A Bride to Replace the Forgotten Daughter

My mother—once radiant, admired, unstoppable—shattered the day she discovered my father’s mistress and their illegitimate child, Yvette. Yvette was three months younger than me, yet she was brought into our home with shameless pride.

At the same time, my mother was carrying my little brother. But grief consumed her, crushing her until she went into labor far too soon. Neither she nor the baby survived.

From then on, loneliness became my shadow. I abandoned schoolwork, lost my smile, and spent nights slipping into clubs—drinking until memory blurred, dancing until my body ached, anything to drown the emptiness.

And that was where I first noticed him. Jerwin.

He wasn’t like the others prowling the bar. Something about him was magnetic. I fell too fast, too hard.

I tried everything to catch his eye—laughing louder than I felt, brushing against him “accidentally,” asking for help with the strap of my dress just to feel his hands, stumbling so he’d steady me, letting perfume linger in the air between us. I wore skirts shorter, heels higher, smiles sharper, even let my head fall against his shoulder once when the alcohol blurred my sight. But no matter what I did, he never looked at me the way I desperately wanted.

I should have let him go. But fate decided otherwise. When my aging butler grew too ill to serve, a replacement appeared.

It was Jerwin—introduced as the butler’s son.

I thought destiny was finally being kind. That this was my chance. But truth rarely spares illusions.

One late evening, after an event, I overheard him in the garden, speaking quietly on the phone.

“Jerwin, come home already,” the voice urged. “Stop pretending you’re the butler’s son. You’re the heir of the Andersen family.”

“I can’t,” Jerwin replied, his tone heavy but tender. “Yvette’s here. I fell for her the moment I saw her. I can’t leave now. She’s delicate. I’ll protect her, earn her trust, and when the time is right, I’ll tell her everything.”

“And Fatima?” the caller asked.

Jerwin laughed, the sound like glass cutting through me.

“Oh, her? She’s nothing but a tool. A stepping stone.”

Something in me snapped that night. That was when I resolved to accept the arranged marriage—and to let Jerwin be handed over to Yvette. Because no matter how I begged, he’d never look at me the way he looked at her.

When I stumbled back to my room, my stomach twisted painfully. I hadn’t eaten all day. Weak, I drifted toward Jerwin’s quarters.

“I’m hungry,” I muttered flatly. “Get me something to eat.”

He blinked, expression bored. “I’m off duty.”

I frowned. “And what does that matter?”

“It means you’re no longer my responsibility,” he answered coolly, brushing past me as if I were invisible.

I stood frozen. Smaller than I’d ever felt. Then fate twisted the knife deeper.

“I’m not feeling well…” Yvette’s soft voice drifted from her doorway. She leaned against the frame, pale, fragile.

“I think I have a fever,” she whispered. “And I’ve been craving that soup you made… Could you…?”

Jerwin turned instantly, warmth flooding his voice.

“I’ll make it for you. Stay inside.”

I stiffened, retreating before my tears betrayed me. Wrapping my arms tight around myself, I wondered how a body could feel so hollow yet so unbearably heavy.

Hours later, starving, I rose to fetch food myself. Passing Yvette’s room, I slowed. Her door was ajar, a strip of light spilling out.

There was Jerwin. Jacket discarded, sleeves rolled. Sitting at her bedside, watching her feverflushed face with a reverence that tore me apart.

Then he leaned in, brushed a strand of hair away, and pressed his lips against hers.

Yvette murmured faintly, stirring. And Jerwin whispered, voice full of possession:

“You’re mine, Yvette. Always mine. I’ll give you everything… even if it means discarding Fatima someday, just to see you happy.”

Then he climbed into bed beside her, pulling her fragile frame close against him.

When I opened my eyes, it felt as though a heavy weight was pressing down on my entire body.

My skull throbbed with a dull ache, and my stomach churned emptily, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten anything since the previous day. But worse than hunger was the heaviness lodged inside my chest—the echo of last night’s conversation, bruising me from the inside out.

Slowly, I forced myself upright. The early light of morning slipped in through the curtains in soft, golden stripes that fell across the floor. My throat was parched, but thirst was the least of my concerns. What hurt more was the ache in my heart.

Not because I hadn’t eaten.

But because of the voices I had overheard in the hallway.

“I’m feeling much better now,” Yvette’s voice rang lightly from the other room, followed by the gentle trill of her laugh. “Thank you for keeping me company last night.”

“I only wanted to be sure you were alright,” Jerwin answered, his tone calm, deep, and protective. “You were burning up with fever. I couldn’t just walk away.”

“You’re always there for me,” she whispered softly. “I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.”

My hands curled into tight fists around the blanket.

So, he stayed in her room the entire night.

Even after I had stood in the hallway—starving, humiliated, desperate—he had chosen her. Always her.

I reminded myself of the original arrangement. Jerwin had been hired to protect me. Not Yvette. Me. That was the agreement from the start.

