"You're such a bitch!"

The slap came out of nowhere. My head snapped to the side, my cheek stinging from the impact. I blinked rapidly, trying to process what just happened. Gerard—my fiancé, the man I was supposed to marry—had just hit me.

My breath caught in my throat as I lifted a shaking hand to my face. My lips parted, but no words came out. I couldn't understand. Why? What did I do wrong?

And then, Gerard threw something onto the coffee table in front of me. A photograph.

I reached for it with trembling fingers, my heart hammering in my chest. As soon as my eyes landed on the image, my stomach twisted into knots. It was a picture of me at a club, dancing with another man. My body was close to his, my arm loosely draped around his shoulders. My face was flushed, eyes half-lidded, obviously intoxicated.

I gasped softly. I remembered that night. I was with my best friend, Dianna. We had gone out for drinks, and she had introduced me to a few of her friends. I barely even remembered dancing.

"Gerard, this isn't what you think—"

"Don't lie to me!" he barked, his hands curling into fists. His face was twisted in rage, eyes burning with betrayal. "You think you can cheat on me and get away with it?"

"I'm not cheating on you!" I pleaded, taking a shaky step toward him. "I was drunk! I don't even know who that guy is! Please, you have to believe me!"

His expression darkened. "You're lying."

I shook my head desperately. "I'm not! Gerard, we're getting married! Why would I do something like that?"

His jaw tightened. "Maybe because you're mad at me. Maybe you wanted revenge because I refused to make our relationship public."

I opened my mouth to argue, but his words made me hesitate. A part of me was upset about that. Our wedding was supposed to be a surprise event, and while Gerard assured me that people would be happy for us, I hated the secrecy. But would I ever betray him? No. Never.

Before I could say anything else, Gerard grabbed my wrist and dragged me across the room.

"Gerard, what are you doing?!" I screamed, struggling against his grip.

He didn't answer. He pulled me through the hallway, his grip bruising my skin, and yanked open a door. My eyes widened in horror as I realized where he was taking me.

The basement.

"Gerard, no! Please!" I begged, trying to twist free.

But he was too strong. He shoved me inside, and before I could react, the heavy door slammed shut behind me.

Darkness swallowed me whole.

I pounded against the door, my breaths coming out in frantic gasps. "Gerard, let me out! Please!"

There was no response. Only the sound of his footsteps fading away.

Tears welled up in my eyes as I slid down against the cold concrete wall. What was happening? How did things escalate so quickly? Just last week, we were talking about honeymoon destinations. Now, I was locked in a basement, treated like a criminal.

I hugged my knees to my chest, my entire body trembling. I had never seen this side of him before.

How could someone change so suddenly?

Hours passed. Maybe even a whole day. I lost track of time. I was exhausted, starving, and emotionally drained. But then, my phone vibrated in my pocket.

I sucked in a sharp breath. My phone.

With shaky hands, I pulled it out and saw a message from my doctor.

We need to talk about your test results. Please come in as soon as possible.

My heart skipped a beat. I had gone to the hospital a few days ago because I wasn’t feeling well. I thought it was just stress.

Clutching my phone, I swallowed hard. I needed to get out of here.

The next time Gerard brought me food, I was ready. The moment he unlocked the door, I shoved past him with all my strength and ran.

I didn’t look back.

I ran until my legs ached, until my lungs burned, until I reached a taxi stand. I jumped into the first cab I saw and gave the driver the hospital’s address.

By the time I reached the clinic, I was out of breath, my heart pounding in my ears. I burst into my doctor’s office, barely able to form words.

Dr. Farah. My OB-GYN.

She gave me a warm smile. “Sarah, I was just about to call you again.”

I nodded quickly. “What… what’s wrong with me?”

She reached for a folder, opened it, and handed me a piece of paper. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Sarah. You’re pregnant.”

Pregnant.

The word echoed in my head, but it didn’t seem real.

My lips parted, but no sound came out.

Pregnant? Me?

Dang! I remembered that a steamy night happened to me and Gerard in the past few days.

The doctor smiled. “Congratulations.”

I forced myself to nod, to smile, to act like I was happy. But deep inside, my stomach churned. How could I bring a child into this world when my fiancé just locked me in a basement?

