My Husband Begged for My Love after Destroying Me

I was on my knees on the concrete floor when the freight elevator creaked open behind us.

Wind slammed against my face, but I didn’t flinch. Nothing mattered anymore not when my little brother, Aziel, stood bound and trembling near the edge of that skeletal crane arm.

“Three seconds, baby,” Hakeem said from the chair he dragged up here, “Sign that statement, forgive Margaret, and your brother walks out of here alive. Don’t test me. You know I don’t bluff.”

My palms were shaking, but my heart was a war drum in my chest. Aziel looked so small up there, tied to a rusted pipe, his wide eyes darting from the edge to me.

“HHarmony,” he whimpered, “Why are we up so high? Can we go home now?”

“Hakeem,” I choked, looking up at the man I married. The man I thought would never let anyone hurt my family. “Margaret burned my mother alive. She locked her inside the house and set it on fire like it meant nothing. My mother is dead. Aziel is all I have left—he has special needs, and you're using him to protect your mistress? Do you even hear yourself? Do you remember what he means to me?”

He leaned forward, brushing a hand over my hair like I was a dog he was proud of. I wanted to bite him.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, “When you started threatening charges, did it ever cross your mind how much she means to me? How far would I go for her?”

He arched a brow at me…Then he started counting again.

“Two.”

Panic ripped through my chest. I could barely see straight. This man… this monster… I gave him everything. Eight years. My name. My body. My soul. I thought I was his world.

Maybe I was.

Until she came back from the dead.

I clutched the hem of his slacks, trembling. “Let her say sorry. Just let me hear it. She murdered my mother… Let me hear her admit it.”

He scoffed, “She said she's not the one who burned your mother. That’s the end of it. She’s not suffering with PTSD, Harmony. You think I don’t see that? I asked you for compassion. You couldn’t give me that. You really let me down.”

I stared up at him, and I knew. Right there, I knew. There was no fixing this. No forgiveness. No version of this story where he loved me anymore.

I swallowed the taste of bile and whispered, “I’ll… I’ll sign. Just don’t kill him. Please.”

That sick smile spread across his face again. “There’s my good girl.” Then it disappeared. His voice turned colder than death. “But baby… you went too far. I can’t let it slide.”

“One.”

“No—!”

Before I could scream, his bodyguard moved. One hard kick to Aziel’s chest. I watched my baby brother fall.

One second he was standing there, crying, waiting for me to come get him and the next, he was gone. Nothing but air.

My scream ripped through the steel frame of that unfinished building. My lungs shredded. My arms flailed, trying to reach for him, to run, to leap. But two guards grabbed me, dragged me back as I thrashed like an animal.

The wind howled louder. The city lights below blurred with my tears. And that bastard, he just sat there. Calm. Unbothered.

Just eight years ago, I was Mrs. Harmony Masterson. Respected. Feared. Admired.

I was the queen beside the heir of the most powerful mafia family in Masterson Heights. Then everything started to fall apart. Because of one fire.

That afternoon, my mother’s house went up in flames. She was locked inside. The report said faulty wiring. An accident.

But I knew better. By the time I got there, the fire trucks were gone and all that remained was smoke, ash, and a tarp over her body.

Something in me cracked.

Hakeem held me that night. Promised justice. Swore he’d find whoever did it and burn them alive. But when we got the security footage from a neighbor’s porch camera... everything changed.

The woman spotted near the back gate moments before the fire? Margaret Lawrence. The ghost from his past. The woman everyone thought was dead. But she wasn’t.

Suddenly, my dead mother didn’t matter. Suddenly, justice didn’t matter. All that mattered was her.

He forgot everything else.

Including me.

I begged him to press charges. He said no. I demanded justice. He said she needed help.

I pushed harder and he snapped.

So he took Aziel.

“My love,” he said with that fakesoft voice, “just one signature and it all ends. Stop living in the past.”

I never thought it would come to this.

I used to believe he loved me.

Hakeem Masterson chased me like his life depended on it. Everyone said I was just a fling, some pretty little thing from the slums he’d throw away when he got bored. I thought so too. So I left. I faked my death and vanished.

He went insane. The polished, untouchable heir went fullon suicidal when he found my clothes by the sea.