And at first, he had done exactly that. He shadowed me wherever I went—quiet, dependable, solid as a wall. For a while, I foolishly let myself believe his constant presence meant something more—that maybe he cared.

But now? That illusion had shattered.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror. No tears. No cracks. Only a mask of stillness. After steadying myself, I dressed and walked out of my room.

Jerwin was already standing in the hallway, as though waiting for me. When his eyes met mine, the first words out of his mouth were, “Did you eat the meal I left in your room?”

I kept my expression cold. “No. I threw it away.”

His brows knit together. “Why are you being so melodramatic?”

I raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“This is about last night, isn’t it?” he pressed. “Look—when I’m off duty, I’m free to do as I please. Your sister wasn’t well, and I stayed with her because she needed me. You, on the other hand? You were just hungry. Couldn’t you have made something for yourself?”

Each word landed like a slap, sharper than I wanted to admit.

But I didn’t argue.

I didn’t explain myself.

I simply stared at him for a long, suffocating moment until the silence thickened between us, unbearable.

Then, without a word, I turned and started to walk away.

“Where are you going?” he called after me.

I halted, but I didn’t turn back. “Why does it matter to you? When you’ve made it clear you don’t care at all.”

And with that, I stepped out the front door.

The morning air was crisp, the cool wind brushing against my skin like a fleeting comfort. I began to jog—not for fitness, not to exercise, but to escape. To outrun the thoughts clawing at me, thorns lodged too deep to pull free.

I was just finding my rhythm when a familiar voice carried behind me.

“Fatima!”

Yvette.

I didn’t slow down.

“Can we jog together?” she asked, appearing at my side, her tone bright and cheerful as though nothing had ever been wrong between us.

I said nothing.

She matched my pace anyway, jogging alongside me with a persistence that gnawed at my nerves.

Barely a minute later, she slowed and turned to Jerwin, who had followed close behind. “Why does she hate me so much?” she said with a pout. “I only want to be close to her. She’s my sister…”

I caught Jerwin’s response, low but steady. “Don’t trouble yourself over it. If she refuses to accept you, I’ll be here. I’ll never leave your side.”

That was enough.

I pushed harder, lengthening my stride until I left them behind—pretending I hadn’t heard, pretending it didn’t matter.

But they followed anyway.

Our path twisted through the back roads of the estate until we stumbled into the unfinished construction site—an expansion project my father had demanded months earlier.

The area was hushed, filled with skeletal beams and scattered piles of materials. I slowed to a walk, lost in spiraling thoughts, blind to my surroundings.

I didn’t notice the loose metal plank underfoot until it shifted.

“Fatima!” someone shouted.

But it was already happening. My foot slid against the unstable surface. The screech of metal scraping against stone split the air as the plank tilted beneath me. My balance faltered, and in an instant, everything stretched into a slow, nightmarish blur.

Gravity yanked me downward. Pain shot through my side as debris struck me, dragging me into a helpless fall. The sky whirled above me. The breath ripped from my lungs.

And just before darkness swallowed me whole, I caught movement in the corner of my eye.

Jerwin.

He was running.

But not toward me.

Not to catch me.

Not to shield me.

He was running to Yvette.

He pulled her tightly into his arms, dragging her behind a steel beam, his entire body shielding hers from the shower of rubble. His expression—etched with pure panic—was turned only to her.

Even as I plummeted.

Even as I screamed silently into the collapsing world.

I was the one left bleeding, shattered, forgotten.

And he had already chosen the person who mattered most.

Pain ripped through me, searing, unbearable—until everything blinked away into silence.

And then there was nothing.

Only darkness.

Pain was the first thing that greeted me.

It spread through my body like fire licking along nerves, as though I had been dragged across concrete until nothing but rawness remained. My arms and legs felt stiff, every joint resisting movement, while each attempt at a deep breath sent flames tearing through my ribs. But even with all that, it wasn’t my body’s agony that cut the deepest.

“Miss Simon,” a voice said gently.

I shifted my gaze and saw a nurse at my side, clipboard tucked against her arm. Her smile was polite, professional, practiced. She checked the monitor briefly before lowering her eyes to me. “You’re awake now. That’s very good news.”

I tried to swallow, though my throat felt like sandpaper. My voice came out strained. “Where’s… Jerwin?”

Her expression flickered, but she answered with a small nod. “He left earlier this morning. He arranged for our staff to monitor you while he attends to Miss Yvette. She also sustained injuries during the incident, and he has been by her side.”

The silence that followed felt suffocating.

Then a sound escaped me—something like laughter, but hollow, jagged, empty of all joy. It scraped through my throat like broken glass.

I was the one who had fallen. I was the one who had been knocked unconscious, the one with bruises blooming across bone and skin. But she—she was the one he ran to first. She was the one he stayed with.

And now, instead of watching over me, he left strangers to handle it while he sat by her bedside, probably brushing hair from her face, whispering soothing words, making her smile.

It was absurd.

