4

Yasmin

The bitter taste of bile lingered in my mouth as I clung to the porcelain rim, emptying every ounce of my stomach’s contents.

My body heaved violently, but the sickness wasn’t just physical. It wasn’t just the smell of the food or a hormonal reaction—it was the humiliation, the betrayal, the mockery I had endured that night.

How had my carefully selected gift been swapped for a counterfeit? I had planned everything meticulously, yet Sarah had somehow managed to present the exact same gift. Coincidence? No. That was deliberate.

I straightened slowly, gripping the sink for balance, my reflection staring back at me with hollow eyes. For as long as I could remember, I had felt powerless. Deep down, I had always known I had some courage within me, but the fear of having nowhere else to turn had kept me trapped.

But I knew I was done with keeping up. I couldn’t do it anymore.

I smoothed my dress, ran trembling fingers through my hair, and walked out of the bathroom.

I resolved to apologise to Loretta for the bad gift. Leave the hall quietly, and later that night, tell Cole about the pregnancy. Perhaps the news of our child would soften his ice-cold heart and finally make him see me as more than just an unwelcome outsider.

The thought brought a flicker of hope, a sad smile tugging at my lips as I reentered the grand ballroom.

The moment I stepped inside, the room fell silent. Conversations halted mid-sentence, and every head turned toward me.

This wasn’t normal. The glares were different from the ones I had left behind. They held contempt, hatred, and disbelief.

The stares weren’t the usual cold ones I had grown used to. They were something far worse. Condemnation. Dread.

Cole’s gaze was the hardest to bear. His honey eyes burned with fury, cutting through me like daggers.

“Cole?” I whispered, confusion tightening my chest. “What’s—”

Whenever we were in public, he let me call his name. Only in the bedroom was I subjected to calling him Master.

Before I could finish, two burly men appeared at my sides, grabbing my arms.

“What’s going on?” My voice rose with panic as they pulled me forward. “What is this?!”

Cole stepped closer, his expression a mask of cold indifference. He didn’t say a word, just threw a stack of photographs onto the floor.

The pictures fluttered at my feet. I bent down to pick one up amidst the firm grip, my hands trembling.

I froze.

The photo showed me lying in bed with Eric, the gardener, his arm draped over me intimately. It was so clear, so damning.

“No, believe me, Cole…” My voice cracked. “This isn’t real. It’s fake!”

But before I could explain, Loretta’s sharp voice cut through the room.

“You vile, ungrateful little bitch!” she screeched, storming toward me.

Her slap landed hard across my cheek, the force whipping my head to the side. Pain erupted, sharp and stinging, but it was nothing compared to the roar in my head.

Suddenly, everything around me blurred. The crowd’s murmurs became muffled, distant. The sound of Loretta’s insults faded into static as a sharp ringing filled my ears.

I opened my mouth to protest, but the words wouldn’t come. The room spun, and as the murmur of the crowd grew louder, something strange happened.

The whispers grew faint, drowned out by the screeching sound in my head, and then it hit me, sharp and painful.

A flood of memories, so vivid and raw, stole the breath from my lungs.

I was behind the wheel, speeding away from a party. The sound of cheering and laughter faded into the night.

The next moment, headlights blinded me. The car spun out of control, the world tilting violently. A sickening crunch of metal, and then darkness.

I gripped my head despite the forced hold from the security guys, gasping as the memory clawed its way to the surface.

Around me, the crowd continued to murmur, but I couldn’t hear them. My mind was too loud.

Another memory… A woman’s voice, cold and cutting, stood over me before kicking me into the river. “You shouldn’t be here. Go join your mother and let my daughter have everything!”

“I’m not Yasmin!” I muttered under my breath. “I’m not Yasmin, I’m Arlene. Arlene Gomez, the rightful heir of the Gomez family, that’s who I’m!”

“Take her!” Cole’s sharp snap of words brought me back to the present.