And I thought, maybe... maybe he really loved me.

But later, I found a letter hidden in his safe. A suicide note.

Not for me. For her.

For Margaret.

Dated the exact day I disappeared. The tears I thought were for me... The cliff he stood on...

The way he swore he’d never love again—

None of it was about me.

I was just her shadow.

I cried for three fucking days.

He held me. Swore I was wrong.

“Baby,” he whispered, “Margaret’s gone. She’s a ghost. You’re the one I breathe for. I’ll prove it. If you still doubt me, I’ll jump. I’ll jump every day until you believe me.”

He walked straight to that cliff again. No hesitation.

I broke. I begged him to come back. I told myself it was real. He even gave me control of his personal unit, his private kill team.

“They’re yours now,” he said, pressing the badge into my hand. “If I ever cross you, use them. No mercy. Kill me. Deal?”

I laughed through the tears. “I’m not a killer. I just want you to love me.”

He looked me straight in the eye. “Hakeem only loves Harmony. Always.”

But when Margaret came back, he never said those words again.

“Harmony,” he told me one night, soft and tired, “she’s not okay. She’s been through hell. Please, give her time. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

I thought he was just guilty. That once he had closure, he’d come back to me.

But I was wrong. So damn wrong. My mother’s dead. My brother nearly died.

And his scream... it won’t stop playing in my head.

When we got down from that site, I lost it.

I screamed. I kicked. I threatened to burn that entire fucking building to the ground if they didn’t tell me where Aziel was.

Then the elevator gate opened.

A guard stepped out, carrying him.

Aziel.

Alive.

Barely conscious, but breathing.

“Ma’am,” the guard said, “he’s okay. Passed out. Mr. Masterson had rescue pads installed under the crane. He landed safely.”

I collapsed. I sobbed so hard I couldn’t see. Hakeem came over, all calm and proud. “This is what happens when you disobey me,” he said quietly. “Let’s not go through that again.”

Then he walked off.

Rain started pouring.

And I… I stood there. Alone with my brother. Soaking wet. Numb.

I pulled out the old burner phone I kept hidden in the lining of my bag. The one he didn’t know about.

I dialed.

“It’s me,” I said. My voice was cold. Empty. “I want out. I've got one month. Erase everything. I want to disappear.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

After Hakeem left me there on that goddamn site, I carried Aziel on my back through the storm. No car. No guards. Just the rain beating down on us like the world wanted us dead.

His body was burning with fever. Mine wasn’t any better. But I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I held him up all night, stumbling barefoot through mud and gravel, until we reached the estate.

I collapsed right at the front gate.

Next thing I knew, I was in a hospital bed, shivering, hooked up to an IV. They said I’d been unconscious for three days. Fever was too high and my body nearly gave out.

Aziel was in the next room. Weak, scared, but alive.

Hakeem didn’t visit us. Not once. He was too busy playing house with Margaret.

On the fourth day, they discharged both of us.

When we got home… I saw Margaret. Curled up in Hakeem’s lap like a damn queen. She didn’t even look surprised to see me.

Hakeem didn’t even look up from stroking her hair. “Margaret doesn’t like storms. She’ll be staying in the master bedroom for now. You’ll move to the guest room.”

I didn’t cry. Didn’t scream. I just stood there.

“Fine,” I said, voice flat. “Whatever you want.”

He didn’t know what those three days were like for me. The hell I walked through. The way my tears soaked into a hospital pillow until I had nothing left inside me.

The love I had for him didn’t just fade. It died. I didn’t want his love anymore. Not if this was what it looked like.

That night, while I was unpacking in the guest room, he came to the door and leaned against the frame like nothing happened.

“Oh, Harmony,” he said, real casual. “Margaret’s got a therapy pet. You’ll take care of it.”

I froze. “What?”

The front door opened and out came a man in a raincoat, holding a thick plastic container with holes. Inside it was a massive python, coiled and twitching under the light.

I stumbled back, hitting the cabinet so hard my shoulder cracked. Hakeem knew what snakes did to me. He knew. After my dad died, my mom, Aziel, and I lived in this shack behind an old scrap yard. One night a python slid through the cracks in the floorboards. Wrapped around my ankle before I could scream. I still have the scar. Still remember the sound it made hissing in the dark.

