Chapter 1
For five years, I wore a ring without ever standing at the altar. My husband, Damien, always said a ceremony didn’t matter—that love was enough. I believed him… right up until our so-called anniversary.
On my way home from the market, I passed City Hall—and my world stopped.
There they were. Damien. And Bianca.
My sister, who had vanished five years ago.
“Are you sure we can get this certificate?” Bianca whispered. “What about my sister, Talia? You’re still legally tied to her.”
Damien’s reply was cold, instant, and merciless. “I was never really married to her. That’s why I never took her to register it. This time, it’s real. Now that you’re back, I’ll take care of Talia soon.”
Then more voices joined in—Marcus and Elliot. My own brothers.
“What about the ceremony?” Van chuckled. “Just make sure Talia doesn’t find out. She’ll make a scene. Maybe we ship her off somewhere.”
That was the moment I understood the truth.
I was never their family. I was never his wife.
So I walked away.
I packed my life into a suitcase, boarded a plane, and chose the man who had been waiting for me all along.
And when I finally stood at the altar and said “I do,” they came running back.
But by then, it was far too late.
--
For five years, I wore a ring that never led me down an aisle.
There were no white dresses, no flower petals scattered across the floor, no friends and family gathered in tidy rows. No vows spoken under soft lighting. Just a thin band of metal and a piece of paperwork my husband, Damien, had arranged for us. Or so he said.
We never once stood inside a marriage hall. He kept promising we’d “fix it later,” that he’d take care of the legal details once things settled down. But later never arrived.
I remembered it clearly — just a week ago.
I was folding the laundry in our room, carefully smoothing the wrinkles from his shirts, when I finally gathered the courage to ask.
“Damien… do you think maybe this year, we could finally have the ceremony?” I said as lightly as I could, pretending my voice wasn’t shaking. “For our fifth anniversary maybe? Just… do it properly?”
He didn’t even lift his eyes from his laptop.
“Why?” he replied flatly. “We’re already married. A ceremony is just for people who need attention.”
“But you told me we would someday,” I murmured. “You said when everything stopped being so tight—”
His fingers paused over the keyboard.
“And now you’re acting like a kid,” he snapped without looking at me. “Drop it, Talia. We don’t have money to waste on that nonsense.”
Like I always did, I swallowed it.
I let the silence sit between us. I let my disappointment sink down deep where it wouldn’t bother him.
But today—today was different.
Today marked five years since the day I thought we became husband and wife. Damien told me he couldn’t celebrate. Said work had piled up and he couldn’t free up even an hour. Meetings, deadlines, pressure. I didn’t argue. I never do.
I convinced myself it was fine. I told myself it wasn’t about attention or parties.
I planned to make his favorite dishes instead. To light a candle or two. Maybe play soft music while I waited for him to come home.
It wasn’t a grand celebration, but it was still something. My quiet way of honoring what I believed we had built — even without witnesses, even without vows.
So I went to the market early.
I walked slowly through the stalls, choosing vegetables with care, checking the meat twice, holding each item as though it mattered. I even bought a bouquet of white lilies — the kind he once mentioned he liked back when he visited my old apartment for the first time.
I held them close to my chest the entire walk home, feeling ridiculous for feeling excited when he’d so casually brushed me off.
I was only a block away from our place when I passed the city hall.
I wasn’t planning to look.
I had no reason to stop.
But something twisted in my chest — a strange tug, like a warning I didn’t understand. My steps slowed. My body turned before my mind caught up.
And that was when I saw them.
Damien.
And Bianca.
My sister, who had vanished five years ago without a trace.
They walked out of the building side by side, her arm looped through his, laughing softly like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I went completely still.
The grocery bags slipped in my hands. The lilies almost fell.
Bianca had a document in her hand.
A marriage certificate.
My stomach dropped.
Her voice floated toward me, soft and unsure.
“Are you sure this is okay?” she asked him. “What about Talia? She’s still your wife, isn’t she?”
Damien’s reply came fast. No pause. No guilt.
“I don’t care about her,” he said. “That wasn’t a real marriage. That’s why I never brought her to register it properly. This one? This is real. And now that you’re back, I’ll deal with her soon.”
My ears rang.
Bianca’s voice trembled. “You mean it? You still… care about me? Even after I ran away from you? I thought you’d hate me. I was so scared back then.”
