I am the eighteenth-generation grave keeper of my family. By accident, I once saved a woman from Arlington's elite circle—Kayla Anderson—who was being buried alive.

With my cover, Kayla faked her death and escaped, then returned to Arlington with blood in her eyes. One by one, she hunted down her enemies. Afterward, she offered herself to me along with a dowry of one million. I said yes.

Five years later, Stefan Harvey—the man she once loved—got divorced and returned to the country for treatment. He needed rare herbs for his medicine.

Without hesitation, Kayla had her seven-month-old unborn child forcibly cut from her womb. The baby died.

I was devastated.

Kayla, on the other hand, looked at me like she had just misplaced a coin.

"Because you stopped me from returning to Arlington back then, Stefan was forced to marry someone else. He fell seriously ill because of it," she said, her tone cold and unwavering. "Liam, this is your debt to Stefan. This child must be sacrificed."

Later, Stefan expressed interest in my family's ancestral land.

"Kayla, my healer said I need a sacred ground to recuperate," he had told her, standing tall like a man reclaiming his destiny. "I think the cemetery in this mountain is perfect."

So, Kayla sent people to dig up my ancestors.

Sixty-eight skeletons—my family—were dumped in the nearby forest. The tombstones were smashed, their fragments tossed like rubble for construction. Cracked marble now lined walkways. Names erased. Histories obliterated.

That day, my last shred of affection for Kayla vanished without a trace.

They never knew—what my family has always guarded wasn't just the dead. It was the living who dared trespass on sacred soil.

——

At the airport, I stood with a boarding pass in hand, waiting to fly to Greymoor—to retrieve what little remained of the bodies they discarded like garbage.

My phone screen displayed a photo: white bones scattered across a slope, half-buried in dead leaves. My vision blurred. I wasn't sure if it was from exhaustion or rage.

Charles, my assistant, stood beside me. When he caught a glimpse of the photo, he turned away sharply, jaw clenched.

"Sir... why has Miss Anderson suddenly become someone we don't even recognize? These were your family members. Even if she wanted to take the land, she could've buried them properly."

He hesitated before adding, "You just lost the child you waited so long for. How could she let you take another blow like this? How could she be so heartless?"

My voice came out steady. Detached. "Because the one she loves isn't me."

Charles blinked. "That can't be right. She defied her whole family to marry you. She even begged to her grandparents. Everyone said she loved you."

My hand froze over the screen. A hollow laugh escaped my throat.

No one knew—Kayla hadn't been begging for me. She had been pleading with them to let her return and fight for Stefan.

Our marriage was her rebellion. Her revenge. Even my suit on our wedding day was tailored to Stefan's measurements, not mine.

And I'd still worn it.

To the bitter end, she was dreaming of marrying him. I used to tell myself she was just too busy and got the sizes mixed up. I lied to myself over and over, thinking that if I gave her enough warmth, her frozen heart would thaw.

I was a stand-in. And I still said yes.

Just then, Amber arrived—Kayla's secretary, flanked by several men in black suits.

"Sir," she said smoothly, "Miss Anderson instructed that you are not to go to Greymoor. Mr. Harvey has made all necessary arrangements. The burial will proceed tomorrow."

I raised my head slowly, voice trembling beneath layers of control. "Burial? Are you sure the people Stefan invited are there for that? He's not holding a ritual. He hired exorcists to cleanse the ground."

I sucked in a breath. "Amber, go back and tell Kayla—no matter what, I will go to Greymoor."

Amber didn't flinch. Her smile was calm. Calculated.

"Sir, we're all just following orders. Please don't make this difficult for us."

She added softly, "I heard your mother is still in the hospital... clinging to life. If you go to Greymoor and Miss Anderson gets upset, she might stop the medication. That would be... unfortunate, wouldn't it?"

I stared at her, my pulse hammering behind my eyes.

"Are you threatening me?"

Amber only tilted her head, still smiling.

Five years ago, when I followed Kayla back to Arlington, my mother stayed behind. She took over my duties as the family grave keeper.

And now, her life—just like my ancestors'—hung in Kayla's hands.

When Kayla sent people to dig up the graves, my mother tried to stop them. She clashed with the workers, screaming and pleading. In her agitation, the illness she'd been fighting for years relapsed. She collapsed on the ground, clutching her chest. By the time she was rushed to the hospital, she had already lost consciousness.

