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?

I said yes.

Maybe it was the flashing cameras, the weight of the moment, or the desperation in Dior’s eyes that pushed me to do it. Or maybe, deep down, I knew this was the only way.

Two days later, his name was finally cleared. News headlines changed overnight, shifting from "Dr. Dior Veneracion: The Criminal in Hiding" to "A Love Story Against All Odds—Doctor and Heiress Reunited." The public ate it up, painting us as star-crossed lovers who had been misunderstood all along.

But I knew better. This was just the beginning.

Because if there was one person who wouldn't let this slide, it was Stephanie.

I could feel it in my bones—she wasn’t done. She was out there, plotting, searching for us. And it was only a matter of time before she found a way to strike.

I barely had time to adjust to my new role as Dior’s fiancée when trouble knocked—literally.

It was late, the house quiet except for the soft hum of the baby monitor. I was in the nursery, watching over Seung and Lizzy as they slept, when a sharp knock echoed through the house.

My stomach dropped.

Dior reached the door first, peering through the peephole before muttering a curse.

"Police," he said under his breath.

My heart pounded. "What? Why?"

Before he could answer, the knocking turned aggressive, followed by a firm voice.

"Dr. Dior Veneracion, open the door. We have a warrant for your arrest."

Panic flared through me. "This doesn’t make sense! Your name was cleared—"

Dior shot me a warning look. "Stay with the kids," he ordered.

Like hell, I would.

I followed him as he unlocked the door, revealing three officers, their expressions blank but firm.

"We're taking you in for theft and fraud," one of them announced.

"What?!" I stepped forward, my voice sharp. "On what grounds?"

"The investigation has been reopened," the officer replied. "New evidence has surfaced."

Bullshit.

I turned to Dior, my hands trembling. "This is a setup."

He sighed, as if he had been expecting this. "I know."

Before I could argue, he gently squeezed my hand. "You need to stay here. Lizzy and Seung need you."

"But—"

"I’ll be back." His eyes held a quiet promise. "I need you to trust me."

Everything in me wanted to fight, to stop them from taking him. But I couldn’t.

So, I nodded. And I let him go.

Lizzy didn’t understand at first.

She kept asking where her dad was, her big brown eyes filled with fear. I did my best to reassure her, even though my own heart was in shambles.

"Your dad’s strong," I told her, running my fingers through her soft curls. "Nothing bad will happen to him."

I don’t know if I was trying to convince her or myself.

Then, one night, as I tucked her into bed, she suddenly wrapped her little arms around me.

"I love you, Mommy."

My breath hitched.

Mommy.

The word settled deep inside me, warm and unexpected. She had never called me that before.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and hugged her tightly. "I love you too, Lizzy."

At that moment, I knew—I wasn’t just fighting for revenge anymore. I was fighting for this family we had built, no matter how unconventional it was.

And that meant I needed to act fast.

The next morning, I made my first move.

If Stephanie was involved in this, she wouldn’t stop at just Dior. She’d come for me next. And worse—for Lizzy and Seung.

I needed help.

Through an underground agency, I hired a nanny—someone I could trust to watch over the kids while I handled things. And as luck would have it, the woman I found wasn’t just any nanny.

She was a former police intel.

"You can relax," she assured me after I told her everything. "No one’s touching those kids under my watch."

With that settled, I went after Dior.

Finding him wasn’t hard.

He was being held at a precinct just outside the city, in a dimly lit room that smelled of sweat and damp cement.

And when I saw him, rage burned through me like wildfire.

His face was a mess—bruises blooming across his cheekbone, a split lip, fresh cuts on his knuckles.

I stormed toward him. "Who did this to you?"

He exhaled heavily, leaning back against the cold wall. "Inmates. Seems like I’m not very popular in here."

I clenched my fists. "Did the cops let it happen?"

His silence was enough of an answer.

I took a shaky breath, trying to steady my anger. "We need to get you out of here."

Dior’s jaw tightened. "No. You need to leave."

I frowned. "What?"

"It’s too dangerous, Sarah," he said, his voice low but urgent. "If they’re coming after me, they’ll come after you too. And if they can’t get to you…" His eyes darkened. "They’ll go after the kids."

My blood ran cold.

"Go back to them," he continued. "Protect them. That’s the only thing that matters now."

I shook my head. "No. We started this together—"

"And we’ll finish it," he cut in. "But not if you get yourself caught."

A lump formed in my throat.

I didn’t want to leave him.

But I knew he was right.

I had to make a choice.

Stay and fight alongside him…

Or run back to protect the family we had built.

My feet refused to move, my heart battling against my mind. But then, from the corner of my eye, I saw something—an officer watching us too closely, gripping his radio like he had just received an order. My chest tightened. It was now or never.