I woke up with my body burning, but not from rage this time—from fever. Every muscle screamed, every breath rattled. The throbbing in my toes from the cruel punishment made it impossible to walk properly.
Days had passed like that, slipping in and out of consciousness, but not once did Leandro open the door to check on me.
Not once.
Through the haze of fever, I heard laughter outside my room. Nadine’s shrill giggle, Leandro’s low chuckle. Sometimes there was more than laughter—moans that cut through the night and stabbed at me like knives. I buried my head into the pillow, forcing myself to sleep, forcing myself to let go of the sounds of betrayal. My body needed to heal. My mind needed silence.
But peace never stayed long in this house.
I was jolted awake one afternoon by the sharp, acrid smell of smoke. My heart jumped to my throat. I forced myself out of bed, leaning on the wall for balance, and stumbled toward the hallway. When I reached the back garden, my world stopped.
Flames licked through piles of fabric—my dresses, my books, even Gwen’s tiny toys. All of it burning.
“What are you doing?!” My voice cracked as I ran forward, heat slapping against my skin. “Stop it! Those are mine!”
The maid avoided my eyes, her hands trembling as she fed another box into the fire.
“Miss… I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It wasn’t my order. Miss Nadine… she told us to throw your things. She said she didn’t want to see them anymore.”
For a moment, I froze. Nadine. Of course. It wasn’t enough that she had my husband—she wanted to erase every piece of me, too.
I was about to turn away, to let it all burn—I didn’t care anymore, not really—until I saw it.
A small silver chain glinting in the flames. My mother’s necklace. The last gift she had pressed into my hand before she died, telling me, “This will always protect you.”
“No!” I screamed, rushing forward. I ignored the heat scorching my hands as I grabbed at the necklace, saving what little was left before it was consumed. My eyes burned—not from smoke, but from fury.
I stormed back into the house, the necklace clutched tight in my palm, and found Nadine in the living room. She sat there smug, her hand resting on her growing belly like a queen.
“Why?” My voice trembled with anger. “Why did you burn my things? That necklace—it was from my mother.”