Amber stared at me, completely unfazed. "Miss Anderson said your mother's surgery is scheduled in five hours. She needs your signature to proceed. If you leave now and delay the operation..." She tilted her head with mock concern. "That won't be good. Shall we take you to the hospital?"

I was trembling with rage. My fists clenched at my sides, but I knew I had no choice. My mother's life was hanging by a thread and Kayla was holding the scissors.

I forced myself to take a breath and nodded. "Let's go."

Charles stepped forward, worry written all over his face, but I stopped him with a look. There was no point resisting—not now. I had to keep my mother safe first. As for the ancestral tomb, the shattered remains... I would deal with it another way. Let them take the land. Let them claim victory. But they'd need more than power to survive what came next.

Before I got into the car, Amber added one last reminder. "Mr. Harvey is staying at the Anderson residence now. Miss Anderson said you must never mention the child in front of him."

Her voice was syrupy sweet, but her words stung like venom. "Mr. Harvey is kind-hearted. He never harms any living creature. If he finds out about the child, he'll be filled with guilt and sorrow."

I turned to her, my gaze ice-cold.

A woman who had her own unborn child carved out of her womb. A man who desecrated another family's resting place for his so-called recovery. And now they dared speak of kindness?

It was a cruel, twisted joke.

I sank into the car seat, eyes burning, my chest aching. I closed my eyes, trying to silence the storm in my head—only for the phone to ring.

"Mr. Green," the voice on the other end was shaking. "Your mother... she jumped off the building. It's suicide."

The world blurred. I don't remember how I got to the hospital. I only remember sprinting through the sterile halls, hoping it was all a mistake.

But it wasn't. I didn't even get to see her one last time.

"Why would my mother suddenly commit suicide?" My voice cracked as I stood in front of Kayla. "Where did you hide her body?"

Kayla's expression darkened, but she didn't answer right away.

"You still have the nerve to ask me that?" she snapped. "Your mother stabbed Stefan with a knife. If he hadn't dodged, he'd be dead! I was going to confront her about it, but before I even had the chance—she jumped!"

I stared at her, stunned. "My mother wouldn't attack someone without a reason. Stefan must've provoked her."

I turned to leave. I needed to see Stefan. I needed the truth.

But Kayla raised her hand and her people surrounded me. "He's still recovering. You're not allowed to disturb him."

They dragged me into a basement and locked the door. The air was damp and cold, thick with mildew. The concrete walls were stained, the ceiling low. I could feel every bone in my body start to ache. The wound on my chest, barely healed, flared with pain.

Night fell. The silence was suffocating.

Then I heard footsteps.

Stefan walked in slowly, hands in his pockets, a slight smile playing on his lips.

"Liam," he said casually, "you look exactly like your mother did before she died."

My head snapped up. Blood roared in my ears. "You killed her!"

He shrugged. "All I did was tell her that I dumped all your family's bones in the forest. Then she lost it and attacked me."

He chuckled, the sound low and cruel. "Her body was sent to Greymoor too. I had my exorcists perform a ritual. With the right methods, their souls will never reincarnate. That's the price for offending me."

I snapped.

The fury that had been simmering exploded. I tackled him to the ground, my hands around his throat. "Stefan, go to hell!"

Before I could tighten my grip, a sharp pain tore through my chest.

Kayla had burst in.

She kicked me with all her strength. I flew backward, slammed into the wall and crumpled to the floor. My old wound split open again and blood trickled from the corner of my mouth.

I groaned, trying to sit up. "Kayla... it was him..."

"Shut up!"

She didn't even look at me. She rushed to Stefan and helped him to his feet like he was the one who had been wronged.

"Stefan, are you alright? I'll take you to the hospital."

I watched them leave, her hand cradling his cheek, his arm around her waist.

My vision swam, the edges going dark. I couldn't move. My head fell back, hitting the ground with a thud.

I passed out.

When I woke again, the basement was still dark. The pain in my chest came in sharp waves.

A voice called out softly, "Sir, you're finally awake."

It was Charles. He knelt beside me, his eyes red-rimmed. "When I arrived, you'd already passed out. I gave you some painkillers. But we need to get you to a hospital."