But Hakeem just said lazily, “I know you’re scared, but the doctor says it helps her anxiety. That snake’s her medicine. Be a good wife, yeah? Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

There was a threat under those words. Quiet but sharp. Like a noose pulling tight behind the smile.

I bit down my pride. Swallowed every last bit of dignity I had. “Aalright,” I said. “I’ll take care of it.”

Margaret smiled like I’d just handed her my throne. “Thanks, Harmony. Oh, and isn’t it sweet? His name’s Armie. Same as yours.”

I blinked. My heart clenched. And I smiled through the burn. “Adorable.”

After that, I fed it. Cleaned its tank. I stayed far as I could, only using tongs and gloves. The damn thing would lift its head and hiss every time I got close. One night, it tried to lunge at me through the glass. I nearly dropped the whole tank.

I didn’t sleep that night.

A week passed. I came home from the market, Aziel trailing behind me quietly right away, clutching a juice box. Then I heard crying.

I dropped the groceries, rushed in and found Margaret shaking on the floor. The snake’s tank was tipped over. Hakeem was pacing like a demon, eyes wild.

“Where the fuck is the doctor?!”

Margaret looked up, face streaked with tears, then pointed at Aziel with a trembling hand.

“Him,” she whispered. “He did it. He killed Armie…”

I blinked, stunned. “What?!”

Hakeem turned to me, his voice a low growl. “What the hell did she just say?”

Margaret sniffled, pulled herself up, holding something in her hand a shattered ceramic dish from the tank. “I saw it. He reached in when I stepped out. Started smashing. I tried to stop him, but it was too late.”

“No!” I snapped, stepping between them. “He wouldn’t. Aziel wouldn’t hurt anything. He doesn’t even step on ants. He covers his ears when people yell. You’re lying.”

Margaret looked at me like I just confessed to the murder myself. “He has episodes, doesn’t he? You told me that. He didn’t understand what he was doing. He snapped.” Margaret clung to Hakeem's arm, fakesobbing. “That snake was my only comfort, Hakeem… and she let him kill it.”

He stared at me. Not with rage. With disappointment.

“Your brother murdered her therapy animal.”

“No, Hakeem, please, he didn’t! How can an eight years old kid—”

“You’ve fucked up again, sweetheart.” Then he nodded once to the guards. “Teach the boy a lesson.”

Aziel’s eyes widened. He backed into the wall, shaking. “No, no, no—I didn’t… I didn’t touch it…”

I ran in front of him.

“NO!” I screamed. “Whip me instead. Please. Don’t touch him. He doesn’t understand what’s happening!”

“Move,” the guard said.

I spread my arms, hugging Aziel tight. “Whip me! I’m the one you hate, right? I’m the one who failed you. Then punish me.”

Hakeem didn’t speak. The whip cracked through the air.

The first lash hit my back like a blade. I screamed, but I didn’t let go of Aziel. He was crying, trembling in my arms, and I held him tighter.

The second lash tore skin. Blood bloomed.

By the fifth, my knees buckled. The world blurred.

By the seventh, I collapsed over Aziel, shielding him with my body, whispering, “It’s okay… it’s okay… don’t be scared…”

They kept going.

Until I stopped moving.

Until all I heard was Aziel sobbing into my hair.

Until everything faded into black.

When I woke up, I was in another hospital bed. Sterile lights above me, the smell of antiseptic clinging to my skin, my body heavy like someone had poured concrete into my veins.

And there he was.

Hakeem.

Sitting beside me with that permanent scowl, but this time his jaw was tight, eyes shadowed like something was actually bothering him.

“You really gotta stop testing me like this,” he said, voice low and rough. “You know I didn’t want it to go that far, Harmony. You push me and I snap. I told you not to keep pissing me off.”

I turned my head, stared at the white wall beside me.

“I know,” I said. My voice was soft. Too soft. “It won’t happen again.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. That calm, detached tone of mine? He didn’t like it. Hakeem could handle my screaming, my crying. But silence? Silence made him feel like he was losing control.