He turned toward her, smiling softly — a smile I used to think was only meant for me.
“It was always you,” he said. “You don’t have to feel guilty. I know why you left. You weren’t ready. That’s all. You are now.”
He leaned in and kissed her.
My breath caught painfully in my throat.
She pulled back just enough to whisper, “And my sister? Did you ever have real feelings for her?”
He let out a short, dismissive laugh.
“Never,” he said. “She was just useful. She looked like you. That made things easy. She was warm at night. That’s all she was.”
The air left my lungs.
The ground felt like it tipped sideways.
Five years ago, that wedding was supposed to belong to them.
Bianca and Damien.
Everyone had flown in. The venue was dressed in white and gold. The dress was fitted. The guests were waiting.
And then she vanished.
No message. No warning. No explanation.
Gone.
Damien had been wrecked. I’d found him in a bar that same night, drunk and shaking, staring into a glass like the world had ended.
I sat beside him.
I listened.
I stayed.
When he cried, I didn’t move away.
When he leaned closer, I didn’t push him back.
And when his lips found mine, I didn’t stop him.
A week later, he asked me to marry him.
I said yes.
I thought I was helping him survive heartbreak.
I thought I was choosing love.
I thought I had become important.
But standing there, hidden behind a pillar outside city hall, I finally understood.
Every touch.
Every whisper in the dark.
Every soft “I love you.”
It had all been borrowed. Rehearsed. Fake.
And then, as if it wasn’t enough—
Two more voices cut through the air.
Marcus. And Elliot.
My older brothers.
“You already got the certificate?” Marcus asked Damien, his voice bright with approval. “Didn’t waste any time, huh?”
Elliot laughed. “What about the actual ceremony? We should just make sure Talia doesn’t hear anything yet. She’ll make a whole dramatic mess. Maybe we can ship her off somewhere first.”
My fingers curled around the wall beside me. The stone bit into my skin.
Marcus added casually, “We should just handle her soon. She’s too unstable.”
They laughed.
All of them.
The same brothers who had once cursed Bianca for leaving. The same ones who swore they’d always stand by me.
Now they were laughing about how to erase me.
A strange numbness washed through my body.
I wasn’t just unwanted.
I was ridiculous. A placeholder. A joke.
I turned away.
My feet moved without me thinking.
I ran.
Past the gates.
Past the shops.
Past the stinging sound inside my ears.
My chest burned. My vision swam. The world narrowed into noise and blurred sidewalks.
I couldn’t hear anything clearly.
Except—
A horn.
A scream of brakes.
And then—
Impact.
The world folded in on itself.
And everything went black.
Chapter 2
Pain was the first thing that greeted me when my eyes finally opened.
It spread slowly, crawling through my body like fire under the skin — a dull, throbbing ache in my arms, a sharp, biting agony in my leg. I tried to push myself upright out of pure instinct, but before I could, a nurse hurried to my side and gently pressed a hand against my shoulder.
“Easy,” she said in a calm, steady voice. “You were in an accident. Your ankle is fractured, and you’ve got a few other minor injuries. You shouldn’t be moving yet.”
An accident?
The word echoed in my head.
And then everything crashed back in — Damien. Bianca. The paper in her hands. My brothers laughing. The way my chest felt like it was tearing itself apart. Running. The sound of a horn. Blinding lights.
The truck.
My throat tightened as I swallowed. “How long… have I been here?”
“Almost twenty-four hours,” she replied while checking the machine beside my bed. Then her movements slowed. Her eyes softened. “There’s something else I need to tell you.”
My heart started to pound harder. “What is it?”
She hesitated only a second. “You were about two months along. I’m so sorry… the impact caused you to lose the pregnancy.”
The words didn’t make sense at first.
I stared at her. “Pregnant…?”
She nodded and gave my hand a small, careful squeeze.
“I didn’t even know,” I whispered. “I had no idea…”
My mind went strangely quiet, but inside my chest, something cracked open again — worse than before. In one single day, I’d lost everything I never even got a chance to hold.
“Would you like me to contact someone for you?” the nurse asked gently.
My thoughts went to Damien. My “husband.” The man who had just registered a marriage with my sister. Then to Marcus and Elliot — the brothers who used to swear they’d protect me, who had laughed about disposing of me like I was trash.