I made up my mind. I wouldn’t tell Gerard. For months, everything I knew about him changed.

He was cold to me. Always hurts me. And I don't know... I don't know the reason.

For months, I kept it a secret. I wore loose clothing, avoided his touch, and pretended everything was fine. But my best friend, Stephanie, noticed once.

“You’re pregnant, aren’t you?” she whispered one day, her eyes wide with shock.

I froze, my hand instinctively covering my stomach.

She grabbed my hands. “Sarah, you have to leave him.”

Tears welled up in my eyes. “I know.”

“I’ll help you.”

I exhaled shakily, nodding.

But then, something hit me. Stephanie… she was the one who sent Gerard the picture of me at the club.

I narrowed my eyes. “Why did you do it?”

She stiffened. “What?”

“You sent him that picture.”

She hesitated. “He asked me to. Sarah, I was scared! He threatened to ruin my career if I didn’t tell him where you were. That's why I wanna help you now. Please let me."

I nodded.

Before we could argue, she grabbed my hand. “Come on, let’s go before he finds out.”

I hesitated. Something felt off.

Still, I followed her. She promised to drive me to the airport so I could leave the country.

But as we drove, I noticed the way she avoided my questions. She wasn’t making sense, contradicting herself every time I asked about Gerard.

Then, suddenly, she reached for the air conditioning controls. A strange scent filled the car.

My instincts screamed at me.

I moved to roll down the window, but before I could, Stephanie leaned over—

And I felt a sharp prick in my arm.

My breath hitched.

The last thing I saw before darkness swallowed me was the road ahead blurring as the car swerved wildly.

And then, everything went black.

I woke up with a pounding headache, my body aching as if I had been run over by a truck. The room was dimly lit, unfamiliar. Panic surged through me as I pushed myself up from the soft mattress. My throat felt dry, my heart racing. Where am I?

I scanned the room—plain white walls, a small window with thick curtains drawn shut, and a locked door. I rushed toward it, jiggling the handle, but it wouldn’t budge.

Trapped.

Fear tightened around my chest. The last thing I remembered was Stephanie drugging my drink at the party. I had trusted her. She was my best friend. Why would she do this to me?

Hours passed. My stomach churned with hunger, and my lips were parched. Just as I was about to scream for help, the door creaked open. Stephanie walked in, carrying a tray of food.

Anger flared inside me. The moment she stepped closer, I slapped her across the face, my palm stinging from the impact.

"Why the hell did you do this to me?!" My voice trembled with rage.

Stephanie barely flinched. She simply touched her cheek, then smirked, lifting her left hand. A silver ring gleamed on her index finger.

My breath hitched. "What… what is that?"

She took a deep breath, her expression unreadable. "I’m married, Sarah. To Gerard."

The words hit me like a freight train. My mind refused to process it. "No. That’s not possible. You’re lying."

Stephanie tilted her head, almost amused. "It’s been a month since we got married."

Everything inside me froze. My ears rang, and my vision blurred for a moment. "No… He was supposed to marry me."

"He changed his mind," she said simply. "After the pictures of you at the club surfaced, he realized you would ruin his image. His company. He couldn't take the risk."

My legs wobbled, forcing me to grip the edge of the bed. I had been framed. But what hurt the most wasn’t that Gerard had left me—it was that I had actually loved him. Even if our engagement had been arranged, even if I once hated the idea, I grew to care for him. And now… he was gone.

Tears pricked my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. "Then why the hell am I here? Why not just let me go?"

Stephanie’s expression hardened. She placed the tray on the bedside table and crossed her arms. "Because you’re carrying his child."

A sharp chill ran down my spine. I instinctively placed a hand over my stomach. "What?"

"Gerard doesn’t know," she continued, her tone eerily calm. "And he never will. You’re getting an abortion, Sarah."

My blood ran cold. "No."

Stephanie’s eyes darkened. "You don’t have a choice."

"Take everything," I spat, my voice breaking. "Take my wealth, take Gerard, take it all! Just… don’t take my baby."

It was the only thing I had left of him. The last piece of my shattered life.

Stephanie’s face twisted with anger. She grabbed the tray of food and threw it at me. The plate shattered, food splattering onto the floor. Without another word, she stormed out, locking the door behind her.

