He Hides His Identity for My Stepsister

“I made a decision already,” I said, holding the phone to my ear. “For the sake of your illegitimate daughter, I’m going to marry that vegetative guy from the Hale family.”

My father didn’t hesitate. “That’s the right choice,” he said, pride swelling in his voice. “You’re a good sister, Freya. Ivy will be thrilled. I’ll get the wedding dress ready.”

Then came the reward—his way of softening the blow. A private estate outside the city. Peace. Twenty million. But what’s worse is that he wanted me to give up my butler, Jaxon, for Ivy. Again.

I loved Jaxon. I once wanted to marry him until I overheard him confessing everything. He wasn’t just my butler; he was the young master of the Smith family.

"Ivy’s here. I want to be with her. You know I fell for her at first sight... I can’t let go. She's so fragile. I don’t want to scare her. She’s had a hard life. I want to protect her. Earn her trust. Then I’ll tell her everything. And as for Freya, she’s just a stepping stone.”

That was the final blow. I agreed to the marriage, to leave this place, even if it meant losing everything I thought I had.

But now, I see it clearly. I’m not just walking away from my father or Jaxon. I’m walking away from the girl I used to be.

Now, I choose me, and wait for the moment Jaxon would beg for my love again.

--

“I made a decision already,” I said, holding the phone to my ear. “For the sake of your illegitimate daughter, I’m going to marry that vegetative guy from the Hale family.”

“Yes! That’s the right choice!” my father said with pride thick in his voice. “You’re a good sister, Freya. And surely Ivy will be so happy to hear about it. I’ll get the wedding dress ready for you.”

I nodded, not really caring about it. I just wanted to leave the house as soon as possible.

He added, “I will also give you a private estate outside the city. Large, modern. Peaceful. A perfect start to your new life, and a twenty-million.”

My throat tightened. “Why are you suddenly so generous?”

“Because you’re doing this for your sister, and I want to reward you for that. I’m so proud of you.”

He sounded so proud of me for saving the daughter of the woman he betrayed my mother with. How ironic. All those years, no matter how many achievements I racked up, he never once told me he was proud. 

“And one more thing,” he added. “You’ll have to give up Jaxon. I’ll assign him to Ivy from now on. You won’t need a butler once you marry into the Hale family. You’ll have more assistants than you’ll ever need in that house. But Ivy… she’s delicate. And she trusts him. He’s good for her.”

“No,” I said immediately, my voice cracking for the first time tonight. “Jaxon is my personal butler. He’s the only person I have.”

There was a short pause. Then my father’s voice turned cold. “Not anymore. Ivy needs him more. She’s fragile. You understand, right?”

I bit down hard on my lower lip until I tasted blood. As I stood there frozen, memories crashed into me.

My mother used to be the brightest woman I knew until the day she learned about the mistress of my father, and their child Ivy. A three-month-younger illegitimate daughter my father shamelessly brought into our home.

My mother was also pregnant with my supposed to be baby brother, but overwhelmed by grief, she went into labor too early. The baby didn't make it and neither did she.

After that, loneliness became my shadow. I stopped studying. I stopped smiling. Night after night, I snuck out to the clubs—dancing recklessly, drinking until I couldn't remember my name, trying to drown the ache.

That’s when I first saw Jaxon. He wasn’t like the other guys at the bar. He was just charming, and I fell in love at first sight.

I tried to get his attention. I laughed a little too loudly at jokes near him, leaned in when I spoke to other men just to see if he’d glance my way, wore dresses a little shorter and heels a little higher, accidentally brushed my fingers against his arm when reaching for a drink, let my perfume linger in the air around him, asked him for help tying the strap of my dress just to feel his fingers graze my skin, pretended to twist my ankle so he would have to catch me, sent him playful winks across the room, and once even drunkenly rested my head on his shoulder, but no matter what I did, he never once looked at me the way I desperately wanted him to.

I should have forgotten him. Until later, when the old butler assigned to me fell gravely ill, we needed a replacement.

Jaxon showed up again but this time, he was introduced as the butler’s son I wasn’t even aware of. 

I thought fate had finally given me a piece of kindness. I thought finally, we would be close. But reality came crashing down again because lies always have a way of finding daylight.

One night, coming back from a late event, I overheard him on the phone in the garden.

"Jaxon, come home already," the caller had said. "Stop playing the butler’s son. You're the son of the Smith family."

"I can't," Jaxon had replied. "Ivy’s here. I want to be with her. You know I fell for her at first sight... I can’t let go. She's so fragile. I don’t want to scare her. She’s had a hard life. I want to protect her. Earn her trust. Then I’ll tell her everything. About who I really am."

"And Freya?" the voice asked.

His laugh still haunted me.

"Oh, that woman? She’s just a stepping stone. Convenient. Nothing more."

That was the moment something inside me shattered, so I agreed to the marriage. And then now I agreed for Jaxon to be with Ivy because even if I fought for it, he would never look at me the same way he looked at her. 