But I couldn’t bear to be alone.
“I… need my phone,” I said raspily.
She placed it in my hand, and the first number I dialed was Damien’s.
No answer.
I tried again.
“The number you have dialed is unavailable…”
Again.
Nothing.
The tears came without warning. He wasn’t coming. None of them were. Bianca was back — and I had already been erased.
The nurse returned a little while later and set a small basket on the table.
“Someone left this for you,” she said softly. “Food, some flowers. He said he was a friend… a doctor who helped bring you in.”
I frowned. “A doctor?”
She nodded. “He didn’t want his name mentioned. Just asked me to tell you to rest.”
After she left, I stared at the tray. My stomach turned at the smell of food, and I pushed it aside. Instead, my fingers moved to my phone. I opened social media, desperately searching for… something. Regret. Worry. Proof I hadn’t been completely abandoned.
That’s when I saw it.
Pictures.
Videos.
Marcus. Elliot. Damien. Bianca.
All smiling like nothing in the world was wrong. Cotton candy in their hands. Churros. Bright lights. In front of the Disneyland castle like some postcard-perfect family.
The caption read:
“Finally a real family trip. Long overdue!”
My chest tightened so hard I thought I might stop breathing.
Real family?
Then what had I been all these years?
I cried until my eyes burned, until my voice turned raw, until there was no strength left in me.
By morning, the buzzing of my phone pulled me out of an exhausted, empty sleep.
Damien.
I stared at his name for a long moment before answering.
“Talia!” His voice sounded frantic, almost panicked. “Why didn’t you tell us you were in the hospital? Why didn’t you say something?!”
Us.
Before I could respond, the door opened.
Damien walked in, with Marcus and Elliot right behind him, all three wearing carefully crafted expressions of worry.
“We came as fast as we could,” Elliot said, moving to my side and adjusting my pillow as if he’d always been there.
“I only saw your missed call last night,” Damien added. “You should’ve kept trying.”
I looked at them quietly. “Where were you?”
“Business,” Damien answered too quickly, barely meeting my eyes. “You know how it goes.”
No, I don’t.
Because it was our anniversary.
Because you married my sister.
Because you replaced me without a second thought.
But I stayed silent.
“I’m here now,” he said more softly, brushing my hair back from my face. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I turned my head away. “I need the restroom.”
“You can’t walk yet,” he said immediately. “I’ll help you.”
He carefully lifted me into his arms, and for a brief, dangerous second, it felt like I was back in the past — like the man I had once loved hadn’t disappeared.
Then the illusion shattered.
Marcus burst through the door.
“Hey! Help!” he shouted. “Bianca fainted!”
Damien’s entire body went rigid.
“What?”
“She collapsed,” Marcus said again, louder this time.
And just like that, Damien’s arms loosened.
He let go.
I hit the floor with a cry, my back slamming hard against the cold tiles, my injured ankle screaming in pain.
He didn’t look back.
Not even once.
He ran straight out of the room, already calling Bianca’s name.
I curled inward, shaking, humiliated, and broken, until a different pair of arms carefully lifted me from the floor.
I blinked through the tears and looked up —
Dark hair.
Warm, familiar brown eyes.
“Julian…?” My voice came out as barely a whisper.
The doctor I once knew. The one who once cared. The one who vanished without explanation.
A soft smile touched his lips.
“Still tripping over things?” he murmured gently.
My throat tightened. I couldn’t speak.
He brushed a loose strand of hair away from my cheek.
Then, quietly, earnestly, he said, “Talia… do you want to disappear with me?”
Chapter 3
I ended up staying at the hospital far longer than I ever expected.
Part of it was the broken ankle that still throbbed no matter how still I tried to be. But the real reason was simpler, quieter, and somehow more painful — there was no one waiting to take me home.
No one, except Julian.
Julian, who had once sat beside me in college lecture halls. Julian, who had confessed his feelings years ago, only to be turned down gently because my heart already belonged to someone else. To Damien.
And somehow, now, he was the one holding my hand when the nights felt too long. He brought meals I could actually stomach. He stayed silent when I cried, never pressing, never demanding. He showed up without making me feel like I owed him something.
On the morning they told me I could finally go home, he wheeled me out to the small garden behind the hospital. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, warm and gentle. We sat without talking for a while, listening to the soft whisper of wind through branches.
