The Wife You Left Became the Queen You Fear

“My daughter will be back next month.” Mrs. Linwood's voice crackled over the phone line, smooth and cold. “Until then, keep pretending to be her. Don’t mess this up. Once everything’s settled, I’ll send you a hundred million. That should be enough for you to live however you want.”

“Okay.”

When I hung up, my eyes drifted toward the massive wedding portrait hanging over the fireplace.

Benedict stood tall in his black tuxedo, one hand in his pocket, expression unreadable. Cold. Powerful. Dangerous. And me? I wore a white gown I didn’t choose, smiling a smile that never reached my eyes. I looked so... obedient.

“It’s finally ending,” I whispered. “Six years… it’s almost over.”

Six years ago, the Linwood and Karsov families arranged a marriage that dominated headlines. Their daughter, Alodia Linwood, was to become Benedict Karsov’s bride. She was highborn, polished, bred for palaces. A real blueblood doll. The match was power and legacy sealed in diamonds.

But then Alodia vanished. Days before the wedding, she left nothing but a note.

“Mom. Dad. I know this marriage is my duty, but I can’t do it. I’ll come back after six years. Please… give me time to be free.”

She left, and the Linwoods found me while I was picking through trash to sell that day. Their car almost hit me.

Because I had Alodia’s face. Same build. Same hair, same voice if I softened it… they took me. I wasn’t their daughter, just a girl living with a sick grandmother who couldn’t afford another hospital stay.

So they offered me a deal. Put on the dress. Say the vows. Stay quiet for six years. Pretend to be her, and I’d walk away with more money than I could ever dream of. Enough to save my grandmother. Enough to never be powerless again.

I remember her mother’s words the night before the wedding:

“He doesn’t love Alodia. He’s still stuck on that orphan girl his family helped years ago. A student named Maeve. You won’t have a happy life in that house. But if you behave, if you survive the next six years, it’ll be over. Endure. For all our sakes.”

So I did. Like a good girl.

But I knew who Benedict Karsov was.

The media called him a philanthropist. A businessman. A leader in global development. But in the shadows, they called him the Butcher of SaintLorenz. The man who wiped out Six entire families in a single winter. A man who signed contracts in blood and owned every judge who ever dared to say his name.

And Maeve? She was the ghost that haunted him.

An orphan his family sponsored. The girl he loved. The one he tried to keep, but who chose freedom instead. She ran to London. Left him behind. Left scars deeper than anyone knew.

So the Karsovs gave him Alodia.

And when Alodia ran, they gave him me.

The marriage was nothing like I expected.

The mansion? Beautiful. Cold. Too quiet.

His study? Lined with photos of her. Maeve laughing. Maeve on a boat. Maeve in winter.

He said he traveled to London for business. I knew better.

I slept in the guest room. The one at the end of the hall where the window whistled all night and the heater barely worked. I’ve never seen the master bedroom. Not once. Not even on our wedding night.

He didn’t look at me unless he had to. But I stayed. Because I had no choice. I turned myself off. Piece by piece. He liked silence, so I stopped speaking. He came home late, so I waited with the lights on. He had ulcers, so I taught myself to cook porridge with ginger and no onions.

I bent myself backwards to survive him.

I wore the name like armor. I memorized Alodia’s life until I couldn’t remember my own.

And then... something changed.

Small things. A rumor. A whisper. That Mr. Karsov had fallen for his wife. ME.

He stopped flying to London.

Maeve’s photo vanished from his desk.

He remembered my birthday.

He came home early when I was sick.

He even smiled once at dinner. At me.

For a moment, I believed the illusion. That maybe, somehow, I had become enough. That maybe I wasn’t just Alodia’s shadow.

But then Maeve came back. And just like that, I was invisible again.

He disappeared for nights.

The study was flooded with her photos.

I passed the hallway and heard her name fall from his lips like a prayer.

People started laughing at me. Whispering when I passed. A fake wife. A ghost in someone else’s life. A girl stupid enough to fall for a man who never saw her.

But I didn’t argue. I didn’t cry.

One more month. That’s all that’s left. One more month of pretending to be a woman I’ve never even met. One more month of playing wife to a man who would burn the world for another woman’s smile.

I was just starting to smile when my phone lit up.

Benedict.

I inhaled slowly and answered. “Yes?”

“Hexagon Club. Bring the stuff Maeve needs.”

His voice was ice. Brutal. Dismissive. “NOW.”

Then the call ended… but I understood right away.

Maeve’s period. Of course he remembered it. He never remembered mine. But hers? He probably marked it on his calendar.