By the time I dragged myself back to my room, my stomach was twisting painfully. I hadn’t eaten since morning, and the untouched tray of food was now cold and congealed. I wandered down the hall toward Jaxon’s room.

"I’m hungry," I said flatly. "Can you get me something to eat?"

He blinked, almost bored. "I’m off duty now."

My brows pulled together. "So?"

"So it’s not my responsibility anymore," he replied, stepping out and brushing past me like I was no one.

I stood there, stunned, feeling smaller than I ever had in my life. And then, because fate enjoyed cruelty, it got worse.

"I’m not feeling well…" Ivy said.

I turned my head just in time to see her leaning against the doorframe, one hand daintily pressed to her forehead.

"I think I have a fever," she whispered. "And I’m craving that soup you made before… my stomach hurts. Could you… maybe…?"

Without hesitation, Jaxon turned back.

"I’ll get it," he said warmly. "Stay inside. I’ll be right back."

I turned and walked stiffly back to my room before the tears could humiliate me further. I wrapped my arms around myself. How could a human body feel so empty, and yet so unbearably heavy?

I lay in bed, not sleeping. Staring up at the ceiling as the minutes dragged into hours, feeling the hunger gnaw at my gut. Eventually, I got up, grabbed my wallet, tied my hair back, and slipped out of my room. I'd get my own food. Like I always should have.

But as I passed Ivy’s door, I slowed. The door was slightly ajar, a sliver of warm lamplight spilling into the hallway.

And there he was. Jaxon, seated at the edge of her bed, his jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up.

He watched Ivy sleep, his posture tense but his gaze impossibly gentle like she was something rare and precious. Ivy lay curled up beneath the covers, her breathing slow, a soft flush on her cheeks.

And then, as if pulled by something deep and undeniable, Jaxon reached out.

He brushed a strand of hair from her face then kissed her lips. 

Ivy stirred faintly, letting out a small sound, and Jaxon whispered against her skin: You’re mine, Ivy. Always mine. I’ll do anything for you... even if it means disregarding Freya soon to make you happy.

Then he slid into bed beside her, pulling her small frame against his chest.

Chapter 2

When I woke up, my body felt heavy.

My head throbbed slightly, and my stomach churned with emptiness. I hadn't eaten since yesterday, and I could still feel the weight of that last conversation lingering in my chest like a bruise.

I dragged myself up from the bed slowly, the morning light pouring in through the curtains in soft slants. My throat felt dry, but worse than that—my heart ached.

Not because I was hungry.

But because of what I heard through the hallway.

“I’m really okay now,” Ivy’s voice floated gently from the other room, followed by a soft laugh. “Thank you for staying with me last night.”

“I just wanted to make sure you were alright,” Jaxon replied, his voice low and calm. “You were burning up. I couldn’t leave.”

“You’re always here for me,” she whispered. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

My fingers clenched the edge of the mattress.

So he stayed in her room all night.

Even after I stood there—hungry, humiliated—he chose her. Again.

I reminded myself of the original deal. Jaxon had been hired to protect me. Not Ivy. Me.

That was the agreement.

At first, he did exactly that. He was everywhere I went—quiet, dependable, strong. For a while, I had let myself believe that maybe he cared.

But now? Now the illusion was gone.

I fixed my face in the mirror—no tears, no cracks. Only stillness. Then I changed and stepped out of my room.

Jaxon was standing by the hallway, waiting. As soon as he saw me, he asked, “Did you eat the food I left in your room?”

I didn’t even blink. “No. I threw it away.”

He frowned. “Why are you being dramatic?”

I arched a brow.

“Is this about last night?” he added. “Because if it is—look, I was off duty. I have the right to do what I want. And your sister was sick. You were just hungry. You couldn’t even cook something yourself?”

His words stung more than I wanted to admit.

But I didn’t argue.

I didn’t defend myself.

I just stared at him for a long, painful second—long enough for the silence between us to become unbearable.

Then I turned and started walking away.

“Where are you going?” he called after me.

I paused but didn’t look back. “Why are you asking? When you don’t care at all.”

And I walked out the front door.

The wind was crisp. The air a little cool against my skin. I started jogging—not to exercise, not to stay fit, but to escape. To run away from thoughts that clung to me like thorns.

Just as I found a rhythm, I heard a voice behind me.

“Freya!”

Ivy.

I didn’t stop.

“Can we jog together?” she asked, jogging up beside me with that effortless cheer in her tone.

I didn’t reply.

She fell into step beside me anyway.

Then, not even a minute later, she slowed and turned to Jaxon, who had caught up behind her. “Why does she hate me?” she pouted. “I just want to be close with her. She’s my sister…”

I heard Jaxon’s voice behind me. “Don’t worry about it. If she doesn’t like you, I’m here. I’ll never leave you.”

That was enough.

I sped up, leaving them behind—pretending like I hadn’t heard a thing.

But they followed.

We looped through the back roads until we ended up near the unfinished construction on the estate—an expansion my father had ordered months ago.

