The Lost Heiress's Glorious Return Free Preview

Yasmin

I stared at the pregnancy test in my trembling hands, the stark lines glaring back at me like an accusation.

My lips parted in disbelief as my mind raced, trying to pinpoint the exact moment I had missed my pills. I had been so careful—or at least, I thought I had.

Yet here it was: undeniable proof that I was carrying the child of a man who wanted nothing from me beyond my body.

“My goodness...” I whispered, my voice barely audible. What had I done to deserve this? What had I done to turn what was meant to be a bundle of joy into a burden of dread?

Cole had made it crystal clear: he never wanted a child from me. The daily pills, the countless doctor visits - everything had been orchestrated to ensure I wouldn’t become pregnant. And yet, here I was, staring at a future I hadn’t planned for.

And now, I was faced with the impossible task of telling him. How could I explain that his wife, the daughter of a poor café owner, was carrying his child?

Leaning back against the cold bathroom wall, I buried my face in my hands, the plastic test still clutched tightly between my fingers.

“What am I going to do?” I muttered.

Tears wouldn’t come. I was too exhausted to cry. His mother had seen to that, with her endless disdain and relentless criticisms.

Cole Martinez.

Even thinking his name felt like summoning a storm. Cold, distant, impossibly cruel. He was the kind of man who could make you feel insignificant with a single glance.

For five long years, I had endured his hatred, his mother’s contempt, and the humiliation of being his wife. And now, I faced the grim reality that I was carrying his child. An unwanted child.

If only Dad were healthy, I would have fled without looking back. I wouldn't have suffered through this torment. But his life depended on me staying. If I left, they'd demand repayment for every penny spent on his treatment. And worse - Dad would die. The very thought made me ill.

Diabetes wasn't something to take lightly. So I stayed - not from choice, but necessity. Being the despised wife of the Martinez family was the only way to cover the mounting expenses.

A soft chime interrupted my thoughts. I glanced at my phone on the counter, my heart sinking as I read the headline notification:

“Cole Martinez spotted with Sarah Lolthammer at tonight’s gala.”

Of course, she was there. She always was. While I bore the title of wife, Sarah was the one he chose to parade at events. She was his public companion, while I remained in the shadows - a decoration, nothing more.

I should have been used to it by now. But every time, it hurts. Cole had never loved me, not even for a second. Yet here I was, allowing myself to think about him.

With a shaky breath, I set the phone down and placed the pregnancy test at the back of the cabinet under the sink. No one could find it there, especially not him.

But who was I kidding? I might never find the courage to tell him. And yet, a foolish part of me wondered if he might be excited about the news. Against all reason, I couldn’t help but hope.

“You know Cole would never be excited. He sees you as a gold digger and nothing more!” my instincts hissed, trashing every foolish thought of him being happy.

As I stepped out of the bathroom, the sound of the doorknob twisting made my heart leap. My pulse quickened.

He was home.

Panicking, I darted back into the bathroom and shoved the test deeper into the cabinet. Then I rushed to the bed, lying down and feigning sleep, my heart pounding so loudly I was certain he’d hear it.

The door creaked open, and his presence filled the room like a suffocating fog. Even with my eyes closed, I felt the weight of his gaze.

His footsteps grew closer. I wanted to peek, but couldn’t bring myself to.

The bed dipped under his weight as he leaned over me, his scent overwhelming my senses.

“You’re terrible at pretending,” he said coldly.

I flinched inwardly, but kept still.

“Don’t make me force those eyes open,” he warned, his voice dripping with authority.

His fingers brushed my thigh, sending a shiver through me despite myself. Reluctantly, I opened my eyes, meeting his icy stare in the dim light.

“I was—”

Before I could finish, his hand slid up, cupping my breast with a firm, possessive grip.

My breath hitched. I bit down on my lip, desperate to suppress the treacherous moan that threatened to escape. His lips curled into a smirk, as though he enjoyed my struggle.

“You were about to be disobedient, Yasmin,” he said, unapologetic. “And you know how dangerous that is.”

“I didn’t mean to,” I whispered shakily. “I need to get up early for your mother’s birthday preparations—”

He cut me off with a low, humorless chuckle. “And you think I care?” His words were sharp, each syllable laced with contempt. “You’re mine, Yasmin. Your job is to obey. To give in, whether you like it or not. Have you forgotten?”