Days turned into weeks. I had lost count of how many times she came to torment me, throwing cruel words, trying to break me. But I held on. For my baby.

Then, one night, the door opened again. But this time, it wasn’t Stephanie.

Three men entered, their faces unreadable. Before I could react, one grabbed my arms, another tied my wrists with thick rope, and the third slapped a piece of duct tape over my mouth.

I thrashed, screamed against the tape, but my muffled cries were useless. They dragged me out of the room, down a dimly lit hallway, and into a black van.

The drive felt endless. My stomach twisted in fear. When we finally stopped, they hauled me out, and I realized where we were.

A clinic.

My knees buckled. No. No. No

They pulled me inside, straight to a cold metal operating table. I struggled, but they strapped me down. My body trembled as a man in a white coat stepped forward—the doctor.

I could barely breathe as he removed the duct tape. Tears streamed down my face as I pleaded, "Please… don’t do this."

The doctor ignored me, scribbling on a clipboard.

Desperation clawed at my throat. "What if it was your wife? What if someone did this to her?" My voice wavered, raw with emotion. "Would you let them?"

He paused. His grip on the pen tightened. A flicker of hesitation crossed his face.

"Please," I whispered. "You can fake it. Say you did it, but don’t hurt my baby."

Silence.

Then, in a hushed voice, he said, "I’ll do it."

Relief flooded me.

The doctor turned to the men. "She needs rest after the procedure. If you move her too soon, she could hemorrhage."

One of the men scoffed. "Stephanie wants proof."

"You’ll have it."

They hesitated, then nodded and left the room.

The doctor worked quickly, setting up the scene—disposing of tools, smearing a bit of blood for authenticity. When the men returned, they inspected me, unconscious—or at least, pretending to be.

"She’s weak," the doctor said firmly. "You move her now, she could die."

One of the men grumbled but relented. As soon as they turned away, the doctor pulled a syringe from his pocket and, in one swift motion, jabbed it into the nearest man's neck.

The man staggered before collapsing. The others barely had time to react before he injected them too. Within minutes, they were all unconscious.

The doctor rushed to untie me. "We need to go."

I was shaking too much to stand, but he supported me, half-carrying me out of the clinic. Before leaving, he disabled the security cameras.

Outside, he shoved me into a car and sped off. My entire body was trembling. "Who… who are you?"

He kept his eyes on the road. "Dr. Dior Veneracion."

Dr. Veneracion took me to his house, a secluded place far from the city. There, I met his daughter, Lizzy. At first, she was distant, wary. But over the weeks, she warmed up to me.

One night, as I watched the stars from the balcony, I heard soft sobs. I turned and found Dr. Veneracion standing by the railing, his shoulders shaking.

"Doctor?" I stepped closer. "What’s wrong?"

His hands curled into fists. Then, in a broken voice, he whispered,

"Gerard Faulino… killed my wife."

I stared at Dr. Dior Veneracion, his name now carrying a weight I never expected. His wife… killed because of Gerard? It didn’t make sense at first. Why would he blame my ex-fiancé? How did the pieces fit together?

I swallowed hard, my voice barely above a whisper. "How… how is Gerard responsible for your wife’s death?"

Dior’s hands clenched on the balcony railing, knuckles turning white. He took a deep breath before turning to me, his dark eyes clouded with something deeper than anger—grief.

"My wife was an investor in Faulino Medical Corporation," he started, his voice steady but laced with pain. "She believed in Gerard’s vision, trusted him. But then, millions went missing from the company’s funds. They needed a scapegoat." He let out a bitter laugh. "And who better than a woman who had no power to fight back?"

My stomach twisted. I remembered that scandal. It had been all over the news when Gerard and I were still together. Back then, I hadn’t thought much of it—I was too wrapped up in my own world, too in love to notice the destruction he left in his wake.

"She tried to prove her innocence," Dior continued, rubbing a hand over his face. "She had documents, evidence… but before she could speak out, she was found dead in her office. 'Suicide'—that’s what they called it." His jaw tightened. "But I know better. She would never have left our daughter like that. Gerard made sure she was silenced."

My hands trembled as I processed his words. The Gerard I once loved—the man who had abandoned me without a second thought—was capable of something far worse than betrayal. He had destroyed lives.