The area was quiet, surrounded by skeletons of beams and scattered materials. I slowed to a walk, letting my thoughts spiral.

I didn’t notice the loose debris on the ground until it was too late. I felt the sharp shift of weight beneath my foot—the metal plank tilting.

“Freya!” someone shouted.

But it was already falling. My foot caught against something—metal, unstable. The world tilted.

The sharp screech of steel against stone pierced the air as the plank gave way beneath me. My balance faltered. For a split second, time seemed to stretch, pulling everything into a slow, surreal blur.

I felt the shift in my body—the helpless sway as gravity took hold. Pain shot through me as the edge of the debris slammed against my side, dragging me down with it. The sky spun. The air rushed out of my lungs.

And just before the darkness swallowed everything, my eyes caught movement.

Jaxon.

He was running.

But not toward me.

Not to catch me.

Not to shield me.

He was running to her.

To Ivy.

His arms wrapped around her as they fell behind a beam, his body shielding hers from the spray of rubble that followed. His face—etched with panic—was turned only to her.

Even as I fell.

Even as the world shattered beneath me.

I was the one bleeding, broken, forgotten.

And he had already chosen who mattered.

Pain exploded through me—hot and sharp—before the world blinked out.

And then… there was only silence.

Only darkness.

Chapter 3 

Pain met me first.

My entire body felt like it had been dragged across pavement. My limbs were stiff. My ribs burned when I tried to breathe too deeply. And still, it wasn't the physical pain that hurt most.

“Miss Whitmore,” a soft voice called out.

A nurse stood beside me, clipboard in hand, lips curved into a professional smile. Her eyes darted to the monitor before she looked down at me. “You’re awake. That’s good.”

I swallowed, throat dry. “Where’s… Jaxon?”

She blinked, then nodded. “He left earlier this morning. He hired our team to watch over you. He’s currently attending to Miss Ivy. She sustained some injuries as well during the incident.”

There was a silence.

Then I almost laughed—but there was no humor in it. Just this raw, hollow sound that scraped at my throat.

I was the one who fell. The one who passed out from pain. But she—she was the one he ran to.

And now he had left someone else to take care of me while he sat beside her bed, probably holding her hand and whispering sweet reassurances.

It was ridiculous.

I let my head fall back against the pillow and exhaled slowly through my nose. A part of me wanted to lie still, pretend I cared enough to let this hurt break me.

But I didn’t.

Even with my body screaming in protest, I pushed the covers off and swung my legs over the bed. The nurse rushed forward. “Miss Whitmore, please—”

“I’m fine,” I said, cold and firm. “I don’t need help.”

That was the first lie of the day.

I stepped into the hallway, one hand pressed against the wall for balance. The corridor was dimly lit, lined with muted green doors and flowers in too-perfect vases.

I didn’t mean to stop.

But I did.

Right outside the room next to mine.

The door was cracked open. Voices spilled into the hallway.

“It’s my fault,” Ivy whispered, her voice trembling just enough to sound pitiful. “You got hurt because of me.”

“No,” Jaxon said, his voice too soft. Too gentle. “It’s okay. I’d do it again. I don’t mind getting hurt if it means keeping you safe.”

My nails dug into my palm.

“But what about my sister?” she asked, like it was a line rehearsed. “You’re her personal butler… and also the one to protect her.”

“She’s fine now,” he replied, and I could picture the look on his face—calm, unwavering, loyal. “Freya’s strong. She doesn’t need me the way you do.”

I felt something twist in my chest.

Strong.

That word again.

They all used it when they wanted an excuse not to care. Freya’s strong. She can handle it. She doesn’t cry. She’ll be fine.

But no one ever asked if I wanted to be strong.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sudden shuffle of movement. I peeked further.

Several men in black suits walked into Ivy’s room, each one carrying a velvet-wrapped gift.

“Who are they?” Ivy asked.

One of them stepped forward and bowed. “Miss Ivy, these are gifts from Young Master Smith. He heard about what happened and wanted to send these to make you smile.”

Ivy’s mouth dropped open in awe. “Wait—what? I don’t even know him personally!”

The man smiled. “But he’s been watching from afar. Admiring you.”

“Do you think I deserve this?” she asked, looking at Jaxon with wide, gleaming eyes.

“Of course,” he said without hesitation.

“And… do you think he likes me?” she added with a giggle.

Jaxon nodded. “Surely.”

I didn’t need confirmation.

I already knew.

Young Master Smith… was Jaxon. Hiding behind a title, crafting an illusion, so he could shower her with gifts under a different name.

I turned away.

But before I could disappear down the hall, her voice stopped me.

“Oh my gosh—Freya!” Ivy exclaimed. “Sister, look! Young Master Smith sent all these for me. I’m so lucky, don’t you think?”

I didn’t say a word. I just kept walking.

But Ivy wasn’t done. She caught up to me in the hall, her heels clicking frantically behind me.

“Wait! Are you mad? Is it because you’re jealous?”

I stopped.

Turned.

“I would never be jealous of you,” I said, every word like ice. “Let. Go. Of. Me.”

