Chapter 3

Valeria’s POV 

Isis never made it home that day.

Later that evening, I received a call from the police asking to come in for questioning. I was stunned. Confused. But I went.

They told me she’d been in a car accident. That the vehicle had skidded off a narrow turn and crashed into a ditch. It caught fire. Isis was declared dead on the scene. The cause? Brake failure.

They told me I was the last person to see her alive.

My stomach dropped.

I answered every question calmly, even though I was shaking inside. I told them we had met to talk, that we’d made peace. I even showed them our café receipt, the timestamp. The security footage confirmed my story. But the whispers started—whispers I was already too familiar with.

People already believed I was jealous of her. And now she was dead. Of course they'd think it was me.

I don’t know what strings my father pulled, but somehow, I was removed from the list of suspects. Officially.

But I knew Luka wouldn’t believe it. And I was right.

Word spread that he’d doubled down on his obsession to find the killer. He was convinced someone had tampered with the brakes. And the most convenient person to blame?

Me.

Months passed. The police ruled it an accident. Closed the case.

But Luka… never let it go.

I thought, deep down, I’d feel satisfied. The woman who stole my future was gone. But instead, I felt nothing but guilt.

Because even if I hadn’t killed her, I had wanted her gone. I had fantasized about her disappearance. And now that she was… it just felt wrong.

I knew Luka was grieving, and I wanted so badly to be there for him. To hold his hand. To say sorry. For everything. But I couldn’t.

Because of everything I had done.

I attended Isis’s funeral. Wore black. Said nothing. I stood near the back, trying to remain unnoticed.

But Luka noticed me.

As soon as the service ended, he appeared at my side and grabbed my wrist so hard I winced.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he growled under his breath.

I turned to him slowly. “I came to pay my respects.”

He scoffed, jaw tight, eyes bloodshot. “You’ve got some nerve.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but he cut me off.

“Meet me at the registry tomorrow. Ten a.m. sharp.”

I blinked. “What? Why?”

“We’re getting married.” Then he dropped my wrist and walked away before I could say another word.

I should have found it suspicious. I should have questioned it. But I didn’t.

Because I was desperate. Because I was still in love with him. Because some part of me believed this was a second chance.

So the next morning, I showed up at the registry. In a wedding dress.

Like a lovesick idiot.

He didn’t even look at me. Barely spoke. We signed the papers. The judge congratulated us. There were no photos. No kiss. No smiles. Just the cold sound of a gavel and the rush of a dream I should’ve let die.

The drive to his mansion was quiet, eerily so and I couldn't stop fidgeting with my dress. I was nervous, wondering what could possibly be going through his mind. He remained detached, kept his gaze directed at the road, eyes distant, hurt still lingering in them. I had to remind myself that this was supposed to be the happiest day of my life, I had just gotten married to my first love. But deep down, I must have known I made a terrible mistake but I refused to acknowledge it till it was staring me right in the face.

The car finally came to a stop at the mansion and he turned to me, expression hard and eyes empty.

“You know why I did this, don’t you?”

I shook my head slowly, already terrified of what he was going to say.

“I know you killed her.”

I froze.

He leaned closer. “You called her out that day so you could tamper with her car. I know it. You were always jealous. And now she’s dead.”

“That’s not true—” I began.

“I don’t want your lies,” he snapped. “The police might’ve let you go because of your father, but I won’t.”

My mouth went dry. “You’re wrong—”

He pulled out his phone and showed me something. A photo. A grainy image of me standing in the parking lot next to Isis’s car during our café meeting. I sure as hell hadn't been anywhere near Isis' car that day, I didn't even know the color or the brand till I saw that photo. It was clearly engineered but Luka didn't seem to think so. It felt like karma for the prank I pulled.

“That’s your proof?” I asked, voice shaking.

“And this,” he added, flipping to a screenshot of an anonymous text message that read: She did it. Valeria killed Isis. She admitted it to me.

I stared at the screen, blinking in disbelief. “Anyone could’ve sent that—”

“You think I care? You think I need a confession?” He laughed bitterly. “You killed the woman I loved. And since the law won’t punish you, I will.”

It hit me then.

This wasn’t a second chance.

This was a punishment. I had been sentenced to marriage.

“I’m going to make your life hell,” he said coldly. “You’ll be trapped with me. You’ll sleep in my house, eat my food, live by my rules but you'll find no peace. You'll go from the spoiled little brat you are to rueing the day you were brought into this world. I'll never let you forget your crime, your sin. You wanted to be my wife that badly, be prepared for everything that comes with it.”

He walked away after that, leaving me frozen in the backseat of the car. Tears pooled in my eyes, but I didn’t let them fall.

I had walked right into it. Blinded by love. By guilt. By stupidity.

And for three years, I paid the price.

But it was over now.

Finally, it was over.

I was out. Not completely healed. Not yet free of the trauma. But I had survived.

And I was carrying a child now.

I didn’t know what the future held. I had no plan. No job. No idea where I would go once I landed in New Zealand. But I had my baby. And that was enough for now.

I leaned my head back against the seat and closed my eyes.

No more Luka.

No more misery.

No more begging to be loved.

This time, I would rebuild from scratch. Stronger. Smarter. And never, ever a victim of love again.