I went straight to his private library. The third drawer on the right. That’s where he kept her emergency stash. Imported painkillers. Organic pads. Herbal tinctures. He once yelled at a maid for misplacing them.

I didn’t hesitate.

I grabbed everything she might need, slipped on my coat, and headed straight to the garage. His bigbike was still there… black, brutal, purring like a beast even before I turned the key. It was the fastest way to the Hexagon Club. If I left now, I could make it in twentyfive minutes.

The rain started halfway there.

Hard. Violent. Sheets of it like falling glass. The roads turned slick, almost silver, and visibility dropped to almost nothing.

Then it happened... headlights swerved out of nowhere.

A drunk driver, speeding like the devil himself, missed me by inches. My heart leapt to my throat as the bike skidded across the asphalt. I fought the handlebar with all the strength I had, nearly flew off, but managed to steady it just in time.

I didn’t stop. I didn’t even slow down.

By the time I pulled up to the private suite at the club, my legs were shaking. I was soaked, bruised, halffrozen, and two minutes late.

I raised my fist to knock… then froze.

Laughter, soft and intimate, spilled from the other side of the door.

Her laughter.

“Boss, seriously? You made your wife bring this all the way here in this weather? From the house to here’s what—one hour at least?”

“Maeve’s in pain.” Benedict’s voice was calm, indifferent. “She’ll come.”

Someone laughed louder. “Man, everyone knows your wife’s crazy about you. Six years and she’s never complained. Even when you were out every night with someone else.”

Another voice chimed in, jokingly, “But honestly, Boss—she’s beautiful. You really never felt anything for her?”

Silence.

For a moment, no one said anything.

I stood frozen outside the door, soaked and shaking, heart drumming too loudly in my ears.

And then I heard him.

“Whether it’s her or Maeve…I’ll always choose Maeve.”

I waited outside the door until the laughter died down, then knocked.

The moment I stepped into the private room, all their eyes landed on me… some surprised, some smug, most just curious. I looked like a drowned rat, but I still walked in, steady and calm.

“Oh damn, right on the dot!”

“Alodia, you’re soaked.” Benedict stood from the couch, frowning. “Why the hell do you look like that?”

I held out the little package in my hands, still dry despite everything else. “I didn’t want to make you wait, so I used your big bike."

I didn’t tell him I almost met with an accident. He won't believe me anyway.

Something in his expression shifted. He pulled off his suit jacket and draped it over my shoulders. “Put that on.”

Then, nodding toward the bag in my hand, he added, “Take it to the women’s restroom. Maeve’s waiting.”

I nodded, of course. Quiet. Obedient. Like always.

When I knocked on the bathroom door, I heard her voice… sickly sweet and trembling.

“Who is it?”

“Sanitary napkins.”

Silence. Then the door cracked open. I handed the bag through the gap. She didn’t even look at me.

I went home, peeled off my soaked clothes, and took a hot shower. I was about to fall asleep when the bedroom door burst open.

SLAM.

Benedict stormed in like a thunderstorm in a suit, rage boiling in his eyes. He didn’t say a word but just grabbed my wrist and yanked me out of bed.

“GET UP!”

“WWhat—what’s going on?” I stammered as he dragged me down the hallway. “Benedict, where are we—”

Before I could finish, he shoved me, hard.

I hit the stairs backwards. My head slammed against the step as I tumbled down. Pain exploded in my skull then I tasted blood.

When I finally stopped at the bottom, everything blurred. My ears rang. My head throbbed.

I blinked through the haze, trying to push myself up. “Why… why are you doing this to me?”

His figure loomed at the top of the stairs, “Did you push Maeve?”

My mind went blank. “Wwhat?”

“Don’t play innocent with me!” He started walking down, slow and deliberate. “You’ve been playing the good wife for years just to earn my trust… You really think you’re that clever?”

“Benedict, I didn’t—”

“Didn't what? You thought that I finally loved you?” He grabbed my jaw, forcing me to look up at him. “You were never more than a standin. Just a pawn in a deal between families. I don’t care what lies you’ve been telling yourself.” His voice dropped lower. “I will never love you. Not now. Not ever.”

I stared at him, blood dripping from my forehead, and for a second… I almost laughed. He didn’t understand. I never wanted his love. I never asked for it. Before I could speak, he yanked me up by the arm.

“Get in the car.”

“Benedict, wait—”

“Maeve fell from the fucking fifth floor because of you. And you’re whining about a bump on your damn head? You’re going to the hospital. You’re going to apologize. And you’re gonna beg for her forgiveness.”

My legs barely worked because of pain but he didn’t care. He just shoved me into the passenger seat.

The whole ride, I stared out the window, silently screaming from the pain. It felt like my whole body was going to collapse from the fall.

