Chapter 5

Lilly 

I had been locked in this cell for a week, and no one had bothered to charge me. I hadn't been handled with any care, even though they knew I was pregnant.

On a Saturday, I was finally told I had a visitor. 

I didn’t know who to expect, but I wasn't surprised when I saw Alina sitting across from me. Logically, only her would be twisted enough to come.

I sat motionless, the cold metal of the chair seeping into my skin. Alina sat opposite me, her fingers laced together, the diamond ring on her hand catching the dull light of the interrogation room. It was a mocking reminder of everything she had, and everything she had stolen.

"Oh, this?" She noticed me staring at the ring. "Victor proposed last night. The wedding is in a month. You’re free to attend, if you’re out by then."

The air left my lungs. I was too exhausted to cry, too numb to scream. All that remained was a burning, hollow need for the truth. I needed to know why I had spent years worshiping a ghost while I was buried alive.

"Were you..." My voice scraped against my throat, sounding like a stranger’s. "Were you ever in a coma?"

She leaned back, her smile widening. "Me? Hell no. I was conscious the entire time, even after the accident."

The floor seemed to drop out from beneath me. The years I’d spent praying by her bedside, the guilt that had kept me awake at night, the blood I had drained from my own veins to keep her alive—it had all been a joke. A sick, twisted performance.

"The accident was designed to render you useless," she continued, her tone conversational, as if she were talking about the weather. "You were finally starting to shine in ballet. You didn't really expect me to watch you succeed, did you?"

I stared at her, horror slowly replacing the numbness. It wasn't fate. It wasn't a tragedy but rather a calculated erasure.

"You were always prettier than me," she murmured, a flicker of pure, unadulterated venom in her eyes. "I had to do something to that face. And God, you were so gullible. You told me you liked Victor, and the second I saw him looking your way, I took him. I made sure you never took anything that belonged to me."

She paused, tilting her head. "And that gig dancing for the President? There was no way I would ever let you have that spotlight."

"So you took my legs?" My hands were shaking, and I clutched them tightly in my lap to hide it. "You destroyed me... just for that?"

"Yes," she said simply. "But you should be thankful. I rewarded you with two years of being Victor’s wife. Technically not on paper, but it was something, right?"

"Why?" The word was a sob I barely held back. "Why let me marry him at all if you hated me so much?"

"Maybe to give you two years of hell," she mused. "To make you live not as a queen, but as a slave. But that’s enough visiting for me."

She stood up, the chair scraping sharply against the concrete, a sound that echoed in my soul, the reality of my wasted life suffocating me.

"I’m not pursuing the case, there’s no valid evidence, after all—but you’re ruined," she said, pulling on her sunglasses as if shielding herself from my pathetic existence. "The news has already tagged you as a jealous imposter. Your best bet is to leave the country. Enjoy my little parting gift: you aren’t keeping that baby. You should have just walked into the trap instead and I wouldn't have attempted to kill an innocent child."

"You wouldn't dare touch my..." My voice caught, terror overriding my anger.

She turned to leave, perfectly poised. "I’ve forgiven you, sis."

She smiled at the officers as they walked in, playing the wounded angel until the very last second. I watched her go, my heart fracturing into pieces. The truth was worse than the lie; I hadn't just been a victim—I had been a puppet, and she had pulled my strings for every second of my misery.

****

Two days later, I was released. I hadn't walked far from the station when a group of men in black suits attacked me. They beat me relentlessly. True to her word, Alina had sent them.

I lay on the cold pavement, broken and bleeding, passing out with only one desperate thought in my mind: I want to survive. I want revenge.

***

I woke to the rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor. 

My eyes fluttered open as I tried to piece together where I was.

Am I in a hospital? Or did I finally die?

I looked around, my head throbbing with a sharp, blinding pain. I tried to sit up, but a cold voice stopped me.

“Stay calm, or you’ll give yourself a concussion.”

My survival instincts flared. I remembered the attack, the cold pavement, and the darkness. I ignored the warning and pushed myself up, my vision swimming. 

A man sat nearby, larger than life, scrolling through his phone with a nonchalant air.

“I told you to stay calm…”

“Who are you? And why am I here?”

He looked up, and I froze. Those cold, familiar, grey eyes.

“Did she hit her head that hard?” he muttered, mostly to himself.

“Sabistan?”

His brow softened. “Good. I thought you’d suffered memory loss.”

It all rushed back. My pregnancy. My baby! My hand flew to my stomach. “My baby? Is …?”

“He’s doing fine, Miss Luna,” a man in a lab coat said, stepping into my field of vision.

“He.” I let out a shaky breath, a tear tracing a path through the grime on my face. Thank God. My baby survived. He survived it.

“Yes, Miss Luna, he’s doing—”

“Liliana,” I interrupted, my voice trembling but firm. “Lilly, for short.”

The doctor blinked. “What?”

“My name. It’s Liliana, not Luna.”

He stared at Sabistan. “I thought you said you were sure her name was Luna.”

I looked at the doctor, then at Sabistan. “That’s what he told you? I never expected anyone to care enough to know my name at all.”

My words seemed to hang in the air, visibly affecting Sabistan. He turned to the doctor. “Is she stable, Caleb?”

For the first time in my life, someone was asking after my well-being.

“Yes, she’s doing just fine. I’ll leave you two alone.” The doctor patted my shoulder and excused himself.

I turned my gaze to the man in the white shirt, his sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms. “You… you brought me here?”

He gave a single, curt nod. “Yes.” He paused, his gaze intensifying. “Why do you let them treat you like that?”

I opened my mouth to defend myself, but a new, cold wave of anger washed over me. I didn't want sympathy; I wanted retribution.

“Are you here to gloat?” I asked, bitterness rising in my throat.

He raised a brow and scoffed. “Gloat? No. I’m here to offer you a way out, if you’ll take it.”

“Help… help me?”

“Yes. But if you don’t want to see those who destroyed you beg for mercy, then reject my offer.” He went back to scrolling on his phone.

Every ounce of pain I had endured, the accident, the acid, the marriage, the loss, surged through me. I balled my fists. I knew offers like this always came with a price.

“What…” I steadied my voice. “What do you want in return?”

He paused, finally dropping the phone. He looked at me, his lips curling into a knowing, dangerous smile.

“Marry me.”