She reached for my arm again and I shoved her away.

Not hard.

But enough.

“Careful!” Jaxon called out as he appeared behind us. He rushed to Ivy’s side. “She’s not well yet. You should apologize.”

Apologize?

I stared at him for a long, hollow second.

And then… I did.

“Sorry,” I said, flatly.

For what—I didn’t even know. But I was tired. Too tired to fight anymore.

I turned and walked away, past the nurses, past the flowers, past the walls painted in colors meant to soothe.

Behind me, I heard him mutter, “Let her go… she’s probably just being dramatic.”

“I’m still worried,” Ivy’s voice chimed in sweetly. “Let’s follow her.”

Chapter 4

I got in the car, slammed the door, and drove off.

The bar pulsed with lights and noise. Music thudded through the floor, shaking the walls and my bones with every beat. I drank fast, barely tasting the burn anymore. My throat was raw. My mind fuzzed over.

I just wanted to forget—everything. I danced. Reckless. Numb. My body moved like I wasn’t in it. The crowd closed in around me—strangers pressing too close, sweat in the air, perfume choking every breath.

I didn’t care. Let them touch me. Let the world spin.

Then I saw them. Jaxon and Ivy. They had followed me. He stood back at first, watching. He always watched. But then Ivy reached for him, smiled, and pulled him into the crowd. He didn’t resist. His hand slid to her body like it belonged there. Like she belonged to him.

They danced—close. Too close. His lips moved near her ear, saying something soft.

She laughed. I looked away.

Another drink. Something stronger this time. It tasted like fire and regret. It did nothing.

A man slid into the empty space beside me. Slurring. Grinning too wide. His eyes scanned me like I was a prize, and before I could step away, he grabbed my hand and yanked me into another rhythm.

I didn’t say yes. I didn’t say no. He took my silence and ran with it. His hands went everywhere. His breath—hot and rancid—brushed my cheek. And then, he kissed me. Hard. Wet. Unwanted.

I shoved him with both hands. “Don’t touch me.”

He stumbled back, laughed. “Didn’t seem like you minded.”

I turned to walk away. He grabbed my wrist—tight.

Before I could scream, a fist cut through the space between us.

Crack. The man went down.

Jaxon. But it was too late. Another man charged toward me, shouting something. I backed up, but the crowd boxed me in.

He swung. The glass bottle shattered against my shoulder, sending shards into my skin. Pain ripped through me, sharp and hot. Blood soaked through my dress instantly. I exhaled sharply, stumbling back.

Jaxon’s eyes met mine, wide. “I’m sorry, Miss Whitmore.”

I laughed. Cold. Broken. “Sorry? Where were you when I needed you?”

He looked torn. “Ivy needed—”

“Of course she did,” I snapped. “She always needs.”

I clutched my arm, blood dripping down my fingers. “Once I’m married, you can protect her all you want. Forget me. It’s what you’ve been doing all along.”

I turned to leave. And then the chaos swallowed us. I didn’t even know where it came from.

Screams tore through the air. Glass rained down. Sudden blasts erupted—loud and close. People ran. Tables flipped. A stampede of bodies crashed toward the exits.

And Jaxon? He didn’t come for me. He ran straight to Ivy.

Threw himself over her. Wrapped her up in his arms like she was the only person in the world.

And I—

I just stood there.

Until pain exploded across my upper shoulder. A bullet.

I dropped. Hard. No one saw me fall. No one ran to me.

Then I heard Ivy’s voice, fragile. “Jaxon… you’re her personal butler and also sworn to be loyal to her. You’re supposed to protect her… She’s hurt…”

Jaxon didn’t answer for a moment.

Then—“It’s my fault… Freya… Freya needs help.”

“No… don’t blame yourself. It’s not your fault,” he responded. “Even if it’s a thousand times… I’d always choose to save you first.”

Ivy’s voice cracked. “Why?”

And his answer came soft, steady.

“Because I like—”

The world vanished before I could even hear his answer.

Chapter 5

The ceiling was pale.

Blurry at first, then clearer as my eyes slowly opened. The fluorescent light buzzed faintly above me, sterile and cold. It didn’t take long for the pain to return. A sharp ache in my arm. Dull, throbbing, but alive.

My arm was bandaged, tight and stiff. The bullet hadn’t gone too deep, they said. Just a graze. Lucky.

If only I felt lucky. I turned my head slowly. Ivy sat beside me, her eyes wide and glassy with guilt. Her hair was perfect, lips tinted pink, and yet her hands trembled slightly as she reached for me.

“Freya… are you okay?” Her voice was soft, as if afraid I’d break if she spoke too loud. “I’m so sorry… I didn’t know how it started. They’re still investigating what happened at the bar. But you… you got hurt.”

I didn’t respond.

“Freya,” she whispered, “please… I want to take care of you. Don’t ignore me. You’re my precious sister.”

I shifted my gaze away from her. My throat was dry, cracked from disuse, but the words came out steady. “Leave me.”