“I wasn’t joking before,” Julian said at last, watching me carefully. “You don’t have to go back there. If you choose to leave… I’ll help you start over.”
I looked down at my hands.
They’d grown thinner. A little shaky. They looked like hands that had held on too long and finally loosened their grip.
“I need a few days,” I said softly. “Five. I have things to fix… things to settle. After that, if you’ll still have me… I’ll go with you.”
His smile was quiet and bittersweet. “I’ll be right where you left me.”
---
By the time I reached home, the sun was already high.
The world felt cruelly normal — bright light, passing cars, neighbors sweeping their doorsteps — while a storm twisted tight in my chest.
The hospital cane knocked lightly against the pavement as I limped toward the door. Every step sent a reminder through my body that I wasn’t whole yet.
Choosing Julian felt like stepping into the unknown.
But staying in a house where no one saw me at all felt worse.
I pushed the door open.
Laughter met me before anything else.
I froze where I stood.
In the living room, they were all there — Damien, Marcus, Elliot… and Bianca. Sitting casually, drinks in their hands, like nothing around them had ever broken. Bianca leaned comfortably against Damien’s shoulder, her head tilted toward him.
My husband.
My sister.
My brothers.
All together.
All at ease.
Their faces shifted the second they saw me.
“Oh,” Damien said, blinking like he’d forgotten I existed. “Right… you’re home today. How are you feeling?”
Forgot. He’d forgotten.
The urge to laugh rose up sharp and ugly in my throat. None of them had bothered to see me once.
Before I could speak, Bianca was already on her feet, moving toward me with a bright, practiced smile.
“Tal,” she said sweetly. “I missed you. I’m so sorry we didn’t come visit… I’ve just been so unwell. But I’m doing better now. What about you? Are you okay?”
I stepped back without thinking. My skin crawled.
“I’m not fine,” I said flatly.
Her smile flickered. Confusion crossed her face before she reached out to touch me again.
“Talia—”
I shoved her hand away.
“Don’t put your hands on me.”
Elliot was on his feet in a second.
“What’s wrong with you?” he snapped. “You know she’s fragile right now.”
Marcus followed him. “She’s been suffering. You don’t get to act like this.”
My voice broke through the room, sharper than I felt.
“And what about me? I was in the hospital. I was hit by a truck.”
Damien sighed like I’d inconvenienced him.
“That was your fault,” he said. “You ran into the road. But Bianca… she has cancer. She’s not like you.”
“I’m still her sister,” Bianca said softly, eyes shining like glass. “We’re both hurting. We should be supporting each other, not fighting…”
I shook my head.
“I was hurting too,” I said. “But none of you came. Not once. I lost my baby and—”
Bianca staggered suddenly, a hand flying to her stomach.
“Oh my god,” Elliot breathed, rushing to her side. “She’s getting sick again.”
They moved instantly.
Damien caught her before she could fall.
Marcus was already grabbing a towel.
Elliot rubbed her back softly like she’d shatter if he touched too hard.
And I stood there.
Unseen.
Unheard.
Invisible again.
They didn’t even acknowledge what I’d just said. I thought about shouting it. Forcing them to listen. But the exhaustion in my bones told me what I already knew — I was fighting for space in a place that had never saved a seat for me.
So I turned away.
I walked, slowly, painfully, toward the bedroom.
When I opened the door, I stopped breathing.
Everything that was mine… was gone.
My clothes.
My framed photos.
The small trinkets I’d carefully arranged.
All replaced.
Bianca’s perfume on the air. Her makeup spread across the dresser. Her dresses hanging neatly by the mirror.
My hands shook so badly the cane nearly slipped from my fingers.
I stepped back — and she was standing there.
Bianca.
Smiling.
Not the sweet, fragile smile she wore in front of others.
This one was sharp.
Honest.
Cruel.
“You know,” she said lazily, tilting her head, “I really tried to be kind before. I did. But being kind never got me anything. While I was gone, you stepped right into my life. My place. My man. Even my brothers.”
She stepped closer.
“I’m just taking back what was always mine. I should’ve done it five years ago.”
There was no warmth in her eyes.
Only satisfaction.
She gave me a look filled with fake sympathy.
“Don’t worry,” she added lightly. “I’ll give you a few days to sort yourself out. I’m not heartless. I’d hate for you to end up sleeping on the streets. That wouldn’t look good for us.”