He leaned in, cupped the back of my head like he still owned me. “Don’t act like this. Don’t make me feel like you’re scared of me. You know I hate that shit. Look, I got something planned for you. Something big.”

I didn’t move. Just listened.

“It’s our wedding anniversary next week. Three years,” he said. “I booked the yacht. Docked under Masterson Bridge. Midnight.”

Of course he did.

A floating palace under the stars. Moonlight, candles, champagne. No escape.

“I dropped seven figures on the setup,” he added, like that was supposed to impress me. “So put on something decent and show up.”

I stayed quiet.

After a beat, I asked, “Where’s Aziel?”

He pulled out his phone, tapped a few times, then turned the screen toward me. A live feed. My brother, sitting crosslegged on the floor of a luxurious room, a teacher walking him through phonics. A softspoken nanny poured juice into a glass behind them.

“He’s fine,” Hakeem said. “Homeschooling starts today. He’s got everything he needs. Best tutors. Twentyfourhour watch. No harm comes to him, long as you don’t give me a reason to change that.”

I nodded once. Silent.

He watched me for a long moment. Tried to read me, figure out where I’d gone behind my blank face.

But he couldn’t.

Because I wasn’t there anymore.

When I stepped onto the yacht that night, the entire deck was drenched in candlelight. Crystal flutes lined the table, each filled with champagne I didn’t ask for. White orchids twisted down the railings. Live violin music floated beneath the stars.

And in the distance—Masterson Bridge, glowing above us like the city itself was watching.

He pulled me into a slow dance beneath the moonlight, whispered against my neck, “Three years, baby. We made it.”

I didn’t blink. Didn’t smile.

Because something inside me had gone quiet.

And when I looked out over the water, I made a promise to myself:

One more month to erase every trace.

To disappear for good. And this time, not even Hakeem Masterson would find me.

Then the elevator chimed. Doors opened. And out walked Margaret. Hakeem immediately went to her and Margaret wrapped her arms to him.

That bitter smile curled onto my lips before I could stop it. Not a decision. Just instinct. Pain wrapped in venom.

Hakeem saw it instantly and stepped in fast. “Don’t start. She just wanted to drop something off for you. That’s all.” I looked down, pretending not to notice how his fingers were laced with hers. But I noticed. So did he. He shifted, straightened his back, and gave me that look, the one that said don’t make me clean up a mess tonight, Harmony. Not here. Not under the stars I paid to light for you.

“Thanks,” I murmured. “Nice of her.” That fake composure pleased him enough.

He finally let go of her hand and came over to wrap his arm around me. Cold lips brushed my temple like an insult.

Margaret didn’t say anything. Just pulled a velvet box from her clutch and handed it to me with that soft, patronizing smile that never quite touched her eyes. I opened it slowly, standing near the glass railing, the dark waves of the river shimmering below.

Inside was a silver hairpin. Delicate. Etched. Familiar. My mother’s. Not just any pin—the pin. Slightly burned. The one with our family crest, with a hidden blade in the stem. She wore it the day she died. The same day Margaret burned her alive.

I couldn’t speak and my fingers curled around the box.

“Where... Where did you get this?”

Margaret blinked, playing her part. “Harmony… I found it in a tiny estate sale on the East End. I thought it was pretty. I didn’t know it meant something to you.”

“You’re lying,” I whispered.

“I’m not,” she said, eyes glassy now. “I thought… I just wanted to give you something special. It's your anniversary. I wanted to be happy for you.”

I stepped forward. “You knew exactly what this was. You knew.”

Margaret slowly backed up. Her voice trembled, just loud enough for the guests and crew to hear. “Why do you hate me so much, Harmony? I’ve done everything to stay out of your way. I—I try to be kind. I smile, I stay quiet. I gave you that. And still…”

She kept walking backward, step by step, toward the edge of the deck. Tears began to fall. Right on cue.

“I just wanted to be happy for you. For both of you…”

Another step back.

“Margaret,” Hakeem warned. “Don’t.”

“I’m sorry I survived,” she cried. “I’m sorry I came back. Maybe I should’ve stayed dead.”

Then—she took one last step. And let herself fall. Her body disappeared beneath the black water with a splash that silenced everything.