I leaned back into the pillow, releasing a long breath through my nose. A part of me considered lying still, letting the weight of betrayal crush me, letting this hurt dig its claws in.

But no.

I refused.

Even though my body trembled in protest, I shoved the covers off and lowered my legs over the edge of the bed.

The nurse gasped and rushed forward. “Miss Simon, please, you shouldn’t—”

“I’m fine,” I cut her off, my tone sharp, cold, absolute. “I don’t need anyone’s help.”

It was a lie. My first one that day.

I stepped into the hallway, one palm braced against the wall for stability. The corridor stretched before me, dimly lit, lined with muted green doors. Vases of flowers stood neatly arranged along tables, their colors too deliberate, too staged to feel real.

I hadn’t meant to pause.

But I did.

Right outside the room next to mine.

The door was slightly ajar, and voices floated out into the corridor.

“It’s all because of me,” Yvette murmured, her tone trembling just enough to sound fragile. “You were hurt because of me.”

“No,” Jerwin replied, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it—gentle, careful, almost tender. “It doesn’t matter. I’d make the same choice again. I don’t mind being hurt if it means you’re safe.”

My nails cut into my palms.

“But… what about my sister?” Yvette whispered, her words almost too delicate, like lines rehearsed for a script. “You’re supposed to be her butler, her guardian.”

“She’ll be alright,” he said without hesitation. I could imagine his expression: calm, steady, utterly devoted. “Fatima’s strong. She doesn’t need me the way you do.”

Something twisted deep in my chest.

Strong.

That word again.

It was the excuse they all leaned on whenever they wanted to abandon me. Fatima’s strong. She doesn’t cry. She can manage alone. She’ll endure.

But no one ever stopped to ask if I wanted to be strong.

Movement stirred inside the room. I edged closer and caught sight of several men in black suits filing in, each carrying velvetwrapped boxes.

“Who are they?” Yvette asked, her voice a mix of shock and curiosity.

One man stepped forward and gave a respectful bow. “Miss Yvette, these gifts come from Young Master Andersen. He heard of the accident and wished to send tokens of comfort to brighten your day.”

Her lips parted in astonishment. “Wait—what? I don’t even know him personally!”

The man smiled knowingly. “Even so, he has admired you quietly, from afar.”

Her eyes widened, sparkling like she had stumbled into a fairy tale. “Do you really think I deserve something like this?” she asked, turning to Jerwin as though his opinion was the only one that mattered.

“Of course,” he said instantly, no pause, no doubt.

“And do you think… maybe he likes me?” she added with a shy giggle.

Jerwin gave a single, steady nod. “Without question.”

I didn’t need anyone to spell it out.

I already knew the truth.

Young Master Andersen was Jerwin. Hiding behind another name, another mask, so he could shower her with gifts while pretending it came from someone else.

I turned, intent on slipping down the hall unnoticed. But her voice reached me before I could escape.

“Oh my goodness—Fatima!” Yvette gasped, eyes wide as she caught sight of me. “Look at all these presents Young Master Andersen sent for me. Aren’t I the luckiest girl?”

I kept walking, lips sealed.

But she wasn’t done. She hurried after me, the sharp click of her heels chasing me down the hallway.

“Wait! Are you upset? Is it because you’re jealous?” she asked, almost breathless.

I stopped.

Turned.

“I would never be jealous of you,” I said, each syllable like a shard of ice. “Now. Let. Me. Go.”

She reached for my arm, and I shoved her back—not hard, but enough to free myself.

“Careful!” Jerwin’s voice cut in as he appeared behind us. He darted to Yvette’s side, shielding her with his presence. “She’s not fully healed. You shouldn’t push her. Apologize.”

Apologize?

I stared at him, empty and cold, for what felt like forever.

And then… I did.

“Sorry,” I murmured, flat, devoid of any meaning.

Sorry for what? I couldn’t even say. The word came out simply because I no longer had the strength to fight.

I turned away, walking down the corridor—past the nurses, past the vases of tooperfect flowers, past walls painted in colors meant to calm.

Behind me, his voice floated faintly. “Let her be… she’s only overreacting.”

And Yvette, ever sweet, ever clinging, chimed in, “I’m still worried. Let’s follow her.”

I slid into the driver’s seat, slammed the car door shut, and pressed the accelerator until the engine roared.

The bar glowed like a neon beast waiting to devour me—lights flickering in dizzying colors, bass shaking the floorboards, and music pounding against my ribcage like a second heartbeat. Every vibration rattled my bones. I grabbed the first drink offered, swallowed it too fast to notice the flavor, too numb to feel the burn that scraped down my throat. My chest ached, but I kept drinking, pouring glass after glass until my thoughts blurred and everything felt muffled at the edges.

I only wanted one thing: to erase it all. To lose myself.

So I danced.

Wild. Careless. Detached. My body swayed and twisted as though it no longer belonged to me, as though someone else was moving my limbs. Heat pressed in from every side, strangers’ bodies crowding me, perfume and sweat mixing in a suffocating cloud.