I stared at her.
My voice was low. “Are you really sick?”
Her eyes narrowed at once.
“What do you think?”
But memories flashed through my mind — the way she used to fake fainting spells, clutching her head just to avoid chores. The way she’d cry to our parents about imaginary pain if it got her sympathy.
“You think I’m pretending?” she said louder, enough to carry beyond the door.
I didn’t answer.
I didn’t have to.
Footsteps rushed down the hallway.
Marcus and Elliot appeared.
“She’s doing it again,” Bianca cried immediately. “She keeps saying I’m faking. She thinks my cancer isn’t real.”
Elliot’s face hardened when he looked at me.
“You’ve always been poisonous,” he spat. “No one ever liked you when we grew up. This is why.”
Marcus stepped forward.
He grabbed the chain at my neck and yanked.
The necklace fell into his hand — the one he’d given me when we were teenagers. The one he said meant he’d always stand by me.
“You don’t get to wear this anymore,” he said coldly.
I didn’t fight back.
I didn’t cry.
I just stood there, feeling strangely empty.
One by one, they left.
And I slowly lowered myself to the floor, my side aching from standing too long, my ankle screaming in quiet protest.
I stayed quiet.
Because in a few days, I would be gone.
And when they realized what they’d done…
It would already be too late.
Chapter 4
I was finishing up the last of my packing, smoothing folded clothes into a half-zipped suitcase, when the doorbell rang.
For a second, I paused. My heart jumped. Julian?
I checked my phone. No missed calls. No messages. With a slow breath, I headed toward the front door.
A large white box rested neatly on the welcome mat, wrapped in a wide gold ribbon. It was heavy. Elegant. My name was written across the top in bold, flowing calligraphy. No card. No explanation.
Just my name.
Curiosity pulled at me as I carried it inside. I placed it on the table, sat down, and slowly lifted the lid.
My breath caught.
Inside was a wedding dress.
Not just any dress — my dress.
The exact style I had sketched years ago, back when I still believed Damien and I would stand at an altar someday. Ivory silk that caught the light softly. Lace sleeves so fine and delicate they looked like they’d dissolve at a touch. I reached out, hands trembling, and brushed my fingers over the bodice.
A small tag had been stitched on the inside.
Talia — embroidered by hand in gold thread.
My vision blurred.
Was this real?
Was this… him?
For a heartbeat, my mind ran wild with dangerous hope. After all the distance. The coldness. The betrayal. Was this Damien’s way of saying sorry? Was he finally ready to give me what he’d taken away? Was he ready to make things right without saying a word?
I let myself believe it.
Just for a moment.
I stepped into the gown, careful and slow, holding my breath as the fabric fell against my skin like it had been waiting for me. It fit almost too perfectly. I turned toward the mirror, hands pressed against my chest, eyes shining with fragile, foolish hope.
That’s when the door flew open.
“Talia, what do you think you’re doing?!”
I jumped.
Damien stood there, his face dark with anger and disbelief. He crossed the room in long strides and grabbed the fabric at my shoulder, yanking it away so roughly it almost tore.
“Why are you wearing that dress?”
“I—” My voice shook. “Isn’t this… for me? My name is on it. It’s the design I made. The one I dreamed of. I thought maybe… we were finally having a real wedding?”
A sharp, humorless laugh left him.
“Wedding? Have you lost your mind? We’re already married.”
“Then why send this here?” I whispered, my throat tight.
“It’s not for you,” he snapped, brushing his hands over the fabric like he was cleaning it. “It’s for Bianca. She’s always wanted a ceremony. A real one. We’re giving her that. She deserves it. She’s sick.”
My body went cold.
“She’s sick,” he repeated, like that single sentence explained everything.
“She wants to walk down the aisle,” he went on. “Wear the dress. Have the wedding she was supposed to have five years ago. This was her dream.”
“But it was mine too,” I said quietly. “I designed it. That was my sketch. Why give her something that belonged to me?”
Voices came from behind him.
Marcus and Elliot stepped into the room.
“What are you two shouting about?” Marcus asked. His eyes landed on the dress and he scoffed. “Oh. That. Come on, Talia, you’re not dying. Let her have it. If she likes your design, you can just make another one.”
Elliot nodded like that settled everything.