Gasps cut through the night like glass. Guests froze. Forks clinked against plates. A violinist stopped midbow.

“She jumped…”

“Oh my god…”

“What did Harmony do to her?”

“I heard she’s been tormenting that poor woman for months…”

“She’s unstable. Always was.”

“Margaret!” Hakeem’s voice cracked, ragged and raw. He didn’t even look at me. He bolted forward and jumped without hesitation, crashing into the waves after her like the world would end if she didn’t resurface.

The staff scrambled. Radios went off. Spotlights swung out from the yacht’s frame to scan the water. I didn’t move. I stood where I was, alone at the railing, fingers still clenched around the velvet box.

Below, I heard coughing. Splashing. Her name, echoing again and again.

“I told you she was jealous,” someone whispered.

“She always hated Margaret. This time she pushed her too far.”

“She should be ashamed. What kind of woman ruins her own anniversary?”

I didn’t flinch. I stared down at the water. But all I could see were the silver glints of that hairpin, glinting under the moonlight.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t speak. Because at that moment, I realized something: she didn’t fall. She performed.

And he jumped to save the show.

But me? I was done playing as their audience.

Hakeem climbed back onto the yacht, soaked to the bone, Margaret in his arms like she was made of glass. Her head lolled, limbs limp. He laid her down on the deck and immediately started CPR. Chest compressions. Mouthtomouth. His hands shook as he pushed, breath catching on her name.

“Margaret,” he whispered, over and over. “Stay with me. Breathe. Please, baby—”

I watched from the other side of the deck, clothes dripping, knees raw from the polished wood. And through the tears in my eyes, I saw it. Just for a second. Margaret’s mouth twitched. Not in pain. Not in panic. But in a smile. She was pretending. The cough that followed was exaggerated. Mournful. Weak. The perfect little performance.

Hakeem let out a choked breath and pulled her into his arms the moment she started sobbing. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

My chest burned. Not from jealousy. Not even from rage. But from the weight of truth—that I would never win against a ghost.

He looked at me like I was the infection in his perfect night. Like my very existence had ruined everything.

“You humiliated her,” he said.

“She jumped,” I croaked. “You saw it, she jumped herself.” But it didn’t matter. Margaret whimpered into his chest again, just loud enough for everyone to hear. Her voice cracked, shaking.

“Hakeem… I was so scared…”

That was it.

He stood up slowly. Turned to his guards.

“Strip her down.”

I flinched. “No! Wait, Hakeem—”

“Do it.”

They grabbed me. Tore my dress from my body like it meant nothing. I fought, but it didn’t matter. I was dragged to the center of the deck, bare under the spotlight, salt water drying on my skin.

The whip cracked before I could scream. The first lash tore through skin and nerves, lightningbright pain flashing across my back. Guests gasped. Some turned away. Some watched. The second hit made me stumble. The third made me bleed. By the fourth, I was coughing…violently. I tasted copper. Then blood hit the floor. A lot of it.

I fell to my knees, trembling, arms barely holding me up as more blood spilled from my mouth.

I heard Hakeem’s footsteps running. He knelt in front of me, cupping my face roughly.

“What the fuck! Harmony?!”

My lips were red. Dripping. I tried to speak but couldn’t. Then behind him Margaret suddenly doubled over, coughing loud, gagging. Dramatic, practiced.

“Something’s wrong,” she sobbed. “I can’t breathe…”

That was all it took. Hakeem stood up in panic. Shouted toward the bridge.

“Get the med team! I need the fucking helipad cleared, NOW!”

They carried Margaret away like she was made of gold. And me? He turned cold again. Didn’t even glance back.

“Bring her home,” he told the guards. “Lock her in the basement.”

They dragged me by the arms through the lower deck, past the shocked eyes of strangers, the stained memories of roses and red wine. Through the private corridor, into the black car waiting at the dock.

That night, I didn’t sleep in silk. I slept on a cold stone. Beneath the house I once ruled.

While she lay in a hospital bed, faking every breath.

And Hakeem… still hadn’t learned to see the difference.