Her face fell. “But… I just want to help—”

The door creaked open, and our father stepped in. “Freya,” he said with quiet frustration, “why are you being so difficult with your sister? She’s only trying to help.”

I looked at him—cold, tired. “If she really wants to help me,” I said, voice flat, “then she should leave. I don’t want to see her again.”

I shoved Ivy’s hand away. She winced softly, visibly shaken, but I didn’t care anymore.

Then I saw him. Jaxon stood by the door.

His jaw clenched as if trying to speak but failing. I didn’t wait.

“I don’t want to see you either,” I said sharply. “You’re fired.”

His eyes widened. “No. Don’t—please, don’t fire me.”

He stepped forward, his voice rising. “Miss Whitmore… Freya, I’m sorry. I know I failed. I—I wasn’t fast enough, I wasn’t there. But I’ll do anything. Just don’t fire me.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Why?” I asked bitterly.

“Of course, to protect you.”

I laughed but there was no humor in my eyes. Still, I said, “Fine. You can stay.”

His head lifted, eyes hopeful for a second.

“But,” I added, “you’ll be punished for failing me.”

When I was finally discharged from the hospital, I didn’t waste time.

Everything was prepared. The private room I chose was quiet, the curtains drawn tightly against the world. A cold, clean space without distractions—perfect for what needed to happen.

Jaxon entered exactly when I told him to. No emotion in his eyes, no excuses on his lips. He removed his jacket slowly and folded it with precision, then stood still in the center of the room, as if waiting for judgment.

But I didn’t lift a whip. Instead, I gave a small nod to the two men stationed at the side of the room—my father’s men, now mine.

“Begin.”

Jaxon didn’t flinch.

The first punch landed across his cheek, snapping his head to the side. The second followed to his gut. He grunted, breath escaping his lungs in one sharp exhale, but he didn’t speak. Didn’t raise a hand to defend himself. He took each hit, like he believed he deserved it.

And maybe he did.

He betrayed me in silence.

In secrets.

And worst of all—he made me believe I mattered.

The punches kept coming. His knees buckled under one sharp blow, and I left the room without another word.

I went to the pool terrace to clear my head. I sat by the edge, legs dangling over the side when Ivy came.

“I heard what you did,” she said, standing beside me. “That punishment… it wasn’t just cruel—it was my fault. He only got hurt because he was protecting me.”

I said nothing.

“I should be the one who gets punished,” she added dramatically, stepping closer to the edge. “If you're angry, then hurt me instead—”

I stood and turned away. “I have no interest in you. You’re not worth it.”

She reached out again. “Freya, I just want us to be sisters—”

“I said no,” I snapped, walking past her.

But then—I heard the slip. Her foot caught on the wet edge. Her arms flailed.

And then—a splash.

“Help!” she screamed. “I can’t swim—please! Help me!”

I turned slowly. She was thrashing, her head barely staying above water, panic splashed across her face.

And before anyone else could react—

Jaxon ran. Bleeding. Limping. Bruised.

He didn’t even hesitate. He threw himself into the pool, arms slicing through the water. In seconds, he reached her, pulling her to him as she clung to him, coughing and crying.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. I’m here… no one will hurt you again.”

Chapter 6

Days passed. And every time I opened a door or turned a hallway, there they were—Jaxon and Ivy, tending to each other like a storybook couple. I never saw him cry for me. Never saw him care.

But for her? I passed by the guest room one evening and paused.

The door wasn’t fully shut.

Through the small gap, I saw Jaxon sitting by Ivy’s bedside, gently wiping her tears.

“I’m sorry,” Jaxon whispered, his hand ghosting over her bruised skin. “You were never supposed to get hurt. I swear, Ivy… anyone who lays a hand on you will be punished.”

He leaned in.

Pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

I didn’t flinch.

Didn’t feel anything anymore.

Another time, I passed the room again. Ivy was asleep. Jaxon tucked the blanket over her shoulders, then leaned down and kissed her gently on the lips.

“I love you,” he murmured, brushing his thumb against her cheek. “I love you so much…”

I stood there a moment longer, but there was no ache this time.

Just… emptiness.

Later that week, I went to the bridal boutique alone.

No one offered to come.

Not my father.

Not Ivy.

Not even Jaxon.

The wedding dress fit perfectly. It was a clean white gown with silver embroidery along the bodice, cascading into layers of soft tulle. I looked like a stranger in the mirror. A beautiful bride no one wanted.

When I stepped out of the shop, the sky had already folded into night.

The street was nearly empty, only the faint glow of the boutique’s lights behind me and the dim flicker of a broken streetlamp ahead. I was walking toward the car when a hand clamped over my mouth.

A sharp, bitter scent invaded my nostrils—chemical, suffocating.

I kicked. Scratched. Fought with everything I had.

But it was useless.

Everything went black.

When I came to, I was already soaking wet.

I drew in a sharp breath, coughing violently, spitting out water as my lungs fought to remember how to breathe. My arms were bound behind my back, wrists aching from the tight restraints. My hair clung to my face, tangled and heavy.