We arrived at the hospital. He didn’t wait for me, he just stormed into the room like he owned it.

Maeve was propped up in the hospital bed, looking pale, fragile, bandaged wrists on display like a trophy. As soon as she saw me, her eyes widened with manufactured fear.

Bitch!

“Benny…” she whispered, shaking. “I—I don’t want her here. Please… I'm scared of her.”

Benedict went straight to her, sat on the edge of the bed, and took her hand like she was something sacred. “Shh. It’s okay. I’m here now. No one’s gonna hurt you.”

Then he turned to me. His eyes turned to ice.

“Well?” he said, voice hard. “What the hell are you standing there for? APOLOGIZE.”

I looked at Maeve. At her scared little expression. At the bandages…. At Benedict holding her like a wounded dove.

And I asked her quietly, “Did I really push you?”

The more she talked, the more pathetic she sounded. The more she cried, the darker Benedict’s face grew.

Then his voice snapped like a gunshot. “Alodia. I told you to apologize. Not to start drama!” His eyes cut through me. “Are you gonna do it or not?”

I looked at Maeve. Her perfect little act, all wideeyed and broken like a porcelain doll.

I knew she was lying.

I knew she fell on her own…

And I also knew this: if I didn’t play along, if I caused even a small crack in the cooperation between the Linwoods and the Karsovs, I wouldn’t get my freedom. I wouldn’t get the hundred million that Mrs. Linwood promised me. I’d be stuck. In this marriage. In this life. Forever.

So I swallowed everything. “I’m sorry,” I said flatly, “It was my fault.” Then I turned to leave.

“Stop.” Benedict’s tone was ice. “You fucking pushed her, now you took responsibility. You’ll stay and look after her. Until she’s discharged.”

I didn’t argue. My fingers twitched slightly at my side. But I nodded.

“Okay.”

AFTER THAT, I STAYED in the hospital.

Every day, I took care of Maeve, helped her change clothes, brought her meals, fluffed her pillows like some helper robot. I brushed her hair and adjusted her blankets.

Benedict stayed too. Of course he did.

He didn’t check on the cartel shipments. Didn’t answer his phone when his men called. The entire Karsov operation could’ve burned to the ground and he wouldn’t have noticed because Maeve had a bruised rib and a sprained wrist.

He fed her porridge. Wiped her lips with a napkin. Sat beside her while she fell asleep.

He’d never done any of that for me.

Then one morning, Benedict’s phone rang. I heard only fragments—“European investors… issue with the Dubai end… thirty minutes max.” He looked at Maeve apologetically, kissed her forehead, and left.

The moment the door clicked shut behind him, the air shifted.

Maeve glanced at the clock, gave it ten full seconds… then turned to me with a slow, lazy smile.

“Peel the orange, slave. And don’t bruise it this time!"

I peeled the orange. Then she picked up the glass of orange juice and flung it straight to my face.It hit with a loud splash.

“Oops!” she said sweetly. “My hand slipped.”

I clenched my jaw.

“Go clean it up, Cinderella. Before he comes back and sees what a mess you are.”

Then, as if on cue, the door opened again.

Benedict stepped inside, expression unreadable. His eyes swept over Maeve. Then over me.

He saw the spilled juice. The soaked shirt. The broken glass.

“Maeve?” he asked, frowning. “What happened?”

Maeve’s eyes instantly shimmered with moisture. “I’m so sorry, Benny. My hand slipped. I didn’t mean to—” her voice cracked.

Benedict sighed. “Don’t apologize for her, Maeve. She’s your maid here. It’s her job to clean up after you.”

Silence rang louder than thunder. My heart should’ve broken then. But it didn’t. Because it was already ash.

And soon, the hospital staff noticed.

One afternoon, as I was washing Maeve’s fruit in the kitchen, I overheard two nurses whispering.

“Oh my god. That’s his wife? Seriously?”

“Yeah. I heard they’ve been married for years. But he’s clearly in love with the other woman.”

The younger one glanced toward the ward door. “She’s... so calm. How does she do it?”

The older nurse sighed like she was watching a tragedy unfold. “You don’t understand. That’s real love.”

“What?”

“She’s taking care of the woman her husband is in love with. Not out of duty. Not out of pride. But because... she still hopes he’ll look at her. Even once. That’s the saddest kind of love. The kind that never speaks.”

Outside, I heard Benedict's footsteps slow by the nurses’ station. I didn’t turn around. But I felt his gaze on my back.

On the day Maeve was discharged, Benedict came home just long enough to throw his keys on the counter and look at me like I was something that reeked.

“I’m taking Maeve out of town for a while,” he said, flatly. “Don’t call me unless someone’s dead.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. He never did.