The next morning, his men took me out again from the basement. I didn't even have a chance to change my clothes or clean my wounds. The car ride was fast. Violent. No one said a word. When we stopped, I stepped out into the rain. Cold. Heavy. It soaked my clothes in seconds, but that wasn’t what made me freeze.

It was where we were.

Cemetery.

No. Not here!

My heart dropped. I took a step back, chest tightening. Panic wrapped around my ribs like a vice.

“Hakeem,” I breathed. “Please. Don’t do this. Not here.”

He was already standing a few feet away, still as stone, rain dripping off his coat. He didn’t speak at first. Just stared at me like he didn’t recognize me anymore.

Then: “You’re not listening. You haven’t been listening for a long time. And now… I’ve got no other way to get through to you.” He turned to his men. Nodded once.

“Start digging.”

“No!” I ran, screaming, shoving at the guards. “Don’t touch her! Don’t you fucking dare touch her!” But Hakeem moved quicker. He grabbed me, yanked me back by the waist, spun me around and held my chin with one hand, steelhard.

“You disobeyed me,” he growled. “You humiliated her. You mocked her pain. Now you’re gonna understand what loss actually feels like.”

I kicked. I struggled. My lungs burned from screaming. But no one stopped. No one cared. The ground cracked open in front of me. Shovels slammed into wet soil, flinging mud into the air as they dug past the stone markers and through the freshly packed earth.

Then I saw it.

My mother’s urn.

Black. Rainslicked. Covered in dirt. Everything in me shattered.

“No! Please!” I dropped to my knees, throat raw. “That’s all I have left of her, Hakeem. Don’t do this. I’m begging you.”

He crouched beside the grave, staring at the urn like it was nothing but a paperweight. Then he spoke…quiet, even. Like this was business.

“The doctor gave me the report this morning.”

I froze.

“She went into shortterm respiratory arrest from water inhalation and impact trauma. And they found a dislocated hip, nerve strain, too. Recovery will take months. And even then…” he trailed off.

“She may never dance again. You knew how she loves dancing but you took that from her." He glanced at me. But there was no warmth. No love. Just cold resolve. “You think I’m gonna let that slide?”

I shook my head, sobbing. “She faked it, Hakeem, she jumped! You saw her smile—”

“You broke her. So now I break yours.” And then, without hesitation… He dropped the urn.

It hit the mudcovered ground and shattered. Ash burst upward. Caught in the wind. Swirled in the rain like smoke from a funeral pyre.

I screamed. It didn’t even sound human. I dropped forward, trying to gather the pieces, hands clawing through the mud, through the shards, through the wet bonedust of what used to be my mother. Ash stuck to my skin. Washed down my arms in gray rivers. I tore off my coat, tried to cover what I could. But it was all being washed away.

“Mom... please... don’t leave me again. Don’t go. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry...” I kept digging. Hands raw, bleeding. Nails cracked. My dress was soaked and heavy with filth. I didn’t care.

His men looked away. Even they couldn’t bear it.

But Hakeem just stood there. Watching me fall apart. Watching me disappear into the grave with her.

The rain didn’t stop. And neither did I. Because when you lose the last person who ever loved you... you don't come back.

You rot with them.

I don’t remember how they dragged me back to the estate. One minute I was screaming in the rain, digging through wet ash, and the next, I was slipping in and out of blackness. My body was shot. Fever. Blood loss. Trauma. My mind wasn’t even fighting anymore. I collapsed the moment we reached the gates. I didn’t get back up after that.

Days passed. Maybe weeks. I don’t know. The world around me turned silent. Numb. Blurry. The only one who came near was the housekeeper. Quiet woman who didn’t ask questions. Just wiped my face, changed my clothes, and helped me sit up when I needed to swallow pills.

But someone else came.

My little brother. Aziel.

“Harmony,” he whispered, “you’re hurting again.”

I blinked into the darkness, throat raw.

“Why always hurting?” he mumbled. “I want… I want us to go. Far. We can live… somewhere with trees. You and me… I don’t like this place.”

I turned just enough to hold him. Weakly. Barely. But enough. He wiped his nose on my sleeve and tried to smile.

“I’ll save money, okay? I’ll save a lot. And we run away. You and me. We go. Like magic.”