I didn’t care. Let them press too close. Let the air choke. Let the world collapse into spinning lights and pounding music.

And then—my gaze caught.

Them.

Jerwin and Yvette. They had followed.

At first, he lingered at the edge of the dance floor, watching silently the way he always did—observing, calculating, detached. But Yvette, smiling sweetly, stretched her hand toward him, tugging him forward. He didn’t resist. His hand settled against her waist like it belonged there, like it had always been meant for her.

They moved together, close—too close. His lips dipped toward her ear, murmuring something low and private. She laughed, soft and delighted, the sound cutting through the music and straight into me.

I tore my gaze away.

Another drink. Stronger this time. It scorched all the way down, tasting like liquid regret. Still, it didn’t help.

A stranger slipped into the space beside me. His grin was sloppy, his words slurred, his eyes roaming over me as though I were nothing more than a prize to be won. Before I could recoil, his hand snatched mine, yanking me into his rhythm.

I hadn’t agreed. I hadn’t spoken. Silence, apparently, was enough permission for him. His hands roamed shamelessly, uninvited, his breath foul and hot against my cheek. Then his mouth crashed onto mine—hard, wet, revolting.

I shoved at his chest with both hands. “Don’t touch me.”

He staggered back, chuckling with drunken arrogance. “Didn’t look like you minded.”

I turned away, but his hand shot out, clamping around my wrist with bruising force.

Before I could scream—

A fist sliced through the air.

Crack.

The man toppled to the ground.

Jerwin.

But it was already too late. Another stranger lunged from the crowd, shouting something unintelligible. I stepped back, but bodies pressed against me on all sides. There was nowhere to run.

His arm swung. The bottle shattered against my shoulder, exploding into shards that tore through my skin. Agony seared down my arm, hot and wet, blood seeping instantly into the fabric of my dress. My breath hitched into a broken gasp.

Jerwin’s eyes locked onto mine, wide and stricken. “I’m sorry, Miss Simon.”

A laugh tore out of me—cold, cracked, laced with bitterness. “Sorry? Where were you when it actually mattered?”

His mouth opened, faltering. “Yvette needed—”

“Of course she did,” I cut in sharply, my voice slicing the space between us. “She always does.”

Blood trickled down my hand as I pressed against the wound. “Once I’m married, you can throw all your devotion at her. Guard her day and night, protect her as much as you like. Forget me completely. You’ve already been practicing, haven’t you?”

I spun away. But chaos erupted before I could escape.

Screams split the air. Glass shattered, raining down like sharp rain. Gunfire cracked, deafening and close. Panic surged—people shoved, stumbled, trampled in a desperate rush toward the exits. Tables overturned, drinks spilled, bodies collided.

And Jerwin?

He didn’t come for me.

He ran straight to Yvette.

He threw himself over her, shielding her body with his own, clutching her as though she were the only soul worth saving.

And I—

I just stood frozen, breath shallow, staring.

Until pain tore through my upper shoulder. A bullet.

My body dropped, hitting the ground with brutal force. The world spun, blurred. No one noticed. No one reached out a hand.

Then Yvette’s fragile voice pierced the din. “Jerwin… you’re supposed to be Fatima’s butler, sworn to protect her. She’s hurt… She needs you…”

For a moment, he said nothing. The silence burned more than the wound.

Finally, his voice broke. “It’s my fault… Fatima… she needs help.”

“No,” Yvette soothed, her tone breaking. “Don’t blame yourself. None of this is your fault. Even if it happened over and over again… I would still want you to choose me.”

Her words quivered. “But… why?”

And his reply came low, steady, final.

“Because I love—”

The world blinked out before I could hear the rest.

The ceiling was pale.

Blurry at first, then clearer as my eyes slowly opened. The fluorescent light buzzed faintly above me, sterile and cold. It didn’t take long for the pain to return. A sharp ache in my arm. Dull, throbbing, but alive.

My arm was bandaged, tight and stiff. The bullet hadn’t gone too deep, they said. Just a graze. Lucky.

If only I felt lucky. I turned my head slowly. Yvette sat beside me, her eyes wide and glassy with guilt. Her hair was perfect, lips tinted pink, and yet her hands trembled slightly as she reached for me.

“Fatima… are you okay?” Her voice was soft, as if afraid I’d break if she spoke too loud. “I’m so sorry… I didn’t know how it started. They’re still investigating what happened at the bar. But you… you got hurt.”

I didn’t respond.

“Fatima,” she whispered, “please… I want to take care of you. Don’t ignore me. You’re my precious sister.”

I shifted my gaze away from her. My throat was dry, cracked from disuse, but the words came out steady. “Leave me.”

Her face fell. “But… I just want to help—”

The door creaked open, and our father stepped in. “Fatima,” he said with quiet frustration, “why are you being so difficult with your sister? She’s only trying to help.”