I watched him guide her toward the waiting car, his hand lightly on her lower back, a coat draped over her shoulders then the door slammed. I stood still until the engine disappeared into the distance, taking their laughter with it.

The next day, I started packing. I folded everything in silence. My hands were steady. My chest, strangely calm.

Then a notification lit up my phone.

Maeve.

I froze.

And then the photos started.

Not one. Not two. Dozens.

They came in fast, one after another. A whole curated album. Each image framed for cruelty.

Her on Benedict’s lap at a vineyard in Tuscany, laughing while he kissed her neck.

Her wrapped in white silk sheets, back arched, one of his shirts draped across her bare thighs. Her, standing in front of a mirror with his arm wrapped around her waist, his phone in one hand, hers in the other as they captured the reflection together.

Her, holding his hand as he slipped a new bracelet onto her wrist, my bracelet. The one that gifted to me by Mrs. Karsov.

The final photo was a closeup of her lips on his chest, and beneath it, a caption in soft pink text:

“Look, Alodia. He may be your husband on paper… but never in bed. Pathetic little leech.”

My thumb hovered over the screen. But I didn’t delete it. I just let the images sit there and smiled bitterly.

But then came the Karsov patriarch’s birthday banquet. Benedict wasn’t back. He didn’t even bother to send a message. So, I showed up alone.

I wore a plain black dress… high collar, long sleeves. It covered my bruises with foundation and prayer. Pulled my hair tight into a low bun and walked in like I was supposed to be there.

The ballroom glowed with gold and crystal. Every guest glided like silk across the marble floors, dressed in custom gowns, heirloom jewelry, and the kind of arrogance only old blood could afford.

I stepped in. Heard the whispers before the doors even closed behind me. But it was she who saw me first, Grandmother Signe Karsov.

She sat at the head of the long table, spine straight despite her age, eyes sharp as a scalpel behind diamondframed glasses.

As soon as her gaze landed on me, the smile on her face vanished.

“Where is Benedict?”

Her voice was calm. Cold. That tone that made grown men forget their power and shrink into silence.

I lowered my eyes. “He had urgent business overseas…”

She laughed once. “Urgent, was it?” She turned to reach for her wine, but just then, the butler burst into the room, face pale, hands shaking.

He didn’t speak. He simply handed her the tablet.

“Benedict Karsov and Maeve Peters spotted kissing in Tuscany.”

The headline was smeared with words like “romance,” “secret getaway,” “Karsov heir in love,” and “future bride?”

The photo was worse. He wasn’t just kissing her. He was worshipping her, his hand on her cheek, eyes closed, foreheads touching like a damn movie still.

Signe’s wine glass shattered against the marble.

“Alodia,” she said tightly. “Come. Now.”

She rose, turned, and walked toward the west corridor without another word. I followed. The entire table watched in silence.

She didn’t speak until we entered the ancestral room… heavy wood, dusty portraits, oil lamps that always smelled faintly of blood and rust.

She closed the door. Locked it.

Then turned and slapped me across the face, hard that my head whipped sideways from the force.

“Have you no shame?” she hissed. “Look at you. Humiliated. Mocked. You walk in here alone on my husband’s birthday like some discarded mistress, while your socalled husband is off licking champagne off another woman’s throat.”

I didn’t answer.

“Do you even know what this looks like?” she snarled. “The Linwood name was supposed to strengthen us. Instead, we’re a laughingstock. If your family had even a shred of pride, they’d drown you in a well.”

I swallowed the taste of blood. “I didn’t publish the article.”

“Oh, don’t insult my intelligence.” Her eyes narrowed. “Either call Benedict right now and tell him to get his ass back here, or take what’s coming.”

I knew the answer. He wouldn’t come for me. Not if I begged. Not even if I bled or died.

“I’ll take it.”

Her brows arched. “What did you say?”

“I’ll take the punishment.”

She smiled. And that smile was sick. She walked to the far wall, pressed a small wooden panel. It slid open, revealing a cabinet I’d only ever seen once.

A thick, polished cane rested inside. Next to it, a drawer of incense, ropes, and a cattle prod.

The old tools of control.

The Karsovs didn’t just build an empire. They built a dynasty of obedience. She took out the cane. Ran her hand lovingly along the shaft.

Then the first strike came fast. Across my back, hard enough to knock the breath out of me.

The second split skin.

The third hit bone.

By the fifth, I was on the floor, cheek pressed to the cold stone tiles, trembling from pain so sharp it blurred my hearing and lost consciousness halfway through her rage.

When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. My mouth tasted like metal and regret. Then I saw him.

Benedict.