How could I? He seized every opportunity to remind me of who I was and how I had voluntarily thrown myself at his service.

The weight of his words crushed me, but I refused to let the tears spill. Not in front of him.

Closing my eyes, I willed myself to disappear. But my treacherous mind refused to comply, instead pulling me back to the sensation of his rough, yet strangely intoxicating, touch.

I had loved him once, my heart reminded me. But his actions now filled me with disgust. There was a time when I had foolishly hoped that my obedience would change him.

My teeth sank harder into my lip as my mind flashed back to the day we got married. Back then, I had believed in fairy tales and happily-ever-after. I thought love could fix anything. How naive I had been.

His father had arranged our marriage, convinced that I could somehow "save" Cole from his demons.

He noticed my hesitation but then delivered a blow I couldn't ignore.

"Your father's ill, isn't he? Diabetes isn't something you can manage with the little money you make from that struggling café shop."

And that was it. But instead of healing him, I had become the target of Cole's rage. Every cruel word, every cold touch, all served to remind me of how much he despised me. How much marrying me against his will had cost him.

I had endured every pain, every ounce of his anger, because I needed their fucking money to save my father.

The room was silent except for the sound of my shallow breathing. His lips brushed against my ear.

“You belong to me, Yasmin. Never forget that,” he murmured.

“Please…” I breathed shakily. “Go easy on me tonight.”

“Easy isn’t my style, Yasmin. You should know that by now.”

Without warning, he pushed two fingers inside me.

“Ahh, Cole!”

His head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. He pressed his fingers deeper, his tone sharp. “What did you just call me?”

“I—I’m sorry, Master,” I stammered.

A knock on the door interrupted the moment. Cole groaned, pulling his fingers away. He wiped them clean before getting up, tying his robe with practiced precision.

“Mr. Martinez,” came Victor’s voice from the other side. “Miss Lolthammer needs you.”

Sarah. She was here?

The thought of her being in our home made me feel sick.

Cole turned to me, his face devoid of emotion. “Meet me at the hotel at nine tomorrow,” he said flatly.

“You brought her here?” I couldn’t keep the hurt from spilling into my voice.

He raised a brow, his lips twitching into a cruel smirk. “You’re just a wife, Yasmin. Know your place.”

And with that, he shut the door, leaving me alone in the dark once again.

Yasmin

“It had been five years since she went missing. Now the Gomez family would have to give everything to the second daughter.”

The voices carried over the soft hum of chatter as I stood frozen near the grand hall’s entrance, clutching my gift box with trembling fingers. I hadn’t been eavesdropping—at least not intentionally, but the story the two women shared had intrigued me.

I couldn’t seem to pull myself away from the two ladies, dressed up for Loretta’s birthday, catching up on the news while staring intently at their phones.

“Can you imagine? The handing over happens tomorrow. Mr. Gomez is finally letting it go, knowing full well they just might never see her again,” one of them said. “Unless, of course, the missing first daughter miraculously returns. Now that would be a spectacle!”

A lump formed in my throat. Something about their words felt eerily familiar. My instincts screamed at me to turn away, to forget their gossip and walk into the hall, but my legs felt rooted to the spot.

It was a few minutes to nine, and I knew Cole would be mad if I came even a minute late to the intended time.

Just as I managed to smooth my dress and summon the courage to move, a voice sliced through my resolve.

“Need company?”

My stomach churned. I didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

“Go away, Marcus,” I muttered under my breath, my tone laced with exhaustion, irritation bubbling beneath the surface.

Cole’s twin brother was a man whose presence I despised. His voice alone grated on my nerves. Though they were twins, Marcus and Cole were as different as night and day.

Where Cole was composed, cold, and refined, Marcus was rough around the edges, his presence carrying a dark, chaotic energy that made my skin crawl.

But Marcus Martinez, the unidentical twin of my husband, wasn’t one to back down easily. He stepped closer, his cologne invading my senses. I could almost feel his smug grin without looking.

“Now, now,” he drawled, “is that any way to greet your favorite in-law?”

“You’re far from my favorite,” I snapped, finally turning to face him.

