And I would never look back.
I woke up drenched in heat, my skin burning—not with anger this time, but with fever. My body ached all over, every joint stiff, every breath rough and shallow. The agony in my toes from that savage punishment hadn’t faded; it throbbed constantly, making it nearly impossible to stand, let alone walk properly.
The days blurred together after that. I drifted in and out of consciousness, half‑awake, half‑lost in fever dreams. And through it all, one thing never changed.
Aldrin never came.
Not once did he open my door. Not once did he ask if I was alive.
Through the fog of illness, sounds from outside my room crept in. Bianca’s sharp, delighted laughter. Aldrin’s deep, amused voice. Sometimes the laughter twisted into something worse—soft moans in the dead of night, sounds that clawed at my chest and left me shaking. I pressed my face into the pillow, biting back sobs, forcing myself to sleep. I told myself my body needed rest. My heart needed numbness. I couldn’t afford to feel anymore.
But peace never lasted long in that house.
One afternoon, I jolted awake to a harsh, choking smell. Smoke.
My heart slammed violently against my ribs. I dragged myself out of bed, clutching the wall to stay upright, my legs trembling beneath me. Step by step, I made my way down the hallway and out toward the back garden.
What I saw stole the air from my lungs.
Fire.
Tall flames devoured heaps of fabric—my dresses, my books, boxes of memories. Sienna’s toys. Her stuffed animals. Everything reduced to ash.
“What are you doing?!” I screamed, stumbling forward as heat scorched my skin. “Stop! Those are my things!”
The maid wouldn’t meet my eyes. Her hands shook as she dropped another box into the fire.
“Miss… I’m sorry,” she murmured. “It wasn’t my choice. Miss Bianca ordered it. She said she didn’t want to see your belongings around anymore.”
I went still.
Of course. Bianca. Taking my husband wasn’t enough—she wanted to erase me completely.
I turned away, ready to let it all burn. None of it mattered anymore… until something caught my eye.
A thin silver chain shimmered briefly in the flames.
My breath hitched.
My mother’s necklace.
The one thing she gave me before she died. The last thing she pressed into my palm, whispering, This will keep you safe.