"You let my grandmother beat you like that. Why didn’t you call me?"

"Didn’t want to interrupt your date with Maeve."

He blinked.

I turned my face to the window and let the silence pour in like smoke. Thick. Suffocating.

Then he stayed. For days. Sitting there, saying nothing, pretending to be the man I thought I married. I told him he didn’t have to. That I was fine. But he didn’t leave.

Not until a phone call came in.

“Business emergency,” he said, standing. But I already saw the caller, it's Maeve. "You’ll go home by yourself."

I nodded. "Sure."

I dressed slowly. Every move felt like peeling open a wound. The gauze tugged with every breath. My coat smelled faintly of antiseptic and burnt fabric. But I forced one foot in front of the other, walking down the hospital stairs. I didn’t see him coming. A man turned the corner, holding a venti Starbucks cup, and slammed right into me.

The coffee spilled. It splashed across my arm, my chest. Burned right through the thin fabric. I sucked in a breath as pain seared across my skin.

The man looked down at his soaked designer blazer.

"You blind or just broke?!" he snarled, wiping at the mess like I was dirt. "Do you even know how much this jacket costs? Or are you too used to charity hospitals to care?"

"I—I’m sorry." I bent down, grabbing at my soaked coat, trying to breathe through the sting. "It was my fault—"

"You’re damn right it was." He stepped closer. "Pay for it. Now."

But before I could say another word, a voice rang out behind me. Low. Lethal.

"Touch her again and I’ll break your jaw."

The man turned.

Benedict was there.

Before the man could even scream, five men in black appeared behind Benedict like shadows. They moved fast. Too fast.

“Take him,” Benedict said.

No hesitation. They dragged the man away as he kicked and cursed and shouted threats no one cared to hear.

And then silence.

Benedict turned to me. His gaze swept over my clothes. Cheap, wrinkled, still faintly stained with blood and now, coffee.

"You got no money from Linwood or Karsov? Why the hell are you dressed like this?"

The Linwood family never gave me a damn cent but only hospitalizations for my grandmother. And sure, the Karsovs had a black card, but I was never the real Mrs. Karsov. So the card stayed in my wallet like a joke I wasn’t allowed to laugh at.

“The hell are you sulking for now?” he snapped, grabbing my wrist and dragging me into his black SUV. “Come on. You look like hell. We’re getting you new clothes.”

I didn’t argue.

At the mall, he picked out designer sets like he was selecting weapons… sharp, cold, expensive.

I stood there, still as marble, while assistants zipped me in and out of clothes like I was one of their mannequins.When we finally stepped out into the sunlit atrium, bags in hand and the sting of luxury clinging to my skin, I thought it was over.

But then—

“Benny?”

I froze.

Maeve.

Wearing heels too high for a casual afternoon, with sunglasses perched on her head and her phone in one hand. A staff trailed behind her, pushing a cart stacked with 20 glossy blackandgold boxes. Chanel. Cartier. Valentino. All of it bleeding wealth.

From his other black card. The one he didn’t think I knew about.

Her lips parted when she saw me. The smile she had died midair. “Oh… I didn’t know you were… out.” Her gaze flicked from my face to the bags in my hand, then back to Benedict. “You said you were in Singapore.”

“Maeve—”

“You told me not to text because you’d be in meetings all day,” she said, “I should’ve known,” she whispered, voice trembling. “God, I should’ve known…”

She looked at me again, like I was a ghost haunting the life she’d tried to steal.

Then she turned and ran.

“Maeve!” he shouted, already chasing her.

I just stood there. Watching him disappear after her. And then… Bang!

The sound was deafening. I whipped my head around just in time to see a sheet of glass falling from the upper floor of the mall. It hit Maeve before she could scream.

Blood spilled. Bright, fast. She collapsed in an instant.

Benedict’s roar echoed through the open space. He rushed to her, scooping her up like his whole world depended on it.

I stood there, my fingers twitching at my sides. Then I followed.

At the hospital, everything was white and humming and cold. He paced outside the operating room, still in the bloodstained suit. The mighty Benedict Karsov—untouchable, unreadable—was now a man clutching fear with both fists.

Then the doors slammed open and a doctor rushed out. “Massive blood loss,” he said, breathless. “She’s RHnegative. The blood bank doesn’t have her type.

“I’m RHnegative,” I said, standing up. “Use mine.”

He turned to me like I’d just slapped him.

“She needs it. Go ahead.”

After all, I'm leaving…

The nurse led me away. I lay on the stiff cot, needle in my arm, blood draining slowly into the bag. I watched it go, drop by drop, while Benedict was there when I came out. Still pacing.

“Sshe’ll live,” I told him softly.

