moment, Nathaniel couldn’t answer. Her words dug into his mind, pulling at memories he’d buried deep.

He remembered the first time he noticed Eleanor. She had been standing alone on the pier that evening, the sun sinking low, spilling gold over the water.

The wind caught her hair, tossing it across her face, but she didn’t mind. She was smiling at something on her phone, laughing quietly to herself.

Curiosity had pulled him closer. “What’s so funny?” he’d asked, half-expecting her to flinch at the intrusion.

Instead, she’d glanced up at him with those steady, dark eyes. “A joke my brother sent me,” she said simply, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Do you want to hear it, or are you just nosy by nature?”

The corner of his mouth had curved. “Maybe both.”

She’d tilted her head, pretending to study him. “You’re Nathaniel, right? The pilot?”

“Guilty.”

“I heard you have a habit of disappearing for days,” she said. “I thought that was just a rumor. But here you are, magically appearing on my pier.”

“Your pier?” he teased.

“Yes,” she replied, with that smile—quiet but certain. “I come here when I need peace. The world’s noisy enough as it is.”

Something about her tone had disarmed him. That night, they’d ended up walking the length of the pier together, trading stories—his about turbulent flights and foreign cities, hers about sketching by the water and the strange comfort of seagulls.

They’d stayed long enough to see the stars come out, their shoulders brushing as they leaned on the railing.

Back then, they were sweet together. Late-night talks. Walks under the stars. Stolen moments in between his flights. She had a way of making the chaos of his life feel calm.

But then… he had chosen Delilah.

At first, it wasn’t love—it was a game. He wanted to test Eleanor, to see if she’d fight for him, if she’d show even a flicker of jealousy. But instead of clinging to him, she’d smiled politely and gone out with another man. That had stung his pride.

So he doubled down. He stayed with Delilah, telling himself it was for the thrill, for the ego boost. When Delilah left to chase her dreams, he thought that chapter was over.

But then, somehow, he and Eleanor had drifted back together. They married. For a while, they were happy. She made him feel steady.

And still… when Delilah returned, he chose her again.

“Don’t tell me you actually care for her now,” Delilah said, breaking into his thoughts. Her gaze was sharp, searching his face. “Do you love her?”

The question froze him. He didn’t know what to say—didn’t want to know the answer himself.

“What?” she pressed. “Well? Do you?”

He forced a scoff, though the sound felt hollow. “Of course not. I’m just… worried because she’s dead. She’s—”

“Because she’s what?” Delilah pushed.

“She’s gone,” he finished quietly. “That’s all.”

But the words didn’t feel like the truth.

Before Delilah could press him further, the morgue door burst open. One of Nathaniel’s men rushed in, his face pale and breathless.

“Sir—” he started, then hesitated.

Nathaniel straightened, tension coiling in his gut. “What is it?”

“It’s Leo,” the man said, his voice trembling. “He’s… missing.”

The world seemed to tilt. “What do you mean missing?” Nathaniel's voice was sharp, lethal.

“We can’t find him anywhere in the hospital. The nurses say they thought he was with Delilah. Security is already searching the premises, but we think he’s been kidnapped.”