His voice boomed through the haze. “Take her back home and make sure she doesn’t leave the house until I return.” His stares were dark and menacing. “Lock her up in her room.”

Lock me up?

I snapped my head up, disbelief flooding my veins. The two Security men grabbed me roughly, their grip unrelenting.

“Cole!” I called, the tears from the sharp memory recovery streaming down my face. “You know this isn’t true! You know me!”

I gave him a chance to reconsider, for the sake of the love I had for him.

But he didn’t flinch. His silence was worse than any accusation.

As they dragged me away, I caught a glimpse of Loretta and Sarah. Their smug, satisfied smirks told me everything.

They had planned this. All of it.

Well, I thought, they had no idea what they had just done.

Without much thought, I stuck my middle finger up at Cole, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of regret grace his extremely beautiful face.

Outside, the men hauled me into a black SUV. As the car sped away, the men began to talk.

“What did the boss say?” the one sitting beside me asked, his eyes devouring me at every given chance.

“Kill her, obviously,” the driver replied, his tone casual.

Kill me? Boss?

This had to be Cole’s instruction—to finally have me wiped out completely while his child grew inside me.

My hands rested on my stomach, as if reassuring my child of a perfect life. His father didn’t want him, but I promised he would never feel that absence.

“Maybe we can have some fun first,” another chimed in, his eyes roving over me through the rear mirror. “She’s got those legs. I bet she tastes sweet.”

“That’s perfect. Boss surely won’t mind us having our own share before she kisses the earth goodbye.”

Their laughter echoed, and I couldn’t help but smirk alongside them. They were only making it faster.

“We can kill her afterward and pretend it was an accident,” the one sitting beside me suggested, and I smiled.

“Then what will be our explanation for us being alive?” the driver asked. “We will just follow orders, kill her.”

After exchanging vile ideas, they parked in a desolate clearing.

“Out,” one of them ordered, yanking me roughly.

I stumbled but didn’t resist. Not yet.

“Lie down,” another sneered, his hand reaching for my arm. “Let’s make this fun.”

I smiled sweetly, my voice steady. “You know, I think the car accident idea was better.”

Their confusion gave me the moment I needed. Before they could do anything, I attacked.

“You don’t mess with a Gomez. Certainly not this one.”

“Gomez?” the one holding my arm asked, raising his head as his lips curved in mockery, “you’re…”

In a blur of movement, before he could complete his words, I slammed my elbow into the man’s throat, grabbed the gun from his waistband, and fired in swiftness.

“You don’t underestimate quiet women!” I spat and fired.

One shot. Two. Three.

The bodies hit the ground before they even registered what had happened.

Panting, I stood amidst the carnage, blood splattered on my dress. My hands trembled, but I didn’t let go of the gun.

I dragged their bodies into the SUV, searched their pockets for a phone, and found not just a phone but a lighter. I set the vehicle ablaze.

Pulling out the phone, I dialed a number I hadn’t used in years.

“It’s me,” I said, my voice cold, unrecognizable from the quiet and extremely gullible woman some minutes ago.

“Miss… Arlene Gomez? Oh my God!” came the reply. Typical of Art to be so happy.

But I couldn’t laugh. I couldn’t smile, the pang of betrayal from home nestled on me.

“Yes,” I said, glancing at the flames. “Book me a flight to Las Vegas. And fake my death. Again.”

“As?” she asked, her voice raised in anticipation.

“Yasmin Martinez,” I replied.

“Right away, ma’am. I’ll access your location and send aid,” she answered so joyfully while also ending the call.

I sighed, breathing in as I carried my steps away from the burning mark. The very evidence that would pronounce Yasmin dead and Arlene alive.

I couldn’t help again but laugh at the twist. The Gomez household would be thrown into a fit of joy and sadness, while the Martinezes might be glad that I was finally out of the picture.

But this time, Yasmin Martinez would disappear forever.