Chapter 1-Death

She's mine.

Though she’s madly in love with another man. Though she might not remember me or might not care if I still exist. Hell, she might still hate me.

But she's still mine.

I met her in college, so reserved, so quiet. Yet she smiled and turned into a bundle of joy, yapping away whenever my best friend was close. I knew she had fallen for him and it broke my heart into a zillion pieces.

She is the rhythm that courses through my veins. She's a fire that I can't extinguish while she burns me up.

So I vowed to protect her. I allowed her live her life while I watched from afar.

I became her guardian angel and a demon lurking in the shadows.

There are things she doesn't know and shouldn't know but one thing clear is that I'd die before I let any damn soul hurt her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rosette’s point of view~~

They said grief makes you feel hollow. But right now, lying on the hospital bed, I didn't feel hollow—I felt shattered.

My baby was dead.

And I hadn’t even been allowed to hold him alive.

The nurse entered with trembling hands, carrying a small, blanketed bundle. Her eyes avoided mine. She didn’t speak.

She simply placed him beside me, as if returning something insignificant. As if handing over a handbag I’d forgotten at reception.

But he wasn’t a handbag. He was my son. My firstborn.

My breath caught, not from the breathing tube that ran down my throat, but from pain so sharp it clawed at my chest.

My hand twitched, reaching for him. I wanted to scream, to beg, to ask why. But the machines spoke louder than I could.

I couldn't scream.

I couldn't speak.

So I cried. Silent tears leaked down my cheeks as I stared at the pale, unmoving face of the baby I had carried for nine months—the baby I had loved even before he had a name. He was just three days old.

I knew who had done this. Celine and Leila.The mother of the man I loved, and his wife.

Yes, wife. Because Blake McCain, the man who once held me in his arms and whispered forever, had married another woman while keeping me by his side.

His mistress. That was what I had become. And yet, I had stayed—foolishly, blindly—because I loved him. Because I believed he still loved me. Because I thought... he didn’t know what they were doing.

But he did.

He watched as Celine criticized me, called me a gold-digger. He let Leila mock my pregnancy, even as she pretended to befriend me. He stood by while they took control of everything—my body, my baby, my life.

And now, my baby was dead.

"Oh Rosette..."

Her voice dripped with saccharine concern, like spoiled honey.

Leila.

She stepped into the room dressed like she'd just come from a gala—lips painted red, not a hair out of place. A smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

"I couldn't come earlier. I... I’m so sorry. I know how much he meant to you and the fact that you didn't even get to hold him— I'm so sorry"

I couldn’t move. But my eyes burned holes into her perfect face.

"It was so sudden," she continued, placing a hand delicately over her chest.

"Three days old... and he just stopped breathing. I didn’t know how to take care of him, you know? Babies are fragile. I suppose I made a mistake."

A mistake.

Her words were a noose around my throat. My fingers clenched, or tried to, but my body remained stubbornly still. Only my tears betrayed my rage.

She came closer, crouched beside me, and whispered into my ear.

"You should’ve known your place. You were never meant to be his mother. Maybe if I was, he'd have survived. You caused this.”

I wanted to scream so badly the pain became a physical thing, like fire licking beneath my skin.

Leila stood. "Anyway, I thought you should know he’s been cremated. Celine made the arrangements. Blake is still heartbroken so I better return to him…he needs me.”

She left with the same smug grace she came in, and I was left in silence again, save for the television playing softly in the background.

“…media confirms the death of Julio Jenner, billionaire CEO of JJ Empire. He succumbed to a brief but severe illness. Sources close to the family reveal that his only daughter has been missing for two years and has not been reached for comment.”

Julio Jenner. My father. Dead.

The tears came harder now, relentless and uncontrollable. I wept for my baby. For my father. For the girl I used to be—the one who believed so much in pure love that she left her Father to be with the man she loved.

I closed my eyes. The tears didn't stop. And somewhere between the beeping of machines and the ache in my chest, sleep came.

But peace didn’t.

A sound startled me.

Metallic. Like someone adjusting an IV stand.

My eyes fluttered open weakly.

There was a figure beside my bed. Tall. Broad shoulders. Dressed in black. A mask covered his face—sleek, clinical, like a surgeon. His eyes met mine, and something cold ran through my veins.

I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t ask who he was. But I knew he didn’t come to save me.

He came to finish what they started.

I watched in helpless horror as he reached for the plug behind my life support.

His movements were steady. Unhurried. I wanted to scream, to beg, to do anything—but the machine was my voice now, and he was about to silence it.

With a soft click, the plug came loose.

The machine flatlined.

Darkness wrapped around me. I died.

I don’t know how long it lasted—the void.

But suddenly, I was breathing again. No wires. No pain. Just… air.

I gasped, sitting upright in shock. The room spun, and I gripped the edge of the hospital bed.

Not a hospital bed. The hospital bed.

I knew this place. The cheap beige curtains. The soft humming of overhead lights. The sterile scent of antiseptic.

I looked down.

In my hand was a piece of paper, a hospital report. I blinked, trying to focus.

Pregnancy Confirmation: Rosette Jenner. Six Weeks.

My heart slammed against my ribs as I realised what was happening. This was the day I found out I was pregnant. This is the day…Eight months ago.

I was alive again, pregnant and I remembered everything.