I turned back toward the hall, attempting to ignore him, but his firm grip on my arm stopped me mid-step.

Irritation bubbled up in me, forcing me to gather everything within me not to yell at him.

“What now?” I snapped, unable to contain the agitation while I whirled to face him. His smirk was as arrogant as ever, his gaze shamelessly scanning me from head to toe.

Marcus leaned casually against the doorway, his dark eyes glinting with mischief. It was infuriating how he exuded charm despite his venomous nature.

People were blind to his true self—the scheming, bitter twin who thrived on causing chaos.

I couldn’t shake off the fact that something wasn’t right about the setting. How could Marcus and Cole be twins yet so different? Extremely different.

“You know exactly what I want, Yasmin,” he said, his voice low and mocking. “You.”

My stomach churned in disgust. “You’re delusional. I’m your brother’s wife. Have some respect.”

“Respect?” He laughed bitterly, his tone dripping with resentment. “You mean the brother who doesn’t even acknowledge your existence? Walk in there, Yasmin. See if anyone recognizes you as the wife of the enigmatic billionaire. They only know one woman - Sarah. His first and only love.”

The words hit like daggers, each one a harsh reminder of the reality I tried to ignore. My throat tightened, but I refused to let Marcus see how much he’d hurt me.

I swallowed hard.

“Now I see why everything was taken from you - because you weren’t good enough,” I shot back, my voice steadier than I felt.

His smirk faltered, replaced by a flash of anger. I’d struck a nerve. “And yet,” he countered, stepping closer, “you weren’t good enough to keep him, either.”

I groaned, my fists clenching, which of course he noticed.

“Your sweet little pussy couldn’t stop him from totally ignoring your existence every single damn day. You should let me worship that pet. Then you can tell me afterward whose dick you wished was buried deep inside you - mine or your estranged husband’s.”

My hand moved before I could stop it, the slap echoing louder than I intended. His cheek reddened, but he didn’t retaliate. Instead, he chuckled darkly as I turned on my heel and marched into the hall, my pulse pounding with anger and humiliation.

If only I could just go away from all of this shit!

Why was my life such a mess? I had survived perfectly well the past three years when Ashford was alive. He had made me see reasons to fight for Cole, but now, with practically everyone against me, I couldn’t help it.

I walked into the hall, trying hard to compose myself. The grand hall was suffocating. Crystal chandeliers hung above, casting a cold, sterile light over the crowd of elites mingling and sipping champagne. My eyes darted around, searching for Cole, but instead, I was met with another wave of hostility.

Loretta, my mother-in-law, approached with her signature look of disdain.

“Yasmin,” she sneered, her sharp gaze scanning me from head to toe. “How utterly... shabby. I knew my late husband was wrong to think you were suitable for my son.”

The second wave of humiliation washed over me like clockwork.

I forced a smile and bowed my head slightly, keeping my voice calm despite the knot tightening in my chest.

“Happy birthday, Mother. I’m sorry if my attire offends you, Mum. I can go change if—”

“Don’t bother,” she interrupted, her hand dismissively cutting through the air. “Since you're already here looking like the help, you might as well make yourself useful with the waitstaff.”

Her words stung, though they didn’t surprise me. Loretta had hated me from the moment I married Cole, and she never missed an opportunity to remind me of my place—or lack thereof—in her family.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think that would be appropriate,” I replied, clutching the small gift box I’d spent weeks selecting with Victor, the family butler—the only one who seemed to respect me. “What would people think if they saw Cole’s wife working as a waitress at his mother’s party?”

She scoffed, her lips curling into a cruel smile. “Look around, Yasmin. Does anyone here even know you’re his wife? You clearly don’t exist.”

I bit the inside of my cheek, gripping the gift box tighter as she turned to leave.

“Happy birthday,” I blurted out, extending the box toward her.

Before she could respond, a soft voice chimed in from behind me.

“Happy birthday, Loretta.”

I turned, and my heart sank.

Sarah.

She floated into the room as if she belonged, her presence commanding everyone’s attention. Loretta’s face lit up as Sarah hugged her, handing over a beautifully wrapped gift. But it wasn’t just Sarah’s presence that made my chest tighten—it was the man standing beside her.

Cole.

He stood tall and composed, his hand resting protectively on Sarah’s lower back. My throat went dry as I watched him, inadequacy washing over me in waves.