I looked at him—cold, tired. “If she really wants to help me,” I said, voice flat, “then she should leave. I don’t want to see her again.”

I shoved Yvette’s hand away. She gasped softly, visibly shaken, but I didn’t care anymore.

Then I saw him. Jerwin stood by the door.

His jaw clenched as if trying to speak but failing. I didn’t wait.

“I don’t want to see you either,” I said sharply. “You’re fired.”

His eyes widened. “No. Don’t—please, don’t fire me.”

He stepped forward, his voice rising. “Miss Simon… Fatima, I’m sorry. I know I failed. I—I wasn’t fast enough, I wasn’t there. But I’ll do anything. Just don’t fire me.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Why?” I asked bitterly.

“Of course, to protect you.”

I laughed but there was no humor in my eyes. Still, I said, “Fine. You can stay.”

His head lifted, eyes hopeful for a second.

“But,” I added, “you’ll be punished for failing me.”

When I was finally discharged from the hospital, I didn’t waste time.

Everything was prepared. The private room I chose was quiet, the curtains drawn tightly against the world. A cold, clean space without distractions—perfect for what needed to happen.

Jerwin entered exactly when I told him to. No emotion in his eyes, no excuses on his lips. He removed his jacket slowly and folded it with precision, then stood still in the center of the room, as if waiting for judgment.

But I didn’t lift a whip. Instead, I gave a small nod to the two men stationed at the side of the room—my father’s men, now mine.

“Begin.”

Jerwin didn’t flinch.

The first punch landed across his cheek, snapping his head to the side. The second followed to his gut. He grunted, breath escaping his lungs in one sharp exhale, but he didn’t speak. Didn’t raise a hand to defend himself. He took each hit, like he believed he deserved it.

And maybe he did.

He betrayed me in silence.

In secrets.

And worst of all—he made me believe I mattered.

The punches kept coming. His knees buckled under one sharp blow, and I left the room without another word.

I went to the pool terrace to clear my head. I sat by the edge, legs dangling over the side when Yvette came.

“I heard what you did,” she said, standing beside me. “That punishment… it wasn’t just cruel—it was my fault. He only got hurt because he was protecting me.”

I said nothing.

“I should be the one who gets punished,” she added dramatically, stepping closer to the edge. “If you're angry, then hurt me instead—”

I stood and turned away. “I have no interest in you. You’re not worth it.”

She reached out again. “Fatima, I just want us to be sisters—”

“I said no,” I snapped, walking past her.

But then—I heard the slip. Her foot caught on the wet edge. Her arms flailed.

And then—a splash.

“Help!” she screamed. “I can’t swim—please! Help me!”

I turned slowly. She was thrashing, her head barely staying above water, panic splashed across her face.

And before anyone else could react—

Jerwin ran. Bleeding. Limping. Bruised.

He didn’t even hesitate. He threw himself into the pool, arms slicing through the water. In seconds, he reached her, pulling her to him as she clung to him, coughing and crying.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. I’m here… no one will hurt you again.”

Days passed. And every time I opened a door or turned a hallway, there they were—Jerwin and Yvette, tending to each other like a storybook couple. I never saw him cry for me. Never saw him care.

But for her? I passed by the guest room one evening and paused.

The door wasn’t fully shut.

Through the small gap, I saw Jerwin sitting by Yvette’s bedside, gently wiping her tears.

“I’m sorry,” Jerwin whispered, his hand ghosting over her bruised skin. “You were never supposed to get hurt. I swear, Yvette… anyone who lays a hand on you will be punished.”

He leaned in.

Pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

I didn’t flinch.

Didn’t feel anything anymore.

Another time, I passed the room again. Yvette was asleep. Jerwin tucked the blanket over her shoulders, then leaned down and kissed her gently on the lips.

“I love you,” he murmured, brushing his thumb against her cheek. “I love you so much…”

I stood there a moment longer, but there was no ache this time.

Just… emptiness.

Later that week, I went to the bridal boutique alone.

No one offered to come.

Not my father.

Not Yvette.

Not even Jerwin.

The wedding dress fit perfectly. It was a clean white gown with silver embroidery along the bodice, cascading into layers of soft tulle. I looked like a stranger in the mirror. A beautiful bride no one wanted.

When I stepped out of the shop, the sky had already folded into night.

The street was nearly empty, only the faint glow of the boutique’s lights behind me and the dim flicker of a broken streetlamp ahead. I was walking toward the car when a hand clamped over my mouth.

A sharp, bitter scent invaded my nostrils—chemical, suffocating.

I kicked. Scratched. Fought with everything I had.

But it was useless.

Everything went black.

When I came to, I was already soaking wet.

I gasped, coughing violently, spitting out water as my lungs fought to remember how to breathe. My arms were bound behind my back, wrists aching from the tight restraints. My hair clung to my face, tangled and heavy.

I was outside somewhere—cold concrete beneath me, the air thick with moisture and the scent of moss and rusted iron.