I met Dior’s gaze. "We can’t let him get away with this."

His eyes flickered with surprise.

"I want revenge," I said, my voice stronger this time. "For you. For me. For our children." I placed a hand on my stomach. "Gerard took everything from us. He ruined my life. He took your wife. We deserve justice."

For a long moment, Dior just stared at me. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Then let’s do it."

The days blurred into weeks, and I found myself adjusting to life in hiding. Dior’s house was tucked away in a quiet town, far from the chaos of the city. No reporters, no threats. Just peace.

Lizzy, his daughter, became my little shadow. At first, she kept her distance, her big brown eyes watching me with suspicion. But eventually, she warmed up. I read her bedtime stories, braided her hair, and in return, she clung to me like I was the only safe thing in her world.

For the first time in months, I felt safe.

But that peace was fragile. The world outside wasn’t quiet. News had spread—Stephanie had twisted the story, painting Dior as my kidnapper. There were posters, news segments, online posts demanding my "rescue."

I laughed bitterly as I watched the headlines. "They really want to turn you into a villain, huh?" I glanced at Dior, who sat beside me on the couch, flipping through news articles.

He smirked. "Let them try. They’ll never find us."

And they didn’t. Months passed, and during that time, my belly grew. Dior was there for every moment, taking me to secret medical appointments, making sure I had everything I needed. He never once treated me like a burden.

Then, one rainy night, the contractions hit.

Pain shot through my stomach, sharp and unbearable. I gasped, gripping the sheets. "Dior—!"

Within seconds, he was at my side. "It’s time," he said, his voice calm but urgent. "Let’s get you to the clinic."

Hours of agony followed, but when I finally heard my baby’s first cry, the pain melted away.

"A boy," Dior murmured, placing the tiny, squirming newborn in my arms.

Tears blurred my vision. "Seung," I whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. "Seung Veneracion."

Dior’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. He nodded. "A strong name."

We had made a deal before my labor—Seung would take Dior’s last name. A layer of protection, a new identity to shield him from Gerard’s reach. It was the only way.

Months passed again, and I watched as Dior naturally stepped into the role of a father. He held Seung like he was something fragile, like he couldn’t believe he was real. Lizzy adored her "little brother," always watching over him, protective and fierce.

It was a strange little family we had built. Unconventional, born from tragedy and secrets. But it was ours.

Then, one night, Dior approached me with an unexpected request.

"I need your help," he said, standing at my bedroom door.

I sat up from the bed, confused. "With what?"

He hesitated, then sighed. "We need to clear my name. The only way to do that is by making the world believe we were together all along."

I blinked. "You want to fake a relationship?"

He nodded. "It’s the only way to shift the narrative. If the world believes you willingly stayed with me… they’ll stop hunting us."

I chewed on my lip. It made sense. The only way to take control of the situation was to rewrite the story ourselves.

"Fine," I said. "I’ll do it."

Days later, Dior invited me to a grand charity event—a perfect stage to manipulate public perception. I dressed the part, slipping into an elegant black gown, my hair swept into a simple updo.

As we arrived, cameras flashed, reporters whispering excitedly. The rumors had already spread—Sarah Lin, the lost heiress, appearing in public for the first time with the infamous Dr. Dior Veneracion.

Dior’s hand found my waist as we entered the ballroom. He leaned down, whispering, "Are you ready for this?"

I took a deep breath, nodding. "Let’s do it."

The event was a blur of socializing, polite smiles, and well-rehearsed lines. Then, as the night was coming to an end, Dior suddenly took the microphone.

The room fell silent. Every eye was on him.

I stiffened as he cleared his throat, his voice calm and authoritative.

"I know the rumors," he began. "And I know the lies that have been told about me. But tonight, I want to set the record straight." He turned to me, his gaze unreadable.

My breath caught.

"Sarah Lin is not my hostage," he continued. "She is my love."

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. The reporters scrambled, their pens flying across their notepads. My body froze.

Then, before I could react, Dior lowered himself onto one knee.

My heart stopped.

A velvet box appeared in his hand, the diamond inside catching the light.

"Sarah," he said, his voice steady but filled with something dangerously real. "Marry me."

The world blurred around me, the weight of a thousand eyes pressing against my skin.

This wasn’t part of the plan.

Or was it?