I turned away, attempting to give her the gift and leave them.

"I bought you a gift..." I whispered to Loretta, but my voice was drowned out by Loretta's laughter as she unwrapped Sarah's gift.

“You got me the latest edition from the Gomez luxury brand?” Loretta exclaimed, holding up the elegant watch for everyone to admire.

My stomach dropped. That was the same gift I had chosen. I’d entrusted Victor to find the perfect piece, and now it seemed Sarah had beaten me to it—or worse, stolen the idea.

“Only the best suits a woman of your status, Mother.”

Mother?

Oh wow. She already made herself a family. I turned to go, but Sarah's words stopped me.

Sarah turned to me, her smile syrupy and condescending. “Oh, I guess you’re Yasmin,” she cooed, feigning innocence. “You brought a gift too? How thoughtful. Why don’t you give it to Loretta?”

How thoughtful? What guts.

The attention of the entire room shifted to me. My palms grew clammy, and I hesitated, suddenly hyper-aware of every judging gaze.

“There’s no need,” I began, my voice barely steady, but Cole’s voice cut through behind me, colder than I’d imagined.

“No need to give my mother a gift you bought with my money?” he said, his tone razor-sharp.

Before I could respond, Loretta snatched the box from my hands. She unwrapped it hastily, her expression shifting from disdain to amusement.

Gasps rippled through the crowd as Loretta unveiled the gift. An identical watch to the one Sarah had just given her.

A suffocating silence followed, broken only by Loretta’s sharp, mocking laugh.

“You can’t be serious,” she said, “Stealing Sarah’s idea? How utterly pathetic.”

My cheeks burned as murmurs swept through the room like wildfire.

“I didn’t steal anything,” I said quietly, my voice trembling despite my best effort to stay composed.

Loretta raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a sneer. “Of course you didn’t,” she mocked, waving the box in the air. “It must be a coincidence that you, of all people, managed to gift me the same item as Sarah. Really, Yasmin, your desperation is evident.”

The room buzzed with hushed whispers, each one a dagger to my pride. I clenched my fists, swallowing the lump in my throat as I struggled to hold on to any shred of dignity.

“This is exactly why you’re no match for my son!”

Cole

Watching Yasmin stand there, humiliated in front of everyone, should have been satisfying. It was what I had wanted, wasn’t it? To see her squirm, to watch her be brought down a peg or two.

Yet, as I stood there nursing a drink I hadn’t even sipped, something inside me twisted—a strange pang I didn’t want to acknowledge.

She stood there, staring at my mother with that silent defiance, her lips pressed together as if holding back every word she wanted to spit out.

That was Yasmin’s specialty, suffering quietly, always trying to prove something.

I knew the words she was holding back. Could almost taste them in the air between us, all the things she refused to say.

Yasmin never shouted. Never broke. Just absorbed it all with that maddening silence.

“How is it,” my mother's voice cut through the murmuring crowd, holding up two identical watches, “that you got the same gift Sarah gave me?”

Sarah, ever the opportunist, clutched my mother’s arm with a well-practiced gasp. “Oh, it’s no big deal, Mother. I sent Cole a sample picture of the watch before I bought it. Yasmin must have seen it and… liked it too.”

I thought I heard a scoff from Yasmin, faint but unmistakable. Maybe I did like seeing her revolt or watching her struggle to hold back. The same way I had once enjoyed offering her money five years ago, just so she could decline marrying me. I was certain she'd grab it and run.

Instead, she'd taken the money that day with a quiet "thank you", folded it into her purse, and still showed up at the altar!

How greedy she was, using her father's illness as an excuse to stay.

I had promised her something that night of our wedding. She wanted gold, didn’t she? Well, I had made it my mission to teach her just how tedious and painful gold digging could be.

I had seen her fussing over what to get for my mother. It was entirely believable that she might have glimpsed Sarah’s idea and copied it.

I never hid my affair with Sarah from her, after all. That was how much hatred and disrespect I harbored for her.

The sugar-sweet tone of Sarah's voice echoed again. "I bet she only liked it."

Yasmin stood there, frozen, her face a mixture of anger and shock, yet she said nothing. Not even a whisper to defend herself. And that infuriated me.