A warehouse. Or the back of one. Somewhere forgotten.

And then, hands gripped my shoulders.

Without warning, I was dragged forward—toward a trough filled with icecold water. I had only a second to understand what was happening.

Then they shoved me under.

Water rushed up my nose, into my mouth. I thrashed, panicked. My lungs screamed for air as the pressure closed in.

And just as I was about to lose consciousness, they yanked me up.

I choked, spluttering, coughing violently.

Then—

They pushed me down again.

The second time was worse. I knew what was coming, and still I couldn’t fight it. My body bucked against the hands pinning me. My mind screamed for oxygen. For mercy. For escape.

But there was none.

They pulled me up again—long enough to breathe, barely.

And then it happened a third time.

Over. And over. And over again.

Each breath between drownings was like a curse—never enough to recover, just enough to survive the next.

Finally, when they stopped, I was gasping like a dying fish, crumpled on the concrete, soaked and shivering.

A voice broke the silence.

“You’re being punished… for what you did to the woman our master loves.”

I blinked, my vision blurry. My ears rang.

“What…?” I rasped.

“The young master doesn't want her hurt,” the man continued. “You pushed her into the pool. You made her suffer. So now, you suffer.”

And that’s when it hit me.

Jerwin. The man who once promised to protect me had ordered this for Yvette.

I let out a sound—half sob, half laugh. It echoed in the empty space around us like something feral.

So that was it. He would protect Yvette. Even if it meant breaking me.

When they dumped me outside the city, I was halfconscious. Shivering. Skin raw and scraped. I crawled until I found the edge of the road. Then I stood—barely—and walked. And walked.

I don’t know how I reached the hospital. I just remember the bright lights and the way the nurses looked at me like I was something broken beyond repair.

No one came to see me. Not even after three days.

I didn’t bother calling anyone.

Why would I? I knew better now.

I wasn’t the precious one. I wasn’t the girl who got saved. I was the one who got punished for existing.

And all I had to do now… was make it to the wedding.

So once discharged, I went home. Packed quietly. I decided to stay in a hotel until the ceremony. That way, I wouldn’t have to see their faces, or live in the same house as the people who forgot I existed.

I was almost out the door when Father’s voice echoed from behind me.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

I turned slowly. “To the hotel. I’ll return for the wedding.”

He frowned. “No. It’s Yvette’s birthday tomorrow. She wants you there. She wants your help organizing the celebration.”

I said nothing.

He scowled. “Why are you always so difficult with your sister? She’s trying to build a relationship with you!”

I stared at him. “And I said no.”

He stepped forward, lowering his voice into a threat. “If you don’t go, I’ll freeze your cards. You won’t access a single cent.”

I didn’t even blink.

Then sighed.

“Fine.”

I turned to leave again, but before I reached the stairs, he spoke once more.

“Oh, and Fatima—give your mother’s necklace to Yvette. She wants to wear it for the party.”

My body went rigid.

I turned, disbelief flashing through me. “No.”

His eyes narrowed. “She just needs something to match her gown. She’ll return it.”

“No!” I snapped, louder this time. “That necklace is the only thing I have left from my mother. I won’t give it to her.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just a piece of jewelry.”

I took a step back. But he was faster.

He walked up and unclasped the necklace from behind my neck. I reached to stop him, but his grip was firm—unyielding.

He pulled it off and walked away, tossing it to a maid. “Give this to Yvette.”

I stood there—motionless.

My chest felt like it was being hollowed out. It wasn’t about the necklace. It was about the last piece of someone who loved me being ripped away.

I collapsed on the couch, shoulders shaking. But I didn’t scream. Didn’t beg.

I just lay there… silent.

Tears slid down my face. I didn’t wipe them.

Because crying wouldn’t change anything.

Because in this house—No one cared.

I didn’t want to be there. But I had no choice.

My father had made it clear—if I didn’t attend Yvette’s birthday celebration, he would cancel all my cards and cut off my finances until the wedding. He didn’t say it like a threat. He said it like a favor. Like he was giving me a push in the right direction.

I wore a muted emerald gown. Floorlength velvet with long sleeves that covered my stillhealing shoulder. I didn’t bother with makeup. Didn’t care to impress anyone.

The party was hosted in the glass garden of the estate—a room bathed in warm chandelier light and fragrant with imported roses. The guests had already arrived, sipping champagne, dressed in couture. I stood at the entrance for a moment, invisible and unwanted.

And then I saw her.

Yvette.

She stood in the center of it all, wearing a delicate pink dress like a doll brought to life. Her hair was curled into soft waves. Her cheeks blushed from excitement. And around her neck—gleaming, bold, familiar—was my mother’s necklace.

The same one Father had yanked off me.

I clenched my fists.

She wore it like it belonged to her.

As if it hadn’t once rested on the woman who gave birth to me, raised me, and died betrayed.

But I said nothing.