I was outside somewhere—cold concrete beneath me, the air thick with moisture and the scent of moss and rusted iron.

A warehouse. Or the back of one. Somewhere forgotten.

And then, hands gripped my shoulders.

Without warning, I was dragged forward—toward a trough filled with ice-cold water. I had only a second to understand what was happening.

Then they shoved me under.

Water rushed up my nose, into my mouth. I thrashed, panicked. My lungs screamed for air as the pressure closed in.

And just as I was about to lose consciousness, they yanked me up.

I choked, spluttering, coughing violently.

Then—

They pushed me down again.

The second time was worse. I knew what was coming, and still I couldn’t fight it. My body bucked against the hands pinning me. My mind screamed for oxygen. For mercy. For escape.

But there was none.

They pulled me up again—long enough to breathe, barely.

And then it happened a third time.

Over. And over. And over again.

Each breath between drownings was like a curse—never enough to recover, just enough to survive the next.

Finally, when they stopped, I was struggling like a dying fish, crumpled on the concrete, soaked and shivering.

A voice broke the silence.

“You’re being punished… for what you did to the woman our master loves.”

I blinked, my vision blurry. My ears rang.

“What…?” I rasped.

“The young master doesn't want her hurt,” the man continued. “You pushed her into the pool. You made her suffer. So now, you suffer.”

And that’s when it hit me.

Jaxon. The man who once promised to protect me had ordered this for Ivy.

I let out a sound—half sob, half laugh. It echoed in the empty space around us like something feral.

So that was it. He would protect Ivy. Even if it meant breaking me.

When they dumped me outside the city, I was half-conscious. Shivering. Skin raw and scraped. I crawled until I found the edge of the road. Then I stood—barely—and walked. And walked.

I don’t know how I reached the hospital. I just remember the bright lights and the way the nurses looked at me like I was something broken beyond repair.

No one came to see me. Not even after three days.

I didn’t bother calling anyone.

Why would I? I knew better now.

I wasn’t the precious one. I wasn’t the girl who got saved. I was the one who got punished for existing.

And all I had to do now… was make it to the wedding.

So once discharged, I went home. Packed quietly. I decided to stay in a hotel until the ceremony. That way, I wouldn’t have to see their faces, or live in the same house as the people who forgot I existed.

I was almost out the door when Father’s voice echoed from behind me.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

I turned slowly. “To the hotel. I’ll return for the wedding.”

He frowned. “No. It’s Ivy’s birthday tomorrow. She wants you there. She wants your help organizing the celebration.”

I said nothing.

He scowled. “Why are you always so difficult with your sister? She’s trying to build a relationship with you!”

I stared at him. “And I said no.”

He stepped forward, lowering his voice into a threat. “If you don’t go, I’ll freeze your cards. You won’t access a single cent.”

I didn’t even blink.

Then sighed.

“Fine.”

I turned to leave again, but before I reached the stairs, he spoke once more.

“Oh, and Freya—give your mother’s necklace to Ivy. She wants to wear it for the party.”

My body went rigid.

I turned, disbelief flashing through me. “No.”

His eyes narrowed. “She just needs something to match her gown. She’ll return it.”

“No!” I snapped, louder this time. “That necklace is the only thing I have left from my mother. I won’t give it to her.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just a piece of jewelry.”

I took a step back. But he was faster.

He walked up and unclasped the necklace from behind my neck. I reached to stop him, but his grip was firm—unyielding. 

He pulled it off and walked away, tossing it to a maid. “Give this to Ivy.”

I stood there—motionless.

My chest felt like it was being hollowed out. It wasn’t about the necklace. It was about the last piece of someone who loved me being ripped away.

I collapsed on the couch, shoulders shaking. But I didn’t scream. Didn’t beg.

I just lay there… silent.

Tears slid down my face. I didn’t wipe them.

Because crying wouldn’t change anything.

Because in this house—No one cared.

Chapter 7

I didn’t want to be there. But I had no choice.

My father had made it clear—if I didn’t attend Ivy’s birthday celebration, he would cancel all my cards and cut off my finances until the wedding. He didn’t say it like a threat. He said it like a favor. Like he was giving me a push in the right direction.

I wore a muted emerald gown. Floor-length velvet with long sleeves that covered my still-healing shoulder. I didn’t bother with makeup. Didn’t care to impress anyone.

The party was hosted in the glass garden of the estate—a room bathed in warm chandelier light and fragrant with imported roses. The guests had already arrived, sipping champagne, dressed in couture. I stood at the entrance for a moment, invisible and unwanted.

And then I saw her.

Ivy.

She stood in the center of it all, wearing a delicate pink dress like a doll brought to life. Her hair was curled into soft waves. Her cheeks blushed from excitement. And around her neck—gleaming, bold, familiar—was my mother’s necklace.

The same one Father had yanked off me.

I clenched my fists.

She wore it like it belonged to her.

As if it hadn’t once rested on the woman who gave birth to me, raised me, and died betrayed.