I leaned forward, narrowing my eyes at her. “Is that true, Yasmin? Did you see the picture Sarah sent me and decide to copy her gift?”

Her gaze shot to mine, sharp and filled with disdain. For a moment, I thought she might lash out, that fiery spirit of hers flaring up again. But then, she turned her head away, swallowing whatever retort she had.

“You won’t say anything?” I muttered, anger coursing through me.

“What would you have me say?” she whispered quietly. “You wouldn’t believe a word I said anyway.”

The murmurs started almost immediately.

“How embarrassing.”

“Imagine copying someone else’s gift.”

“Does she have no shame?”

“Who is she, anyway?”

“Wait… she’s Mr. Cole’s wife? And she’s dressed like that?”

Before I could grow bored of the spectacle, someone in the crowd gasped.

“Wait a minute,” she said, pointing at the watch Yasmin had given my mother. “That’s fake!”

The room erupted.

“Fake? Are you serious?”

“Who gives their mother-in-law fake jewelry?”

Yasmin’s face turned pale. For the first time, she looked genuinely rattled.

“That’s impossible,” she stammered, her voice trembling. “I bought that watch myself. It cost a fortune. I had Victor wrap it—”

“Enough!” I cut her off sharply, stepping closer. My voice was low but carried enough weight to silence the crowd. “You had fake jewelry delivered to my mother?”

Just then, a waitress passed by, carrying a tray of hors d’oeuvres. Yasmin parted her lips as if to explain but froze instead.

Her face turned ashen, and her eyes widened in panic. Without a word, she bolted from the hall, pushing past the guests as she disappeared through the entrance.

The sight of her fleeing was almost laughable. I smirked, assuming it was just another pathetic attempt to escape her disgrace. Or maybe she was sick, as she had claimed earlier.

Yet, something about the way she fled didn’t sit right with me.

“She’s ruined my party yet again,” my mother hissed, her face a mixture of fury and disdain.

It had been this way last year when Yasmin tripped and fell into the wine cellar. Every year, ever since she became my wife, it has been one drama after another. But tonight was different. For the first time, everyone knew she was my wife.

“You should go on with the party. I’ll have her sent home,” I said coldly, my eyes darting to the spot she had vanished.

But Sarah wasn’t smiling. She stood beside my mother, looking restless, almost angry.

“Is she sick or something?” my mother asked, though it was clear she didn’t care. “She needs to come back here and explain why she thought I was worthy of a fake—”

“Can’t you see, Mother?” Sarah’s voice interrupted, soft but firm, her eyes fixed on the door Yasmin had disappeared through. “Can’t anyone tell? She’s pregnant.”

The word hit me harder than I expected. Yasmin? Pregnant? That couldn’t be.

“What?” I said, my voice low and cold.

Sarah turned to me, her expression a mixture of accusation and triumph. “You told me you’d never have a child with anyone but me, Cole,” she spat, her hands trembling. “You said I was the only woman you saw bearing your children! So this is why you’ve been avoiding me for years?”

“That can’t be,” I muttered, trying to piece together how it could even be possible.

Pregnant? It wasn’t possible. I had been careful. I had watched her take those pills every single day. I had made her visit the doctor. Yasmin couldn’t be pregnant.

“Sadly, she is!” Sarah yelled, her body shaking. “You got another woman pregnant. Another—”

“Sarah!” I snapped, frustrated. Could it be possible that Yasmin was seeing someone else? No. Yasmin wouldn’t dare. She was too loyal—a slave, even. She shuddered at my words and my touch. I had imprinted fear into her. She knew she wouldn’t survive it if she betrayed me.

“How did I miss this?” my mother asked, visibly shocked.

Just then, a maid approached, whispering something in her ear and handing her a slim envelope. My mother’s eyes widened as she pulled out the contents. Without a word, she handed the envelope to me.

I opened it, and my blood turned cold.

Photographs.

Yasmin, half-dressed, lying in the arms of the gardener. A younger, smug-looking man. She was asleep, her head resting against his chest, looking far too comfortable in his embrace.

My grip on the photos tightened, the edges crumpling in my fists.

Just when I thought she might be different, just when I had started to see her in a new light, she revealed her true self in the most dramatic way possible.