I didn’t want to cause a scene—not here. Not now. I swallowed the fury and retreated to a corner, where I watched like a ghost.

The guests surrounded Yvette with gifts—Tiffany boxes, limited edition Hermès bags, the key to a new Porsche. Their praises echoed: “She’s so sweet,” “so elegant,” “the perfect daughter.”

And then, Father stepped forward.

He raised a glass. “Thank you all for being here. Tonight, we celebrate my precious daughter Yvette—who has been sweet, kind, and sensible since she was a child.”

Everyone clapped.

He didn’t mention me.

Not even once.

I wasn’t surprised.

Just... tired.

I remembered the way he used to look at me when I was a child—before Yvette, before the lies. He’d hold me high, call me his little star. My mother would smile softly beside him, her hands resting on my shoulders like wings.

That memory didn’t exist anymore.

Now, there was only Yvette.

And in the family photo they took that night, I wasn’t even in the frame.

Later, as the party wore on, the doors opened. A line of men in black entered, each holding a velvet box. One stepped forward. “Young Master Andersen sends these birthday gifts to Miss Yvette.”

The crowd gasped.

Even I froze for a moment.

Of course. Jerwin. He wasn’t just present—he was flaunting it now, even with his hidden identity.

Yvette lit up, hands to her mouth in mock shock. “Oh my God, I can’t believe this!”

The boxes were opened one by one—sapphire earrings, diamond bracelets, a rose gold watch engraved with her initials.

Someone whispered, “That’s the heir to the Andersen family, right? He must love her even though they haven’t met in person.”

And Yvette? She turned toward me.

Smiling. As if she had won. As if I had lost.

The guests clapped again, crowding around her, taking photos, showering her with more compliments than anyone could deserve.

It felt like the room was shrinking. The air too thick.

I needed to breathe.

But then, more guests gathered around Yvette. One of her friends leaned in, whispering loud enough for all to hear, “There are so many young men here today, Yvette. Is your father arranging a blind date for you? Didn’t you used to be engaged to that guy from the Hale family?”

Yvette smiled coyly, but her eyes flicked to me. “Oh, that’s been over for a long time.”

Laughter rippled through the girls.

“Well, lucky you,” the friend continued. “That guy is practically a vegetable now. Who’d want to marry into a grave?”

My chest twisted. Well, I did, just to get away from this family.

Later on, the girls asked her about her ideal man, with Jerwin around listening carefully as if he’d been willing to trade anything for whatever Yvette would say.

The girls squealed.

And I remembered.

That night, long ago—when I thought Jerwin didn’t know I was watching. He took off his shirt, and there it was.

Yvette. Tattooed over his heart.

I froze then. Pretended I didn’t see. Lied to myself. But standing here, hearing her speak those exact words—while he stood in the crowd, silent, watching her with soft eyes—

It hit me. They were always meant to be. I was the villain.

“I also want someone who would dive into the sea to find me the most precious pearl—and turn it into a necklace.”

I couldn’t take it anymore.

The music, the laughter, the way Yvette’s voice danced through the glass walls like she owned the entire world—it all clawed at me.

So I slipped out quietly, past the crowd of perfectly dressed strangers who didn’t know my name, and walked toward the garden. It was dark outside. Quiet. Just the faint hum of crickets and the wind moving through the hedges.

I sat on the bench beneath the old tree where I used to hide as a child. Back when things were simple. Back when I thought I was loved.

The cold night air wrapped around me. It was the first real thing I’d felt all day.

But peace never lasted long.

Yvette found me.

Her heels clicked softly against the stone path as she approached, fake concern in her voice.

“What are you doing out here all alone?” she asked, folding her arms like she was genuinely puzzled.

I didn’t look at her. “None of your business.”

She tilted her head. “You know... it kind of looks like you’re jealous.”

That made me laugh—dry, humorless. “Jealous?”

“Yeah,” she said, shrugging. “I mean, I got the party, the guests, the attention... and, let’s not forget, the favor of the Andersen family. Meanwhile, you get to marry the guy in a coma.” She grinned. “Just like Dad said. I guess it all worked out. You’re always so cold and useless.”

I turned to her, my voice low. “Be careful what you say.”

But she wasn’t done.

“And your mother?” she added, lips curling. “She was weak. She deserved what she got. Couldn’t handle the truth. Couldn’t handle the fact that Father loved someone else.”

Something snapped.

I stood. “Take it off.”

“What?”

“The necklace,” I said through clenched teeth. “It was my mother’s. Give it back.”

“Oh please, it’s just jewelry.” She rolled her eyes, grabbed it, and tugged.

The chain broke.

Pearls scattered across the stone floor like tears frozen midfall.

Then she slapped her. The sound cracked through the garden like thunder.

She gasped, stumbled back a step, then whimpered dramatically. “You... you hit me over a necklace?”

“I didn’t mean to!” she cried louder, more desperate, as if an audience would appear. “She hit me because I was wearing her mom’s necklace! I didn’t mean to break it!”

