004

I stood in the center of the bedroom, the silence of the house ringing in my ears. I couldn't wait a month. Every second the air in this mansion touched my skin, I felt like I was breaking out in hives. I pulled my old, dusty luggage from the back of the closet and began folding the few clothes I owned.

It was pathetic, really. As I laid out a faded blouse, I realized I couldn’t remember the last time Adrian had bought me a single thing. My life here was a cycle of unpaid labor and emotional starvation. He didn’t touch me unless he was drunk; he didn’t speak to me unless he was criticizing the salt level in his soup. In my previous life, I had spent my nights sitting by the window, literal tears in my eyes as I begged for a crumb of his affection. Thinking about it now made my stomach churn with a violent, oily sickness. *Never again.*

I needed concrete proof. From my past life, I remembered that while I was outside performing the "wifely duty" of taking out the trash, the house would erupt in laughter. That was when they celebrated their successful deception.

I took a small, discreet camera—a gift from my father I had hidden away for years—and tucked it behind the books on the shelf in the living room, angled perfectly toward the sofa. Then, I headed downstairs, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I made sure to slide my packed bags under the guest room bed on my way.

"Where are you going?" Adrian asked as I entered the kitchen. He was leaning against the counter, watching Victoria plate the cake.

"I just came to see if the cake was finished," I said, my voice steady, almost bored. "I figured I’d help you take out the trash so you two can relax."

Adrian’s eyebrows shot up, a smug, ugly look settling on his face. "Oh? So you’ve finally come back to your senses? Good. I was starting to think you were becoming ungrateful."

Victoria stepped forward, her voice dripping with that saccharine, fake sweetness. "Harriet, honey, you don't really have to do that. I prepared the cake, so I should be the one to clean up."

"Oh, no," I insisted, forcing a smile that didn't reach my eyes. "That’s no way to treat an 'in-law.' Besides, you just reunited with your dear brother. You two should go upstairs and catch up on all those years you missed." I put extra emphasis on the word *brother*, watching them exchange a quick, secret glance.

"But Harriet," Victoria added, tilting her head innocently, "it's your anniversary. You're supposed to spend time with your husband."

"We have all the time in the world for that," I replied, practically ushering them toward the stairs. "Go on. If you need anything, just shout. I’ll be outside for a while."

I walked out to the bins, the cold night air hitting my face. I lingered there, counting the minutes. By the time I stepped back into the foyer, the downstairs was silent. But as I moved toward the stairs, the sound hit me. Laughter. High, mocking laughter echoing from the master suite.

Then came the silence. And then, the unmistakable sounds of betrayal.

Even though I knew what they were, the sound felt like a physical blade twisting in my chest. In my past life, I had been so willfully blind. I had probably stood in this very spot a year ago, thinking they were just "bonding" as family. Now, the pain was sharp, but it was followed by a grim, cooling relief. I had it. The evidence was recording. I wasn't the one breaking this marriage; they had never even invited me into it.

I spent the night in the guest room, locked from the inside.

The following morning, I woke up before the sun. I pulled out an outfit I hadn't worn since I was twenty-one—a bold, emerald-green set that hugged every curve I had spent a year trying to hide under oversized aprons. I looked in the mirror. I was twenty-five, but for the first time in years, I looked like a Walter.

I was mid-stretch in the living room when Adrian walked out of the bedroom, adjusting his tie. He stopped dead in his tracks, his jaw nearly hitting the floor.

"What the hell is this? Since when did you start dressing like a street walker?" Adrian spat, though his eyes lingered on my legs for a second too long.

I didn't answer. I just adjusted my ponytail and continued my squats. He stormed to the dining table, his face turning a dark shade of red when he saw the empty wood.

"Harriet! Where the hell is my breakfast?" he roared.

Victoria wandered in, yawning and wearing one of *my* silk robes. "Good morning... what’s all the noise? Is this how you guys always fight in the morning?"

I didn't even acknowledge her presence. I looked at Adrian and shrugged. "Oh, you wanted breakfast? I thought you didn't like my cooking. Since it’s so 'bad,' I didn't see the point in wasting the ingredients."

"You are a housewife!" Adrian screamed, his voice cracking with rage. "You don't have a job, you don't contribute a cent, and the one thing you’re actually supposed to do, you fail at? Yeah, your food is trash, but it’s your *job* to make it. Now get in the kitchen and start the stove."

I stopped my workout and walked directly into his personal space. I was shorter than him, but in that moment, I felt like a giant. "I am a wife, Adrian. Not a slave. You asked me to marry you. My father didn't sell me to you at an auction. You don't own me. If you’re so hungry for 'good' food, why don't you ask your darling cousin to whip something up? She seemed very energetic last night."

Adrian’s face went from red to purple. "How dare you? You think you can talk to me like this because I was patient with you last night? My cousin is a guest! If you aren't going to do your duty, then get the hell out of my house!"

Victoria stepped in, placing a hand on his arm. "Adrian, stop. Don't say that. She’s just... confused. Look, since it’s already late, why don't we just go to that nice restaurant down the street before you head to the office?"

Adrian exhaled sharply, pointing a trembling finger at me. "You’d better thank your lucky stars my cousin has a kind heart. If she weren't here to calm me down, I would have dealt with you properly for having such a big mouth."

I looked through him as if he were made of glass. As they walked toward the door, Victoria shot me a look over her shoulder—a triumphant, mocking smirk. I smiled back. *Go ahead, Victoria. Take him. He’s all yours.*

The second the door clicked shut, I moved. I grabbed the hidden camera, plugged it into my laptop, and watched the footage. It was all there. The kissing, the mocking comments about my "stupidity," the explicit proof of their affair. I copied the files to a cloud drive, left my old phone on the counter, grabbed my suitcases, and walked out.

I didn't look back until I reached the gate. *Goodbye, Harriet the Slave. Hello, Harriet Walter.* ★★★

The taxi ride to the airport was the most peaceful thirty minutes of my life. I felt the weight of the last few years falling away with every mile. I checked my bag one last time—passport, laptop, and the fire in my heart.

I was leaving this country. I was going back to the land where I was royalty.

"Yes, Father," I whispered as the plane’s wheels touched the tarmac hours later. "I am back."

The humidity of my home country hit me like a warm hug as I stepped out of the terminal. I scanned the crowd, expecting a driver or a bodyguard holding a sign with the Walter crest. Instead, my phone buzzed with a text from my father.

“I’m not coming to pick you up. I have business to attend to. But don’t worry—your husband is already there. He’ll be the one to bring you home.”