But I said nothing.

I didn’t want to cause a scene—not here. Not now. I swallowed the fury and retreated to a corner, where I watched like a ghost.

The guests surrounded Ivy with gifts—Tiffany boxes, limited edition Hermès bags, the key to a new Porsche. Their praises echoed: “She’s so sweet,” “so elegant,” “the perfect daughter.”

And then, Father stepped forward.

He raised a glass. “Thank you all for being here. Tonight, we celebrate my precious daughter Ivy—who has been sweet, kind, and sensible since she was a child.”

Everyone clapped.

He didn’t mention me.

Not even once.

I wasn’t surprised.

Just... tired.

I remembered the way he used to look at me when I was a child—before Ivy, before the lies. He’d hold me high, call me his little star. My mother would smile softly beside him, her hands resting on my shoulders like wings.

That memory didn’t exist anymore.

Now, there was only Ivy.

And in the family photo they took that night, I wasn’t even in the frame.

Later, as the party wore on, the doors opened. A line of men in black entered, each holding a velvet box. One stepped forward. “Young Master Smith sends these birthday gifts to Miss Ivy.”

The crowd murmured.

Even I froze for a moment.

Of course. Jaxon. He wasn’t just present—he was flaunting it now, even with his hidden identity.

Ivy lit up, hands to her mouth in mock shock. “Oh my God, I can’t believe this!”

The boxes were opened one by one—sapphire earrings, diamond bracelets, a rose gold watch engraved with her initials.

Someone whispered, “That’s the heir to the Smith family, right? He must love her even though they haven’t met in person.”

And Ivy? She turned toward me.

Smiling. As if she had won. As if I had lost.

The guests clapped again, crowding around her, taking photos, showering her with more compliments than anyone could deserve.

It felt like the room was shrinking. The air too thick.

I needed to breathe.

But then, more guests gathered around Ivy. One of her friends leaned in, whispering loud enough for all to hear, “There are so many young men here today, Ivy. Is your father arranging a blind date for you? Didn’t you used to be engaged to that guy from the Hale family?”

Ivy smiled coyly, but her eyes flicked to me. “Oh, that’s been over for a long time.”

Laughter rippled through the girls.

“Well, lucky you,” the friend continued. “That guy is practically a vegetable now. Who’d want to marry into a grave?”

My chest twisted. Well, I did, just to get away from this family.

Later on, the girls asked her about her ideal man, with Jaxon around listening carefully as if he’d been willing to trade anything for whatever Ivy would say.

The girls let out excited cries.

And I remembered.

That night, long ago—when I thought Jaxon didn’t know I was watching. He took off his shirt, and there it was.

Ivy. Tattooed over his heart.

I froze then. Pretended I didn’t see. Lied to myself. But standing here, hearing her speak those exact words—while he stood in the crowd, silent, watching her with soft eyes—

It hit me. They were always meant to be. I was the villain.

“I also want someone who would dive into the sea to find me the most precious pearl—and turn it into a necklace.”

Chapter 8

I couldn’t take it anymore.

The music, the laughter, the way Ivy’s voice danced through the glass walls like she owned the entire world—it all clawed at me.

So I slipped out quietly, past the crowd of perfectly dressed strangers who didn’t know my name, and walked toward the garden. It was dark outside. Quiet. Just the faint hum of crickets and the wind moving through the hedges.

I sat on the bench beneath the old tree where I used to hide as a child. Back when things were simple. Back when I thought I was loved.

The cold night air wrapped around me. It was the first real thing I’d felt all day.

But peace never lasted long.

Ivy found me.

Her heels clicked softly against the stone path as she approached, fake concern in her voice.

“What are you doing out here all alone?” she asked, folding her arms like she was genuinely puzzled.

I didn’t look at her. “None of your business.”

She tilted her head. “You know... it kind of looks like you’re jealous.”

That made me laugh—dry, humorless. “Jealous?”

“Yeah,” she said, shrugging. “I mean, I got the party, the guests, the attention... and, let’s not forget, the favor of the Smith family. Meanwhile, you get to marry the guy in a coma.” She grinned. “Just like Dad said. I guess it all worked out. You’re always so cold and useless.”

I turned to her, my voice low. “Be careful what you say.”

But she wasn’t done.

“And your mother?” she added, lips curling. “She was weak. She deserved what she got. Couldn’t handle the truth. Couldn’t handle the fact that Father loved someone else.”

Something snapped.

I stood. “Take it off.”

“What?”

“The necklace,” I said through clenched teeth. “It was my mother’s. Give it back.”

“Oh please, it’s just jewelry.” She rolled her eyes, grabbed it, and tugged.

The chain broke.

Pearls scattered across the stone floor like tears frozen mid-fall.

Then she slapped her. The sound cracked through the garden like thunder.

She exhaled sharply, stumbled back a step, then whimpered dramatically. “You... you hit me over a necklace?”

“I didn’t mean to!” she cried louder, more desperate, as if an audience would appear. “She hit me because I was wearing her mom’s necklace! I didn’t mean to break it!”