“You always turn things into drama,” he said. “Just let her have this one day. At least she deserves that much.”
“She deserves… my dream?” The words barely came out.
Bianca appeared in the doorway, wrapped in a soft shawl, playing the part of fragile perfectly.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “I just… I just want to be a bride. I want to walk down the aisle once before…” She stopped, letting the sentence hang. Her eyes filled with the same tears she’d used since we were children. “I won’t take him from you forever. Just for a moment. Just let me borrow him.”
I stared at her.
At all of them.
Something inside me went very still.
“You’re all unbelievable,” I said quietly.
Bianca’s lips trembled.
“Do whatever you want,” I continued, my voice flat. “Have your ceremony. Take the dress. Use my design. Borrow my husband. Take everything. I’m done.”
I turned and walked out.
My legs felt numb, but my chest burned like it was being carved open.
Back in my room, I opened drawers, closets, boxes. I pulled out shirts, photos, old letters — every piece of the girl I used to be. Every soft memory I’d guarded. I carried them outside one by one.
Behind the house, there was an old metal barrel.
I dropped it all inside.
And I lit the match.
Flames rose quickly, hungry and bright. Smoke twisted upward, carrying everything I’d once believed in. I watched the fire eat through photos of Damien and me, through handwritten love letters, through the old wedding dress sketches I thought I’d one day wear.
I remembered my brothers promising to protect me. I remembered believing I belonged there. I remembered Bianca clinging to my arm, whispering that I was her favorite.
It was all a lie.
Every single bit of it.
And as the last fragile page of my sketchbook curled into ash, arms wrapped around me from behind.
“Tal…,” Damien murmured. His voice was low, close, breath warm at my ear. “I’m sorry. I know this hurts. I didn’t want things to go this far. Just… do this for her. She’s sick. You’re stronger than this. You can handle it.”
I said nothing.
“Let me make it up to you,” he whispered. “Tomorrow, just us. A proper date. I’ll fix everything. I swear.”
I was too tired to argue.
“…Fine,” I said quietly.
His breath left in relief.
“Thank you,” he said, pressing a soft kiss into my hair.
That night, I closed my eyes and waited for sleep to bury the ache in my chest.
But just as I began to drift—
“Talia! Get up!”
I sat upright, heart pounding.
Damien was at my bedside, eyes wide and urgent.
“We need your blood,” he said quickly. “Your sister needs a transfusion. You’re a match.”
My throat went dry.
“What…?”
“She’s deteriorating,” he said, already grabbing my arm. “Don’t make this difficult. Be useful for once. Be her blood bank.”
Chapter 5
“No.” My voice came out steady as I pulled my arm back. “I’m not giving her my blood.”
Damien’s expression darkened immediately. “Don’t do this again, Talia. She has leukemia. She needs transfusions. You’re compatible.”
“That isn’t my problem,” I replied, refusing to budge. “I’m not the only one barely holding it together.”
Marcus stepped closer, jaw tight. “How can you be this selfish? She’s dying, Talia.”
“She isn’t dying,” I shot back. “She’s pretending, like she always did when we were kids just to avoid chores and homework.”
Elliot raised his voice. “That’s enough. You sound crazy.”
Before I could react, hands were on my arms.
All of them.
I struggled. I kicked. I twisted. But I was still weak, still bruised, still exhausted — and there were three of them. They dragged me outside like I didn’t belong to myself anymore, shoved me into the car, and drove straight to the hospital.
I barely had time to breathe.
Within an hour, I was strapped down.
No one asked for my consent.
No one listened when I begged them to stop.
Needles. Tubes. Bags filling with dark red liquid while nurses exchanged uneasy looks at the number of vials being ordered.
The world tipped sideways.
And then everything went black.
---
When I woke up, I felt empty.
Like someone had scooped the life out of me and left the shell behind. My limbs were heavy. My chest felt cold. My head spun as my eyes adjusted to the light.
The first face I saw was the last one I ever wanted.
Bianca.
She sat beside my bed, holding a small tray.
“You’re awake,” she said softly. “I brought you something to eat.”
For a split second, my heart almost believed her.
Then everything came rushing back.
I swiped the tray away. The plate hit the floor with a sharp crash.
The door flew open.
Damien. Elliot. Marcus.