My lips parted. I wanted to say yes. I wanted to promise him that soon, very soon, we’d be free. But all I could do was hold him tighter and whisper, “I’m trying, Z. I swear I’m trying.”

He nodded against me. Then he fell asleep in my arms.

The only safe thing I had left.

And Hakeem? He was gone.

He was off somewhere across the world with Margaret, the woman who faked her death and came back acting like the universe owed her every stolen minute.

Photos of them were everywhere. Posing by the river in Paris. Locked together at the Louvre. Wrapped up in each other in some icy blue cave in goddamn Antarctica.

America’s most feared heir and his first love, back from the dead.

I stared at those photos until the sting in my chest faded into something colder. Until it stopped hurting. And that’s when I started peeling away the memories. One piece at a time.

The way he held me when I cried. The time he killed a man for brushing my arm at a party.

The island he shut down on my birthday just to watch me smile.

All of it—gone.

Then one morning, they came back.

No announcement. No warning.

Hakeem walked in like nothing had happened. Like I hadn’t died a little every day while he was gone.

He stood in the living room, loosened his tie, and said, “Margaret told me the only thing she regrets is not getting to marry me. So I’m fixing that. Let's get divorce now so I can finally give her the wedding she wanted.”

He didn’t even look at me when he said it. Just dropped the words like a business deal.

No explanation. Just a decision.

I looked at him. Really looked at him. This was the same man who used to whisper he’d bury the world for me. Who once told me I was his religion in a world full of lies. Now he looked at me like I was nothing but noise in the background.

I wanted to ask, “Do you love her?”

But I already knew. I’d known it from the moment she came back.

And I almost asked, “Did you ever love me?”

But right then, Margaret walked in and said his name. Soft. Sweet. Like she hadn’t wrecked everything.

He turned to her instantly.

His face softened. His eyes lit up. He hadn’t looked at me like that in years.

I held my breath. Then smiled. A small, broken thing that tasted like blood in my mouth.

“Congratulations,” I told him. “Hope you two are really happy.”

He tilted his head. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” I said, still smiling. “Just wishing you luck.”

He stood there, hand on the doorframe. Looked like he was thinking of saying something. Then Margaret’s voice called out again from the hall.

And just like that, he turned away.

He left.

The next few days were a blur of wedding prep. Margot on every phone call, every photo shoot. Hakeem beside her every step. Sharp suit, cold eyes, fake smile.

He planned that wedding like it was war. Every detail locked in. Every guest list was reviewed twice.

He hadn’t put this much effort into our wedding.

Then, just a few days before the ceremony, Margaret came to me with that same plastic smile she wore when she handed me my dead mother’s locket.

“Harmony,” she said, like we were best friends, “I realized we don’t have a ring bearer. And I was thinking, wouldn’t it be so perfect if Aziel did it? I mean, he’s practically family.”

I didn’t say anything at first. I just stared at her.

Then I stood. My voice came out low and clear.

“There’s a thousand kids you could use. But you picked him. Why?”

She blinked like she was offended. “I’m just trying to make this meaningful. It would be special. I don’t feel comfortable having some stranger walk the rings. I thought Aziel would make it feel more real.”

I looked her straight in the eye. “No.”

Her eyes filled with tears like it was rehearsed. She turned to Hakeem and clutched his arm.

“Honey… I didn’t mean anything by it. Harmony misunderstood me. I just want someone we both know involved. Someone safe.”

Hakeem gave her that amused little smirk, pinched her nose like she was a damn puppy.

“You’re such a headache,” he said. “Fine. You win. We’ll use Aziel.”

Then he looked at me. That smile was gone. His eyes locked on mine, sharp and cold.

I didn’t argue. Didn’t flinch. I already knew how this went.

I walked away. Hands clenched. Nails digging deep. Because now my plan was ruined.

I was supposed to disappear before the wedding.

Everything was ready. Clean IDs. Offshore account. Exit route.

But I couldn’t leave Aziel behind. Not now. Not when Margaret wanted him in that ceremony. Not when Hakeem was looking at her like she was part of some future he’d built with the woman who ruined my life.

So that night, I picked up the burner phone I kept under the loose floorboard.