Charles then pounded on the basement door, panic thick in his voice. "Open the door! Let us out—hurry!"

From the other side, a servant replied lazily, "Pipe it down, will you? Isn't it good enough that your boss is awake now? Miss Anderson said Mr. Harvey was injured. Mr. Green has to stay in the basement and reflect. He can come out once he realizes his mistake."

Charles clenched his fists, his chest heaving with fury. "Can't you see his old injury's acting up? He can't take much more of this! If he dies down here, will you bear the consequences?!"

The silence that followed was brief, then came the servant's uneasy voice. "I... I can't make that call. I'll go ask Miss Anderson."

But it was too late.

The pain in my chest had long since spread, suffocating, radiating in sharp pulses that drowned out everything else. The fever came next—hot, dizzying waves that made it impossible to think. I drifted in and out of consciousness, the cold floor pressing against my back, the damp air clinging to my skin like a curse.

Somewhere through the haze, I heard Charles' voice. "Sir, stay with me—we're almost at the hospital..."

When I came to, I was lying under harsh fluorescent lights, staring blankly at the hospital ceiling. The air smelled sterile. Too clean.

My mother's words echoed faintly in my mind. She had always warned me—Kayla was not the kind of woman who should be my wife. "Too complicated," she had said. "Too dangerous."

But back then, I didn't believe her.

During her recovery, Kayla had been so gentle. When I was alone guarding the tomb, she would bring meals herself, sit beside me, talk softly under the candlelight. It was in those quiet moments that I'd let my guard down. I'd fallen.

Later, when she accused me of holding her back from returning to Arlington and missing Stefan's wedding, I still defended her. What she didn't understand—what she refused to accept—was that if she had left back then, her enemies would've killed her before she even made it halfway.

And Stefan? His "forced marriage" had nothing noble behind it. The moment he assumed Kayla was dead, he latched onto another powerful family. She knew it deep down. But she didn't want the truth—she wanted someone to blame.

That someone was me.

Now that Stefan's back, I suppose she doesn't need me anymore.

The door creaked open. I instinctively turned my head, expecting Kayla.

It was Amber.

"Sir," she said, stepping inside with her usual cool expression. "The healer said you've been exposed to excessive negative energy, guarding the tomb over the years. It's aggravated Mr. Harvey's condition."

I stared at her in disbelief.

She continued, unbothered. "Miss Anderson wants you to accompany her to pray for Mr. Harvey. The car's waiting outside."

I let out a breath, sharp and bitter.

There was a time I truly believed Kayla had feelings for me. Even if the world hated me, I thought she, at least, had meant some of the tears she cried. Clearly, I was wrong.

As I tried to sit up, Charles appeared and held me down. "Sir, the doctor said you shouldn't move around just yet. Your wound needs rest."

"I'm fine," I muttered, brushing him off. "Let's go."

Kayla never changed her mind. Once she decided something, arguing with her only delayed the inevitable. I knew how this ended—I always gave in.

Outside the hospital, two cars were waiting.

I approached the familiar black car she always rode in. As I reached for the handle, the window rolled down. Kayla sat inside, her expression a mix of irritation and impatience.

"Liam," she said curtly, "take the other car."

Stefan was leaned against her shoulder like a fragile doll. The moment he saw me, he began coughing—loud, wheezing gasps that echoed like a performance.

"Kayla..." he rasped, "he's making it worse. Whenever he's near, I can't breathe..."

She immediately turned to me. "Didn't you hear him? Get in the other car. Don't make him sicker."

I lowered my gaze and turned away, forcing my legs to move despite the pain stabbing deep in my chest.

Behind me, Kayla scoffed.

"Still pretending to be pitiful? Who are you trying to fool?"

Her words hit harder than the fever.

My steps slowed. My throat tightened as I recalled another time—when I'd taken a bullet for her on our way back to Arlington. The pain in my chest from that wound had never gone away. She had wept, begged me not to die, promised if I lived, she'd never leave me.

And yet here we were.

I clenched my fists and walked faster, refusing to look back.

The second car was cold and the driver said nothing. As we drove, I could see them in the car ahead through the window—Kayla and Stefan, chatting, pointing at the passing scenery, smiling.

To anyone watching, they looked like a couple on a weekend getaway.