“Why haven’t you left yet?”

I looked away. “She misunderstood. I want to explain when she wakes up.”

He stepped closer. “You really like me that much, huh?”

Before I could speak, the doors opened again. The surgeon came out, removing his gloves. “She’s stable. She’ll wake soon.”

Benedict exhaled, tension falling off him in one long breath. I moved back to the wall. Disappeared into silence again.

WHEN MAEVE WOKE UP, I was there.

She opened her eyes, saw me, and instantly started crying.

“So you brought her here too?” she asked Benedict, voice shaking. “You want me to wish you both well, is that it?”

“No,” I said quickly. “You misunderstood. He really did have a meeting that day. The clothes, he just brought me along. Nothing happened.”

Benedict added, “She’s nothing to me. We’re married on paper. That’s all.”

Maeve stared at us both with teary, trembling eyes. “Prove it, Benny!”

Benedict frowned. “What do you want me to do?”

Maeve turned her head toward the window. Lightning cracked across the sky, illuminating the storm raging outside. Rain lashed the courtyard. Thunder rolled loud enough to shake the walls.

“Make her kneel out there,” Maeve whispered, voice trembling. “In the storm. Let her stay until she passes out. No umbrella. No coat.”

Benedict blinked. “Maeve, she—”

“She’s scared of thunder,” she said. “You told me once. That her hands shake. That her breathing stops.” She turned to him, eyes glassy. “Prove I matter more.”

Silence fell like a shroud. He looked at her. Then at me. And for a moment, I hoped, hoped he would say no. That he would protect me, just once.

But instead, he stepped back and said, quietly, “Take her.”

The bodyguards moved.

I didn't struggle. What was the point?

They shoved me outside like I was trash. The cold rain smacked into my skin like slaps. Thunder cracked overhead, violent and too close, and my legs buckled. I dropped to my knees on the slick concrete, arms trembling, soaked within seconds.

The guards locked the door behind me.

I was alone.

The wind howled, whipping my soaked hair around my face. I tried to breathe, but every boom of thunder made my chest lock up.

Another crash. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood and all I remember is collapsing.

I woke up in Karsov’s estate three days later.

Not the hospital. Maeve didn’t want me there. Said I was faking it. But they didn’t know the truth. My body wasn’t performing. It had shut down.

Three days of silence, stillness, and sleep, that was all it could manage.

“Benny,” Maeve purred from the doorway, “When are we interrogating that traitor from Marseille? I want to watch.”

Then her eyes flicked to me.

“Oh, Miss Linwood. You’re awake?” She smiled like a debutante. “I didn’t mean for him to actually send you out into the storm. I was just mad. He took it literally.”

I didn’t answer.

She sat gracefully on Benedict’s lap, “I heard you donated blood to me. How romantic,” she cooed. “You bled for me. How about this? As a thankyou, you should join us tonight. Karsov’s sealing a deal with the Russians. Private dinner. No press. Just family.”

I opened my mouth to say no.

But she moved fast. Grabbed my hand before I could finish the first syllable.

“Don’t refuse.”

Benedict didn’t speak. He just looked at me, that same cold, loaded stare that meant: Don’t make a scene.

I swallowed. Then nodded.

The dinner was held on Karsov’s private yacht.

Three security checks. Twelve guards with semiautomatics. Surveillance in every room.

But everything was dressed in opulence—white leather chairs, crystal glasses, a chandelier that probably cost more than my life.

The ocean stretched out around us, calm but deceitful. Like everyone at this table.

Maeve curled against Benedict like she belonged to him. She laughed too loudly, whispered names into his ear, pretended to be scared when he mentioned the weapons deal.

I sat near the edge of the dining area, quiet, invisible. Watching. When Benedict stepped away to take a secure call, she came over.

“I don’t get you sometimes,” Maeve murmured, her diamond necklace catching the low light.

I turned to face her slowly. Calm. Flat.

“They say you love him,” she said, sipping her wine like it was blood. “That you’d take a bullet for him. But I’ve never seen a woman in love act like you.”

Her voice dropped.

“I framed you. Made you crawl. Made you beg. And when he obeyed me and left you in that storm, you didn’t scream. Didn’t even flinch. Now I sit in his lap and lick honey off his fingers and you still don’t move.”

Her smile widened.

“So tell me, Miss Linwood. Do you really love him… or are you just pathetic?”

I tugged at my lips. Thought about answering.

But then—

Boom.

A sound like thunder. A wave slammed into the side of the yacht.

“Ah!” she screamed.

We both went overboard.

The sea swallowed us whole. Something sharp ripped into my side as I hit the water. Blood followed. My blood.