Dialed the number.

The line clicked after one ring.

“It’s me,” I whispered. “I need the exit plan changed. I’m not leaving alone.”

“Understood, ma’am,” the voice replied. “We’ll move everything.”

This time, I wasn’t running.

This time, I was taking back what was mine.“The plan changed,” I whispered into the burner phone. My voice was tight. Quiet. “Aziel’s gonna be the ring bearer. I can’t leave without him.”

I paused, fingers shaking slightly. “And there’s one more problem. Eight years ago, after I faked my death... Hakeem had a tracker put inside me. He never told me where, just said it’s somewhere I wouldn’t be able to reach. He knew I’d try to run again.”

There was a long silence on the other end before the response came.

“No problem, ma’am. I’ll handle everything on our side. But you need to get that tracker out. It’s the only way this works.”

I exhaled slowly. Finally, a bit of relief. “Alright. I’ll wait for your signal—”

“Harmony.”

His voice hit me like a gunshot. I turned. Hakeem stood by the door, watching me. Eyes sharp. Face unreadable.

I hung up immediately, slipped the phone behind me, heart thudding against my ribs.

He stepped closer, gaze locked on me like a hunter.

“Who the hell you waitin’ on, huh?” he asked, voice quiet but full of warning.

I didn’t get the chance to answer. His hand was on my throat, tight. Not enough to choke me yet, but the message was clear. I wasn’t the one in control here.

“You trying to run again?” he muttered, his mouth too close. “What is it this time? Another man? Or you just gonna fake your own damn death again and think I’ll let it slide twice?”

I gasped, “I told you—I was waiting for Aziel. He doesn’t know where the ceremony is. He’s just a kid.”

His grip loosened, but his eyes didn’t soften.

Then, without a word, he dragged me in.

His mouth crushed against mine, hard and cruel. There was no tenderness. No care.

His hands pulled me down, shoved me to the floor. My skirt ripped as he pushed in. Rough. Ruthless. No warning. No mercy.

I bit my lip to keep from making a sound. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

By the time it was over, I lay there on the cold marble floor. Breathing in silence. Still.

He leaned over, brushed a piece of hair off my face, and pressed a kiss to my temple like he hadn't just wrecked me.

“Harmony,” he murmured, voice calm now. “Don’t betray me again. You still got my tracker inside you. Don’t forget it.”

His thumb brushed against the ring on my finger.

The one he gave me when he promised forever.

“The Eternal Bond collection,” he said, like it was some goddamn joke. “Margaret wants it on the wedding day. Give it to her.”

My vision blurred. The back of my throat burned.

“That ring was ours,” I said. “It meant something.”

He smiled like I was being dramatic. “It’s a piece of metal. I could get you ten more if that’s what you want. Don’t start acting like a child now.”

Of course. Just a ring. Just another lie.

I took it off slowly. My fingers were shaking, but I didn’t let it show. I dropped it into his hand. He didn’t even look at it.

Once he was gone, I let myself breathe. Then I got up and started moving.

The tracker. The money. The plan. I had to keep going. I had to stay ahead.

I’d already started selling everything he ever gave me. Jewelry. Cars. The yacht. All of it was converted into clean money, stashed in offshore accounts under new names.

I still had Aziel to protect. He was the only reason I hadn’t burned this entire place to the ground already.

That night, I dragged a steel barrel into the back of the estate. Photos. Gifts. The leather jackets he had made for us with our initials stitched inside. The love notes. Hundreds of them.

Then came the black journal.

His obsession in print.

He wrote down everything about me. What time I woke up. What tea I drank. The way I tied my hair when I was stressed. What kind of music calmed me down after nightmares. He knew every part of me.

He loved me like a project. Like a blueprint. Not a person. I tossed the journal in and lit a match.

I watched the fire grow.

It swallowed everything.

The letters. The fabric. The photos. His twisted version of love. I stood there in the dark, smoke curling into the night air, heat brushing against my face.

One tear fell. Just one.

It hit the ashes at my feet.

I didn’t cry again.

The fire died down fast. No trace left.

Just smoke. Just silence. I looked at the sky and whispered, “Goodbye, Hakeem.”

And this time, I meant it.