“What’s wrong with you?” Marcus barked. “She went through the trouble of bringing you food.”
“You’re unbelievable,” Damien added. “She’s trying to fix things and you act like this?”
“You forced me!” I shouted, my throat burning. “You held me down and took my blood!”
“Talia…” Bianca murmured, her voice trembling. “Please don’t be like this. You’re my sister. I only wanted peace between us.”
She stepped closer and leaned in as if to hug me.
Her lips brushed my ear.
“You see it now?” she whispered sweetly. “They’ve already chosen. So behave.”
My body went still. Damien’s stare turned sharp. “Apologize. Now.”
My hands clenched the sheets. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Elliot stepped forward slightly. “Careful.” My throat tightened.
“…Fine,” I said quietly. “I’m sorry.”
Not because I meant it.
Because I didn’t have the strength to keep fighting.
They relaxed. Satisfied. Like they’d corrected something broken.
I closed my eyes and turned my face to the wall, pretending to sleep, pretending I couldn’t hear Bianca’s soft fake crying or my brothers’ murmured comfort.
I stayed that way until they finally left.
---
That night, my phone buzzed.
Julian: Tomorrow’s the day. Are you still in?
I stared at the screen and typed back.
Yes.
---
The following morning, I didn’t want to leave the hospital.
My body still ached. My heart felt worse. Every part of me wanted to disappear.
But Damien didn’t ask. He told me.
“We’re doing this,” he said coldly. “You owe it to Bianca. You promised. Stop acting like a child.”
So I went.
Not because I wanted to.
Because saying no only meant more yelling, more blame, more guilt shoved down my throat like bitter medicine.
I wore a soft, pale dress — the same one from our very first date. Back when I believed in things like forever. Back when he held my hand like it meant something. Back when I thought I mattered.
He said to meet him at a restaurant.
Just us. To fix things. So I waited.
I arrived early. I wasn’t sure if I hoped he’d show up… or if I hoped he wouldn’t.
The waitress brought water.
Then came back. Then came back again. Minutes turned into an hour. Then another.
“I’ll be waiting for someone,” I told her with a small smile. “He should be here soon.”
He wasn’t. Neither were Marcus or Elliot.
I checked my phone. Nothing.
The water got warm. The music changed. My back started to hurt from sitting too straight, for too long.
I kept looking at the door.
Maybe now. Maybe now. Then my phone vibrated.
Bianca.
Of course.
Bianca: Looks like they can’t make it, sister. They’re busy… with me. Enjoy your dinner alone.
Below the message were photos of them together.
Once, I would’ve cried. This time, I didn’t.
---
I stood up calmly and called the manager over.
“I need to leave a few things here,” I said.
From my bag, I placed a small bundle of papers on the table.
A copy of our fake marriage certificate. The hospital report confirming the loss of my baby. The ring he’d given me five years ago.
“If he comes asking,” I said quietly, “tell him Talia Ashcroft doesn’t exist anymore.”
I turned and walked out.
The bell above the door chimed once, clean and final.
---
Julian was already waiting on the sidewalk.
Just like he promised.
He stepped toward me and held out his hand.
“Ready?”
I nodded. “Completely.”
He led me to the car, and we drove straight for the airport.
Inside the car, I looked at my phone — old photos, old messages, names that no longer meant anything.
I opened the SIM tray. I removed it. I dropped it into a bin.
Gone.
As I boarded the plane beside Julian, a calm I hadn’t felt in years settled into my chest.
Tomorrow, they might notice I’m gone. They might panic. They might search.
But they will never find me.
Never again.
Chapter 6
The house was unusually quiet when Damien, Bianca, Marcus, and Elliot returned late that night. Laughter echoed in the hallway as they fumbled with the lock, still basking in the glow of their late-night outing. They had gone out for drinks after dinner, enjoying themselves far more than they probably should have.
Damien stepped inside first, flicking the light switch.
Nothing.
The hallway remained bathed in shadows.
“What the heck?” Damien muttered, flicking the switch again. The lights finally blinked on—and the living room came into full view.
It was a mess. Pillows scattered on the floor. Dishes still on the table. A faint trail of mud leading from the door. The entire house looked like it hadn’t been touched all day.
“The heck is this?” Damien growled, stepping inside. “Talia! What is this?!”
No answer.