“Two overboard! We’ve got two in the water!”

Then another shout: “One of them’s bleeding! Sharks’ll smell it!”

“Where are they?”

“They fell opposite side, we can only reach one!”

Then I heard Benedict scream: “Save Maeve!”

The words hit harder than the sea.

I sank.

I saw my blood stain the water.

And then… nothing.

I woke up staring at a hospital ceiling.

"You’re awake, finally," a nurse said, relief in her voice. "You’re in really bad shape. We need to call your family."

She hesitated, then said with a sigh, "Miss Maeve’s next door. Barely hurt, but Mr. Karsov hasn’t left her side. Fed her soup, fluffed her pillows. I thought you two were married, but... where is your family? No one came these two days."

I smiled without warmth and didn’t answer. My grandma was already dead. She died two years ago.

The door burst open.

Benedict.

He stormed in like a bomb with legs. He didn’t say a word at first. Just walked up and knocked the medicine tray clean off the bedside table. Glass shattered across the floor. Pills scattered.

His eyes locked on mine like knives.

"You push Maeve into the sea?"

I blinked.

What?

I didn’t even get a chance to respond before he grabbed my wrist. His grip was brutal. The pain shot up my arm.

"She told me everything!" he snapped. "You really think you’re gonna get away with that?! You're really testing my patience!”

I tried to breathe through the pain. The nurse was too afraid to intervene.

"Was that all fake? You just wanted my attention, huh?"

I didn’t answer.

I didn’t beg. That seemed to set him off more. He yanked his hand back and sneered.

"Fine. No doctors. No nurses. Handle it on your own."

Then he left.

The next few days were hell. No checkins. No bandage changes. No one came.

I dragged myself to the cabinet for supplies. Changed my own dressings. My leg throbbed from the shark bite and my side burned from the gash. My hands shook every time I opened a medicine bottle.

I fell twice. Hard.

But I got up.

Because I always did. He thought I’d break.

But he didn’t know me. I grew up taking care of a dying grandmother in a crumbling house with no running water. I learned to clean wounds, lower fevers, and survive on scraps. No one ever took care of me.

Six days later, I was ready to leave.

Bag packed. Discharge papers signed. My body was still healing, but my mind was sharper than ever. Then the door slammed open. Benedict stormed in and grabbed my arm.

“Maeve got taken.”

My heart didn’t move.

He added, jaw clenched, “By Damon.”

Damon.

His cousin.

The psychopath. Another mafia mob boss. Dangerous. Unstable. Cruel for sport.

“The hell does that have to do with me?” I asked quietly.

“They want you in exchange,” he snapped. “You go in. Maeve gets released. After four days.”

I didn’t speak.

Damon was the type who smiled while people screamed. The kind who broke things just to see if they’d cry.

“No,” I said flatly.

Benedict’s face turned to stone. “You don’t get a choice.” He stepped closer. Voice low, like a threat disguised as logic. “Damon’s obsessed with you. But if we do this clean… four days, he won’t hurt you. And when it’s done…” His eyes flicked to mine. “I’ll give you anything you want.”

I looked at him. Really looked. And then I smiled.

“Fine. I want a grand wedding.”

He blinked. “What?”

“We never had a real one,” I said, voice steady. “Just a marriage license and a security detail. I want a proper wedding. With guests. Cameras. Vows. Everything.”

He went silent. Thinking. Probably wondering if I’d gone insane.

But it was part of the plan.

When Alodia returned, I’d need a public stage. A spectacle. A perfect moment to hand her the title of Mrs. Karsov. Publicly. Permanently.

He finally gave a curt nod. “Fine. I’ll give you your damn wedding.”

Then they dropped me off at Damon's estate at midnight and Damon was already waiting… lounging on the couch like a king. The room smelled like spice and cigars.

“Mrs. Karsov,” he drawled, grinning like I was already his. “Been a while.”

The first two days weren’t the worst. They didn’t touch me. Not in the way I feared. But they took my blood. Tube after tube. Over and over.

My arms turned black and blue. Skin blistered. My veins felt like fire.

I could handle the pain. But watching it, watching my own blood leave me, unraveled something inside.

By the third day, I was slipping in and out of consciousness when I overheard the guards outside my door.

“Is he serious?” one whispered. “Says he’s gonna drain her dry… and keep her in a glass box like a trophy?”

“Shut up. He said she’s too pretty. The boss wants to preserve her. Like a doll. Forever.”

My breath caught.

So this was the nothingwillhappen promise Benedict gave me?

Selling me off to a lunatic in a tailored suit?

That night, I waited. When the guards were distracted, I grabbed the crystal ornament on the nightstand and smashed it into the window. The glass exploded. I sliced through the rope binding my wrists, then limped to the edge. Without thinking, I jumped.

