Chapter 4

The phone rang.

A sharp ringtone sliced through the tension just as the security guard crouched to lift the bloodstained blanket. He flinched, hand snapping to his earpiece.

“Yeah?” he said, straightening.

Clarissa froze. Rory held her breath.

Beneath the bundle—bleeding, broken, but still conscious—Sabrina heard everything. The voices. The panic. The lie.

The call that interrupted her rescue.

“Copy that,” the guard muttered before hanging up. He didn’t lift the blanket. Didn’t look again. “Let’s go.”

He returned to the driver’s seat, staring ahead, never glancing back.

Sabrina stayed limp. The pain was unbearable, but she didn’t move. She couldn’t. She had to wait.

The car drove through winding roads and dense woodland until it stopped beside a thick stretch of bush.

“Help us get her out,” Clarissa ordered.

The guard didn’t budge. “Not part of the deal. I’m the driver—you said this was private.”

Rory pinched her mother’s arm. “Why would you ask him that? Are you trying to get us killed?”

Clarissa scowled. “Fine. We’ll do it ourselves.”

They dragged Sabrina’s limp form from the trunk, her head hitting the bumper. Pain exploded through her skull, but she didn’t react.

Rory disappeared now and then to update the driver. “Almost done,” she’d say, breathless and pale.

Clarissa hovered near the shallow grave Rory struggled to dig. Her heels were ruined, hands scratched.

“This won’t work,” Rory panted, wiping sweat from her brow. “She’ll be found. Look—” she pointed toward a glimmer of moonlight reflecting off distant water, “the river. Let it take her.”

Clarissa’s face lit up. “Perfect.”

They abandoned the half-dug grave, dragging Sabrina’s body to the riverbank, her blood soaking into the earth.

“Goodbye, Sabrina,” Clarissa said, her voice void of warmth.

And then they shoved her in.

The current swallowed her whole.

The Next Morning, Rory twirled in front of the mirror, the white silk gown clinging to her body like second skin. The diamonds on her ears sparkled. She looked every bit the bride.

Clarissa adjusted her fascinator, smoothing the lace train. “You look like money,” she said proudly.

Rory gave a nervous laugh. “You think he’ll suspect anything?”

“He won’t know a damn thing,” Clarissa replied, her gaze firm. “And if he does—he won’t care. You’re his wife now.”

Theo arrived late.

Sharp suit. Sharper gaze. A man who owned every step he took.

He walked down the aisle with quiet dominance, his right-hand man trailing behind.

No greetings. No apologies.

Rory’s smile faltered.

Theo nodded at the officiant. “Let’s begin.”

The ceremony was swift. No kisses. No emotion. Just vows exchanged like contracts.

It ended with a signature, not a smile.

No photos. No tender glances. Just a married name and silence in the car ride home.

At the estate, Theo led her inside.

Rory reached for his hand. “Shouldn’t we talk? Or… something?”

He didn’t look at her. “Sleep here. I’ll take the other room.”

“What?”

“I said I’ll sleep elsewhere.”

“But we’re married,” she said, voice rising.

“I’m aware.” Then he turned, eyes scanning her face. In one sharp motion, he stepped closer and tugged the delicate strap of her dress off her shoulder.

Rory gasped. “What are you doing?”

His gaze locked on her collarbone, where a small crescent-shaped birthmark lay.

A heavy silence followed.

Theo’s jaw tightened. “Oh.”

“What?” she asked, breath catching.

He didn’t reply. He let the strap fall back in place.

“I’ll have my assistant prepare the schedule,” he said coldly. “Tomorrow, you’ll start your duties as Mrs. George.”

Rory blinked. “Really?”

“My mother returns soon. Make sure you act like a decent wife.”

And with that, he walked out, leaving Rory staring after him—alone in the bridal suite, dignity unraveling.

The Following Day

Theo stood on the balcony, phone to his ear, watching the gardeners work in silence.

“Marco.”

“Yes, boss?”

“Find me a maid. Discreet. Quiet.”

“For your wife?”

“For the house.”

“Understood.”

Within an hour, the George family’s private job board went live.

Housekeeper Wanted: George Estate. Discreet. Immediate start. One position only.

Resumes poured in—nannies with fake credentials, desperate mothers, Ivy League elites.

Only one was hired.

Meanwhile, Rory took it upon herself to prove she didn’t need help.

She cooked.

Burnt toast. Over-salted eggs. But the garlic-roast chicken stood tall on the table like a trophy of effort.

Theo glanced at the plate, then at her. “You made this?”

She beamed. “Yes! Garlic chicken with a citrus twist.”

He raised a brow. “Didn’t you once say you hated garlic?”

She froze, then laughed. “Oh, that? Cured.”

“Cured,” he repeated.

“Yeah, saw some herbal detox thing online. Worked like magic.”

Theo leaned back, folding his arms. “Interesting. Because the girl who saved me once never forgot my allergies. She wrote them down the day we met.”

Her fork hovered in midair.

He didn’t accuse her. He simply let the weight of his words settle.

“You should eat,” she murmured.

“I’m not hungry,” he said, nudging the plate aside. “But thank you… for the effort.”

Rory swallowed. “It’s just chicken.”

“With garlic,” Theo replied. “That could kill me.”

She opened her mouth. Closed it again.

Theo stood, buttoned his blazer, and met her gaze.

“So you don’t remember that my allergies are also yours?” he asked quietly.

One breath. Two.

Rory blinked, then chuckled. “Theo, are you implying I forgot that? Maybe we both outgrew it. It’s been years.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

“You think allergies fade?”

“Sometimes. Science says so,” she insisted. “I ate garlic bread last month. Nothing happened. Thought maybe you had too.”

He studied her.

Then he said, “I’ll be in the study.”

Rory exhaled, but her mind raced.

He was watching her differently now. Like a puzzle with one wrong piece.

So she doubled down.

Later, she followed him into the study.

“Is this what you’ve become?” she snapped. “If I knew you’d be this cold, I would’ve let you die back then.”

Theo smirked. “Regret? At least I married you. That’s your reward.”

“We’re married, Theo. We can’t keep avoiding each other. We’ve only been apart for… years.”

“How many years?” he asked.

“I mean… a lot,” Rory said, unsure.

“Did you lose your memory?”

She scoffed. “That’s insulting. People forget things.”

“Not things like that,” he said. “Unless something’s wrong with you. I’ll schedule a doctor.”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly. “We were kids back then.”

Theo nodded slightly.

She smiled, thinking she had recovered.

“And?” he prompted.

“And… we should focus on our future.”

“Is that so?” he asked calmly.

She nodded. “Yes. The past is behind us.”

“Then where’s the necklace I gave you?”

The question hit hard.

Her lips parted. “The necklace?”

“The little sapphire one,” Theo said. “You never took it off. Said it made you feel safe.”

She scrambled. “It broke. Years ago. Chain snapped during a school trip. Lost it in the river.”

He stared at her.

Too long.

She forced a smile. “But you gave me something better now. Your name.”

Theo nodded slowly. “My name.”

Then he stepped back as the study door opened.

Marco entered. Behind him, a woman followed.

Black dress. Pale skin. Hair pinned in a sleek twist. She walked with quiet confidence and leather-gloved hands.

She stepped in front of Theo, then looked up.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Theo George,” the maid said with a calm, unreadable smile.

Her voice was soft.

Deadly.

Theo’s brow furrowed—confusion flickering in his eyes.

Rory turned sharply. Who was this?

Theo opened his mouth to ask.

The maid spoke first.

“I hope I meet your expectations.”