Footsteps thundered behind us.

Our father appeared, face red with fury. “Fatima! What the hell is going on?”

“She slapped me!” Yvette cried, running into his arms like some wounded dove. “I didn’t do anything wrong! She just went crazy!”

My father turned to me. “You slapped your sister? On her birthday?”

“She broke my mother’s necklace,” I said, still trembling. “She said—horrible things about her. About me, but I didn’t slap her! She did it herself!”

He scowled. “It was an accident. And for a necklace? You had to hit her? You’re ruining everything!”

And then—Jerwin.

His voice was quiet but sharp, cutting into me like a knife.

“Why would you hurt her, Fatima? You have everything. And you're still jealous of her?”

“Everything?” I repeated, almost laughing. “She took everything from me. My father. My personal butler and protector. My place. She wore my mother’s necklace and shattered it like it meant nothing.”

My voice cracked. “And then you—you—defend her.”

My father threw his hands up. “You’ve made a scene. You’ve embarrassed me. You’ve ruined Yvette’s birthday.”

I let out a slow breath. “So, you would really choose her over me?”

He didn’t answer but they left. All of them. I knelt on the cold stone, my dress dragging across the ground, and began picking up the beads one by one. My fingers were shaking, my throat tight.

“Mom...” I whispered. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t protect it.”

Tears slipped down my cheeks.

“I’m gonna marry that man,” I whispered. “The one they’ve all thrown at me. The one in a hospital bed.”

A pause.

“At least if I do... I’ll finally be gone from here.”

I gathered the last pearl in my hand and held it tightly to my chest.

Lying in bed that morning, I could hear Yvette in the room next to mine. Her voice floated through the air like glitter—sweet, sparkly, shallow.

“Oh my God, look at this!” she squealed. “It’s a pearl necklace! Real, natural saltwater pearls. I read somewhere these only grow in the deepest parts of the sea.”

Her friends gasped.

“Who sent it?” one of them asked.

Yvette giggled. “There’s a card. It says, Can’t wait to meet you.”

“Do you think it’s from the Andersen family?” another asked breathlessly.

“Maybe,” Yvette said. “He’s been sending me things lately. And you saw the birthday gifts, right? Who else could afford something like this?”

“But what about Jerwin?” one of them whispered. “Didn’t he like you? And didn’t you like him?”

There was a pause. Then Yvette answered, not shy at all.

“Well... I do like him. He’s handsome, loyal, protective. But if the Andersen heir wants me? I mean, come on, who would say no to that?”

Her voice turned smug. “Best case? I marry Andersen and keep Jerwin on the side. That way I get both—a husband and a lover.”

Laughter followed.

I didn’t move from the bed. I just stared at the ceiling, letting the sound of Yvette’s fantasies sink in.

I didn’t feel anger. Not even sadness.

Just... emptiness. A numb kind of clarity.

She could have it all. Because none of it meant anything to me anymore.

I got up and walked down the hall toward Jerwin’s room. The door was halfclosed. I knocked once, then pushed it open.

He was in bed, shirtless, looking pale.

“Sick?” I asked, one brow raised.

He nodded. “I wasn’t feeling well today. Couldn’t get out of bed.”

Liar. I knew the truth.

When he heard about Yvette wanting a pearl necklace, he disappeared to dive under the sea. Now the necklace was here, and he was sick.

I stared at him for a long moment. He wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“It’s okay,” I said calmly. “You don’t need to help me anymore.”

He blinked, confused.

I smiled faintly. “I won’t be needing you.”

Then I turned and left, my footsteps steady.

That afternoon, I received a message from my father’s assistant.

Your presence is requested at the main estate. The limousine will arrive in an hour. The funds have been deposited, and the estate is ready for you. We’ll see you soon.

So that was it. I’m finally leaving this house.

I closed my closet, zipped my suitcase, and wheeled it to the door. Before I left, I passed by Yvette’s room. The door was open, the smell of her perfume thick in the air.

Laughter again.

Jerwin was inside. Their voices blurred together in flirtation, soft laughter, quiet murmurs.

It didn’t matter anymore. I walked out without looking back.

Third Person Pov

The next morning, Jerwin stood in the hallway, confusion written all over his face. Fatima’s room was empty. The closet had been cleared out. The drawers were bare.

"Where is she?" he asked one of the maids.

"She left yesterday, sir," the maid replied, bowing her head respectfully.

His brows pulled together in a deep frown. "Left?"

Pulling out his phone, his hands trembling slightly, he dialed her number.

It rang once.

Twice.

Voicemail.

He tried again.

Nothing.

Then his phone buzzed.

A single message. Having a fun game playing a butler's son, Master Andersen?

Jerwin froze, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. His heart raced, and his hands shook, the phone nearly slipping from his grasp.

Panic kicked in. His fingers trembled as he tried to call her again—denied.

And when he tapped the screen one more time, the message appeared in grey: Blocked.