Footsteps thundered behind us.

Our father appeared, face red with fury. “Freya! What the heck is going on?”

“She slapped me!” Ivy cried, running into his arms like some wounded dove. “I didn’t do anything wrong! She just went crazy!”

My father turned to me. “You slapped your sister? On her birthday?”

“She broke my mother’s necklace,” I said, still trembling. “She said—horrible things about her. About me, but I didn’t slap her! She did it herself!”

He scowled. “It was an accident. And for a necklace? You had to hit her? You’re ruining everything!”

And then—Jaxon.

His voice was quiet but sharp, cutting into me like a knife.

“Why would you hurt her, Freya? You have everything. And you're still jealous of her?”

“Everything?” I repeated, almost laughing. “She took everything from me. My father. My personal butler and protector. My place. She wore my mother’s necklace and shattered it like it meant nothing.”

My voice cracked. “And then you—you—defend her.”

My father threw his hands up. “You’ve made a scene. You’ve embarrassed me. You’ve ruined Ivy’s birthday.”

I let out a slow breath. “So, you would really choose her over me?”

He didn’t answer but they left. All of them. I knelt on the cold stone, my dress dragging across the ground, and began picking up the beads one by one. My fingers were shaking, my throat tight.

“Mom...” I whispered. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t protect it.”

Tears slipped down my cheeks.

“I’m gonna marry that man,” I whispered. “The one they’ve all thrown at me. The one in a hospital bed.”

A pause.

“At least if I do... I’ll finally be gone from here.”

I gathered the last pearl in my hand and held it tightly to my chest.

Chapter 9

Lying in bed that morning, I could hear Ivy in the room next to mine. Her voice floated through the air like glitter—sweet, sparkly, shallow.

“Oh my God, look at this!” she called out in delight. “It’s a pearl necklace! Real, natural saltwater pearls. I read somewhere these only grow in the deepest parts of the sea.”

Her friends let out a burst.

“Who sent it?” one of them asked.

Ivy giggled. “There’s a card. It says, Can’t wait to meet you.”

“Do you think it’s from the Smith family?” another asked breathlessly.

“Maybe,” Ivy said. “He’s been sending me things lately. And you saw the birthday gifts, right? Who else could afford something like this?”

“But what about Jaxon?” one of them whispered. “Didn’t he like you? And didn’t you like him?”

There was a pause. Then Ivy answered, not shy at all.

“Well... I do like him. He’s good-looking, loyal, protective. But if the Smith heir wants me? I mean, come on, who would say no to that?”

Her voice turned smug. “Best case? I marry Smith and keep Jaxon on the side. That way I get both—a husband and a lover.”

Laughter followed.

I didn’t move from the bed. I just stared at the ceiling, letting the sound of Ivy’s fantasies sink in.

I didn’t feel anger. Not even sadness.

Just... emptiness. A numb kind of clarity.

She could have it all. Because none of it meant anything to me anymore.

I got up and walked down the hall toward Jaxon’s room. The door was half-closed. I knocked once, then pushed it open.

He was in bed, shirtless, looking pale.

“Sick?” I asked, one brow raised.

He nodded. “I wasn’t feeling well today. Couldn’t get out of bed.”

Liar. I knew the truth.

When he heard about Ivy wanting a pearl necklace, he disappeared to dive under the sea. Now the necklace was here, and he was sick. 

I stared at him for a long moment. He wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“It’s okay,” I said calmly. “You don’t need to help me anymore.”

He blinked, confused.

I smiled faintly. “I won’t be needing you.”

Then I turned and left, my footsteps steady.

That afternoon, I received a message from my father’s assistant.

Your presence is requested at the main estate. The limousine will arrive in an hour. The funds have been deposited, and the estate is ready for you. We’ll see you soon.

So that was it. I’m finally leaving this house.

I closed my closet, zipped my suitcase, and wheeled it to the door. Before I left, I passed by Ivy’s room. The door was open, the smell of her perfume thick in the air.

Laughter again.

Jaxon was inside. Their voices blurred together in flirtation, soft laughter, quiet murmurs.

It didn’t matter anymore. I walked out without looking back.

-

Third Person Pov

The next morning, Jaxon stood in the hallway, confusion written all over his face. Freya’s room was empty. The closet had been cleared out. The drawers were bare.

"Where is she?" he asked one of the maids.

"She left yesterday, sir," the maid replied, bowing her head respectfully.

His brows pulled together in a deep frown. "Left?"

Pulling out his phone, his hands trembling slightly, he dialed her number.

It rang once. 

Twice. 

Voicemail.

He tried again.

Nothing.

Then his phone buzzed.

A single message. Having a fun game playing a butler's son, Master Smith?

Jaxon froze, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. His heart raced, and his hands shook, the phone nearly slipping from his grasp.

Panic kicked in. His fingers trembled as he tried to call her again—denied.

And when he tapped the screen one more time, the message appeared in grey: Blocked.