“Where did you get this?” I asked coldly, my voice making everyone around me shudder.

“At the entrance of your bedroom, sir,” the maid answered, shifting uncomfortably.

I flipped through the photos, my rage building with each one. At the bottom of the envelope, I found the final piece: a pregnancy test.

The maid added hesitantly, “I found it hidden in the bathroom cabinet, sir. I thought it might be important.”

Important? Important didn’t even begin to cover it.

The room blurred, replaced by a red haze of fury.

I snapped my fingers, and four security guards stepped forward immediately.

“Find her,” I ordered coldly. “Bring her here. Now.”

Before they could leave, the doors creaked open, and Yasmin stepped back into the room.

She looked disoriented, her face pale and her movements unsteady. Her eyes darted around the room, landing on me just as two guards grabbed her arms.

“What is this?” she asked, her voice shaky yet holding a hint of resistance.

“Bring her forward,” I commanded, my voice echoing through the hall.

The guards dragged her to the center of the room, and every eye was on her.

I stepped closer and threw the photographs at her feet. Her gaze fell to them, a mixture of shock and confusion.

Before I could speak, my mother stepped forward and slapped her hard across the face.

“How dare you try to pin a bastard on my son!”

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.

Cole

“I’ve always known she’s no good,” my mother muttered, taking a slow sip of her wine. Her lips curled into that smug smile—the one that made my stomach twist. Around us, the party carried on, a glittering display of wealth and indifference.

I barely responded, gripping the glass in my hand tightly enough that Sarah’s worried gaze locked onto mine, afraid it might shatter. My mother’s voice felt like static, her words lost in the chaos swirling in my mind.

“You look...” Sarah began, her hands wrapping gently around mine.

I shoved her hands away coldly and breathed deeply. “I’m fine.”

I couldn’t help it. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shove Yasmin’s betrayal from my thoughts.

I didn’t love her—or at least, that’s what I told myself. Love wasn’t part of our deal, and I had been fine with that. She was convenient, a choice that aligned with my father’s goals.

But I had been faithful to her, hadn’t I? Through all the pretenses, I kept my vows. Not because of love, but because of some twisted sense of obligation.

And now, this.

Could she really have done it? Betrayed me so completely? My chest felt tight, as if the air in the room had thinned. Every whisper, every shadowed glance from the partygoers seemed aimed at me.

“She slept with him, Cole. The evidence is there,” my mother’s voice cut through my haze again. Evidence. How could I ignore the whispers, the photographs—her in his arms, the pregnancy? But... something didn’t fit.

Yasmin had been a virgin when we married. I knew that. I was the only man she had ever been with. The thought of her in someone else’s arms, carrying someone else’s child, felt like a lie so absurd it almost made me laugh. Almost.

But the seed of doubt had been planted.

She had been a whore all along.

The glass in my hand finally slipped, shattering against the marble floor. Heads turned toward me, but I didn’t care.

My mother’s face paled for a moment before she quickly forced a smile. “Are you okay, darling?”

“Go on with the party. I need to be somewhere,” I replied huskily, clenching my palm against the broken glass in my hand.

I couldn’t stay here. I needed answers. I needed her to tell me why. Was I not enough for her slutty hole? Didn’t I give her every satisfaction any woman would want?

“Where are you going?” Sarah asked, following closely as she held my bruised hands. “This needs to be treated before it gets infected. You’re wounded.”

“Move, Sarah,” I said, shoving her aside.

I pushed past the crowd, ignoring their whispers, and headed for the door. My mother called after me, her voice loud, with a hint of anger. But I didn’t stop.

The night air hit me like a slap—sharp and biting—but it did little to clear the storm in my head. I had to see her. To confront her. If Yasmin had truly betrayed me, she would have to say it to my face.

My phone buzzed in my pocket just as I reached my car. The sharp sound of notifications echoed in the quiet, one after another, a chorus of alarms breaking the silence. I frowned, pulling it out, and my blood turned to ice.

BREAKING NEWS: CAR ACCIDENT CLAIMS FOUR LIVES, INCLUDING MRS. YASMIN COLE. VEHICLE BURST INTO FLAMES, NO BODIES RECOVERED.

For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

My wife was dead.