I heard the crack before I felt it. My right ankle folded the wrong way when I hit the ground. The pain was whitehot. Still, I dragged myself away from that hell, bleeding and shaking, all the way back to the Karsov estate.

I pushed the door open.

There he was. Benedict, down on one knee, gently wrapping a bandage around Maeve’s ankle.

Maeve’s voice wobbled like she was about to cry. “Benny, she’s been gone four days. Aren’t you worried at all?”

Benedict paused, his voice soft like velvet. “I only worry about you. Why didn’t you tell me you hurt your leg? You want me to feel guilty?”

I stood in the doorway, soaked through, ankle swollen to twice its size. Neither of them even looked at me.

I walked past like a ghost.

“Alodia?” He stood up, eyes flicking over me. “What the hell happened?”

I didn’t answer his concern. Didn’t even believe it was real. “When’s the wedding?”

Maeve turned to him, confused. “What wedding?”

Benedict’s jaw clenched. “Ours. She and I are having a ceremony. But don't worry, it was you whom I love most.”

Maeve’s face fell, but she forced a smile. “I get it. You only said yes to save me. I’m not upset.”

She turned to me, syrupy sweet. “Miss Linwood, let me help you pick the dress. It’s the least I can do.”

She followed me to every fitting like a shadow. In the boutique, she fussed over every inch of fabric. Pulled collars higher. Complained about hemlines. Picked gowns that made me look like a porcelain doll instead of a woman.

I stayed quiet, played the part, let her dig her own grave.

After the final fitting, she dropped the act.

“You’re good. Real good,” she hissed, slamming me against the fitting room wall. Her nails dug into my wrist. “You pretend to be cold but you’ve been playing this long game, haven’t you? You think you’re gonna steal him from me?”

I didn’t answer. Didn’t need to.

Because the truth was worse than whatever she imagined. But she didn’t stop. She started stirring things again.

The night before the wedding, Benedict burst into my room, eyes wild. “You locked Maeve in the fitting room! Fuck, Alodia."

I blinked at him, exhausted. “No.”

“Don’t lie to me.” His voice dropped, dangerous. “She has claustrophobia. You trying to kill her?”

Before I could say another word, he dragged me up by the arm and shoved me out the door.

“Put her in the basement,” he barked at the guards. “No food. No lights. Let her think about what she’s done.”

They threw me in the dark. Cold. Damp. Reeking of mold. I sat in the corner with my knees to my chest, waiting for the hours to pass. But somewhere after midnight, I heard something.

Rustling. Scratching.

Then I saw them.

A bag of live rats tossed in through the vent.

I screamed. Kicked. Pounded the door until my nails split open. No one came.

The next morning, Benedict finally opened the door. “All that noise for nothing?” he scoffed.

I couldn’t even stand. My face was pale, lips trembling. “Maeve... she put the rats in.”

He looked me dead in the eye. “Maeve wouldn’t do that.”

He flipped the switch. The lights flickered on. The room was spotless.

“No rats here,” he said. “Stop lying.”

I stared at him. Silent.

He turned away like I was dirt on his shoe. “The wedding’s in Six days. I’ll be with Maeve until then. If you screw this up... it’s off.”

He didn’t look back.

I sat on the floor, wrists bleeding, heart colder than the basement. I should’ve known.

No matter what I did, I was always disposable.

But not for long.

Benedict left the basement without looking back. His heavy boots echoed down the hallway until I couldn’t hear them anymore. I waited a few more seconds just to be sure he was gone before I pressed my hand against the cold wall and pushed myself up. My legs were shaky, but I didn’t fall.

I stayed locked in my room. Curtains drawn. Doors shut. I didn’t step outside, not even once. I only ate when I had to, and even then, just a few bites of whatever the servants left on the tray.

And today's the sixth day… I went to the wardrobe and pulled out the suitcase I’d packed days ago. I sat on the edge of the bed and looked around. Six years in this place and now I couldn’t find a single reason to stay.

At the airport, my Mrs. Linwood was already waiting.

She didn’t greet me. Just handed me an envelope and a bank card.

“One hundred million. No more. No less. Go. Don't ever show yourself.”

My hands trembled as I took the card.

“Thank you “

“You did what you were supposed to do,” she said coldly. “You kept the peace between the families. That was your job. Now it’s over.”

I turned toward the security gate.

I clutched the plane ticket and kept walking. I didn’t look back again. For the first time in years, I wasn’t walking on eggshells. I was walking toward something that might finally belong to me.

Somewhere far away, far from him. From them.

Somewhere I could finally be free.