He made a move to rush toward the stairs, but Bianca stopped him, her hand on his arm. “Come on,” she said with a light laugh. “Don’t ruin the night. She’s probably just sulking again. Sleeping, maybe.”
“She always does this when she wants attention,” Marcus added, removing his shoes carelessly.
Elliot chuckled. “Yeah, man, just let her be. She’ll clean this up in the morning like she always does.”
Damien hesitated. “But this mess—”
Bianca tugged his arm gently. “Come to bed with me,” she whispered, pressing her lips to his ear. “Don’t let her ruin our night.” Then she laughed softly, adding, “She’s probably just pouting somewhere, pretending to be important. You know how dramatic she can be.”
Damien didn’t argue after that. With one last glance toward the stairs, he let himself be pulled into the room by Bianca.
Once inside, Bianca unzipped her dress slowly, letting it fall with theatrical grace. “You know,” she purred, sliding her arms around his neck, “this room used to be hers, didn’t it?” She smirked, tilting her head. “Poor thing. Must be hard to realize she’s been replaced even in bed.”
Moments later, laughter turned into whimpers.
And while the rest of the house remained dark and disordered, behind that closed door, Damien and Bianca indulged in their pleasure—completely forgetting about the woman who was once his wife, her presence erased with every kiss and whispered mockery.
The next morning, the sunlight pierced through the curtains.
Damien whimpered, blinking into the brightness, then shot up. “No!” he muttered. “My meeting!”
Bianca stirred lazily beside him, still under the covers. “What meeting?”
“You didn’t wake me up!” he barked.
She yawned, stretching her arms. “I didn’t know I was supposed to.”
He flung the sheets off and began pulling on his pants. “Talia should’ve woken me up—where is she?”
He stomped into the hallway. “Talia!” he yelled, but there was no reply.
His brow furrowed.
He checked her room.
Empty.
No sign of her.
That’s when Marcus and Elliot emerged from their rooms, still in their pajamas.
“What’s up?” Marcus asked, rubbing his eyes.
“Talia’s gone,” Damien said tightly. “She’s not in her room.”
“Maybe she went out early,” Bianca offered from behind him. “Come on, she’s probably just sulking. Again.”
They all went downstairs, expecting breakfast at least. But the kitchen was silent. The table was bare. The sink untouched. The fridge unopened. There was no breakfast.
Not even coffee.
“What the actual—” Damien slammed his hand against the table. “She didn’t even cook?!”
He pulled out his phone. Dialed her number.
No signal.
“Not reachable,” he hissed. “Where is she?”
Bianca twirled her hair and sighed. “She probably went out early to buy groceries or something.”
“No.” Damien’s voice was sharper now. “I know her. Talia never leaves this place messy. She always wakes me up before meetings. She never lets a day pass without making food. This isn’t like her—”
He paused. A sick feeling clawed at his chest.
His mind flashed to something—something small, insignificant at the time.
“No.” He froze. “Last night. The dinner…”
“What dinner?” Elliot asked.
“The dinner date—I told her we’d go out.”
“Oh,” Bianca said slowly, glancing away. “You mean you think… she was still waiting for you?”
“She wouldn’t do that,” Marcus scoffed. “She’s not that pathetic.”
“Yeah,” Elliot chuckled. “She must’ve known you were just saying that to calm her down. No one waits that long.”
But Damien wasn’t listening anymore. He was already grabbing his car keys and storming out the door.
He sped through traffic, heart pounding against his ribs. When he reached the restaurant, he rushed inside.
“Excuse me,” he said to the waitress behind the counter. “Last night, there was a woman here. Talia. Did she say anything? Did she wait… or do you know where she is?”
The woman blinked, then nodded. “Yes. I remember her because she waited for more than hours before leaving. She left this for someone named Damien. I think it’s you because you have the same description as she said.”
She handed him a white envelope. Damien opened it with shaking hands.
Inside was her wedding ring.
A folded copy of their marriage certificate—marked “Invalid.”
And a single sheet of paper. A death certificate.
For their unborn child. The world seemed to tilt.
He could hear nothing but the pounding in his ears. The way the paper trembled in his grip.
“Before she left,” the woman added quietly, “she told us… ‘Give this to him. And let him know he’ll never find me again.’”
Damien stood there, frozen.
The envelope in his hands felt heavier than any burden he had ever known.
