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.

For me, watching it all unfold was pure torment. I could no longer tell whether it was my old chest injury flaring up again or simply my heart breaking beyond repair.

I closed my eyes, but the pain didn't fade—it only shifted forms. Memories began to claw their way back to the surface. Kayla's laughter, the way she used to tug my sleeve when she was upset, her soft humming as she cooked... All of it played behind my closed eyelids like a cruel hallucination.

By the time I got out of the car, I realized my face was wet. I hadn't even noticed the tears until they cooled against the breeze.

Kayla was already strolling across the temple grounds with Stefan, her arm tucked in his like they were on some peaceful retreat. She left me to kneel alone at the altar, telling me to pray for Stefan's recovery and to wait for them to return.

So I did. I knelt on the cold stone tiles and murmured prayer after prayer, not for Stefan—but for some clarity, some justice. Anything. The temple lanterns burned low and by the time dawn approached, I could no longer hold myself upright. My strength gave out and I slumped forward, finally drifting into sleep.

When I opened my eyes again, I saw Amber in a panic, scurrying toward a corner of the temple grounds. In her hands was something I recognized instantly.

The urn.

I pushed myself off the ground, pain slicing through my chest with every movement. But I didn't stop. I rushed at her and tore the urn from her grasp.

"This is my child's ashes!" My voice came out hoarse and cracked. "What were you planning to do with them?!"

Amber looked like she wanted to disappear. "The exorcist said Mr. Harvey is being tormented by a malicious spirit. Miss Anderson told me to bring the urn... She thought maybe the ashes were the cause."

My grip on the urn tightened as fury and disbelief welled up in my throat. "No."

Amber didn't try to fight me. She just lowered her head and hurried off to call Kayla.

A few minutes later, Kayla appeared, flanked by two bodyguards. Her expression was unreadable.

"Liam, give me the urn," she said calmly, like she was asking me to hand over a box of old books.

I clutched it tighter, ignoring the stabbing pain in my ribs. "Kayla, this is your child too. How can you be so cruel? Stefan—"

Her hand lashed out before I could finish. The slap cracked across my cheek, silencing me.

She looked startled by her own action. Her hand trembled slightly and for a moment, I thought I saw regret flicker in her eyes.

"Stefan doesn't know about this," she whispered, her voice strained. "And he never will. Don't bring it up again. As for the child... I owe you. In the future, we can have more. I'll make it up to you."

Then she turned to the bodyguards. "Take it."

I struggled, but they pinned me down easily. One pried the urn from my arms while the other restrained me. I could only watch helplessly as Kayla walked toward the edge of the mountain.

"No!" I roared, trying to break free, but it was too late.

She tossed the urn into the ravine like it was nothing.

Without thinking, I ran.

Ignoring the bodyguards, the sharp pain and the dizziness clouding my vision, I hurled myself over the edge after it.

"Liam!" I heard Kayla scream, her voice breaking. "Get down there! Bring him back! Now!"

The four bodyguards jumped into action, scrambling down the slope after me. I couldn't hear them anymore. My head was spinning and everything blurred into gray.

That was when Amber arrived, panting. "Miss Anderson! Mr. Harvey—he's not well again. He's asking for you."

Kayla hesitated, staring down the ravine where I had vanished. Her lips parted like she was about to call out again.

But then her phone rang. Stefan's voice trembled through the speaker. "Kayla... where are you? I can't breathe. I feel like I'm dying..."

"I'm coming back right now, Stefan. Don't worry," she whispered and hung up.

She turned away.

As she walked back toward the temple, she paused only once.

"Keep watch," she told Amber. "When they bring Liam up, send him straight to the hospital. Tell him... I'll come find him once everything is settled."

But once she saw Stefan again, she forgot me completely.

That night, word came that the villa in Greymoor was finally complete. Kayla chartered a private jet and flew with Stefan to the estate.

The place was luxurious beyond measure—built on my ancestors' tomb, though no one would guess it by looking. But not long after they moved in, strange things began to happen. Stefan was tormented by sleepless nights and ghostly hallucinations. The servants whispered of shadows flitting through the halls and cold winds with no source.

Kayla, furious, accused me of playing some tricks.

"Didn't I tell you to keep an eye on Liam?" she snapped at Amber over the phone. "Why is he still sneaking into Greymoor pretending to be some ghost to scare Stefan?!"

There was silence.

Then Amber's voice came through, trembling.

"Miss Anderson... Mr. Green is already dead."