The words didn’t register at first, as if they were written in a language I didn’t understand. I read them again, and again, as though repetition would make them make sense. But they didn’t.

At some point, the words blurred.

My hands shook as I stared at the screen. The cool, controlled façade I’d worn for years began to crack, splintering into pieces I couldn’t hold together.

Yasmin was gone.

The thought hit me harder than I could have imagined—a fist to the gut that left me gasping for air. I clutched the car door, struggling to stay upright as a wave of emotions I couldn’t name crashed over me. Emotions I thought were buried and long gone.

Guilt. Regret. Anger.

How much had she endured because of me? I had been cold to her, indifferent, even when she tried to bridge the chasm between us. I had watched her suffer under the weight of expectations, whispers, and accusations—all for a marriage that had always been more contract than commitment.

My hands shook violently against the car. There was no way to find out now, no way to ask her why she did it. She had always had a thing for running, and once again, she had run—this time, for good.

Her last act came crashing down on me, a cruel memory of her being carried out by the guards. She had stuck her middle finger at me!

I climbed into the car, my mind a chaotic storm of anguish and confusion. The drive to the accident scene was a blur. The streets streaked past in a haze of headlights and darkness, my knuckles white as I gripped the steering wheel.

The radio played unnoticed, its melodies drowned by the storm in my head. Honks of frustrated drivers barely registered as I sped through the city.

When I arrived, the scene was a nightmare.

Flashing lights painted the night in harsh reds and blues, illuminating the charred remains of a car. The air reeked of smoke and scorched metal, and a crowd had gathered, their murmurs and cries blending into an incoherent hum.

I stepped out of the car, my legs heavy, my heart pounding against my ribs. Each step toward the wreckage felt like an eternity, my breath hitching as I absorbed the devastation before me.

“Mr. Martinez?” A police officer approached me, his expression hesitant and sympathetic. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

I ignored him, my gaze fixed on the wreckage. The car was unrecognizable, a twisted mass of blackened steel. There were no identifiable bodies—only ash and ruin.

“Where is she?” I demanded, my voice sharp and venomous.

The officer blinked, startled by the force of my tone.

“Sir, we—”

“Don’t ‘sir’ me!” I snapped, my control slipping. “Just tell me where the fuck my wife is!”

The officer flinched but held his ground. “The fire was intense. By the time we arrived—”

“Then you have nothing,” I cut him off, my words cold and unyielding. “You’re standing here, telling me she’s gone, but you don’t even know for sure. You have no proof. No body. Nothing!”

“The fire… Sir, we’re still working to extinguish it,” he stammered.

“So?” I asked, my voice icy, unrecognizable even to myself.

“I’m sorry…” he murmured, his gaze falling to the ground.

“You’re sorry,” I echoed, my fist clenched as I stared at the flames. “You’re sorry…”

The officer stepped back, pulling out his phone to call for reinforcements. The blaring sound of sirens filled the distance as more vehicles approached. Soon, Sarah, my mother, and Marcus joined me at the scene.

I watched as they fought to put out the fire, my knees threatening to give way. I stumbled backward, unable to bear the sight any longer.

Sarah reached for me, her hand hesitant, but the darkness in my gaze made her retreat.

Yasmin. Dead. Gone.

I turned away, ignoring the stares and murmurs of the onlookers, as well as the warmth in my mother’s voice as she tried to comfort me.

The drive back to the house was suffocatingly silent. Inside me, a storm raged—each emotion clawing for dominance.

Had she betrayed me? Or had I failed her so completely that she sought solace elsewhere? The questions haunted me, carving deep, painful grooves in my mind.

When I finally reached the house, its silence was deafening. The rooms felt cold, empty, as though they, too, mourned her absence.

I poured myself a drink, the amber liquid searing my throat as I swallowed. But it did nothing to dull the ache, the crushing weight of loss and regret.

I thought of her smile, the way her eyes lit up when she laughed. The way she looked at me, even when I couldn’t bring myself to return her warmth.

“Arghhh!” I roared, hurling the glass in my hand. It shattered against the wall, fragments scattering like the broken pieces of my soul.

“Cole?” Sarah’s voice echoed from the entrance. “Cole…”

“Get out, Sarah,” I ordered, my voice hoarse yet commanding. “Get the fuck out of my house!”