He Made Me Invisible, I Made Him Irrelevant

CHAPTER 1

On the night of my thirtieth birthday, my husband, Alexander Blackwood, Alpha of Silver Crest pack brought his pregnant mistress home.

With cold detachment, he listed his demands.

"Victoria gets migraines from strong scents. Burn all your clothes. I can smell your cheap perfume in the fabric."

"She's been having anxiety attacks since the pregnancy. From now on, you'll sleep in the basement storage room so she can have our bedroom."

Without uttering a word, I picked up the small bag I had hidden behind the coatrack and headed for the door.

Our elderly butler, who'd practically raised me after my parents died, tried to stop me with tears in his eyes, but Alexander merely laughed.

"Let her go with her pathetic little act. She has nowhere else to go. I've made sure of that."

Right then, Victoria smirked and whispered something in Alexander's ear. He nodded with a cruel smile spreading across his face.

"Actually, before you leave, entertain us. Get on your knees and beg Victoria's forgiveness for being such a disappointment. If you do it convincingly enough, I might allow you to stay in the gardener's shed instead of the basement."

The room filled with their mocking laughter as his security team formed a circle around me, recording with their phones, ready to humiliate me online if I refused.

What they didn't know was that the last of my inheritance money had purchased a one-way ticket out of this nightmare.

This time, I wouldn't be coming back.

--

Just as I reached the front gate, Alexander's voice cut through the night air.

"Lauren, give Victoria your medication. Her morning sickness is worse than your 'supposed heart condition."

My body went rigid with shock.

That medication was keeping me alive—the only treatment that worked for my rare condition after three years of searching for a viable option.

When I turned to face him, Alexander noticed my trembling hands but showed no compassion.

"What do you need it for anyway?" he asked coldly. "You've been faking symptoms for attention again, haven't you?"

How could he say that when just last week, I had collapsed in the bathroom, coughing up blood while he stood over me, photographing my suffering to document my theatrics as he called it?

With unsteady fingers, I removed the pill box from my purse and placed it in Victoria's outstretched hand.

"Take them with food," I whispered. "They're strong."

Victoria clutched the pills to her chest like a treasure, while Alexander's expression softened as he looked at her.

"See? Lauren's finally being useful. In return, I'll allow you to keep the only photo of your deceased brother. The rest I'll burn tonight."

The moment he mentioned my brother, my knees nearly gave out. The photo was all I had left of him after Alexander's lawyers blocked me from even attending his funeral.

Victoria suddenly stood up with a glass of red wine in hand, and deliberately poured it over my white birthday dress—the last gift my parents had given me before they died. Then she fell on it and winced dramatically.

Alexander immediately lifted her into his arms, cradling her like precious porcelain.

"Call the Healer immediately!" he barked at the housekeeper. "And get her some water!"

The urgency in his voice made everyone look at me with contempt, as if I'd somehow caused her discomfort.

I couldn't help but laugh bitterly inside.

Three days ago, when I had a severe allergic reaction because someone had deliberately filled my moisturizer with peanut oil—I'd begged Alexander to take me to the healer as my throat closed up. Instead, he locked me in the bathroom, telling the staff I was "having another episode" and needed to "calm down alone."

I was found unconscious hours later by the new gardener, who thankfully had medical training.

When I returned from the healer, Alexander had the gardener fired for "trespassing" in the main house.

Clutching my bag tighter, I turned to leave once more.

But Alexander's hand shot out, grabbing my hair and yanking me backward so hard I heard strands ripping from my scalp.

"Where do you think you're going? Victoria isn't feeling well because of the stress you've caused."

"I didn't—"

His open palm connected with my face before I could finish, the force sending me sprawling across the marble floor.

"Kiss her feet. Three times. Now."

My lip split from the impact, blood dripping onto the remains of my white dress.

Victoria stood over me, one hand protectively over her stomach, the other holding my medication hostage. She extended her foot, the expensive designer shoe inches from my bleeding mouth.

"Look what you've done," Alexander snarled. "You've upset her again with your selfishness. Kiss her feet and be grateful she's allowing you to do so."

Since becoming Alexander's mate, degrading myself had become as natural as breathing.

I kissed the floor when his dinner wasn't hot enough, even though he came home three hours late.

I spent the night in the dog kennel when I interrupted his call to tell him I'd found hotel receipts with Victoria's name.

I wrote a fifty-page essay on my worthlessness when he broke my finger for accidentally using his favorite coffee mug.

I even thanked him last month when I found him in our bed with Victoria, as if his betrayal was a gift I should cherish.

With blood filling my mouth and my vision blurring, I forced myself forward.

Lowering my face to her shoe, I placed my bleeding lips against the leather once, twice, then a third time, leaving blood marks as they recorded the entire humiliation.

Then I looked up at Alexander with eyes devoid of everything except resignation.

"Is that enough?" I whispered.

His nostrils flared as he noticed the blood pooling beneath my face.

"Lauren," he sneered, grabbing my chin roughly, "Your grandfather is dead, and I own everything he left you. Your tears won't work on me anymore. Who exactly are you trying to impress with this victim act?"

Before I could respond, the healer arrived—Alexander's personal physician who had falsified my medical records numerous times to cover the abuse.

Stepping over me like I was nothing but a stain on the floor, Alexander guided the doctor straight to Victoria's side, leaving me bleeding on the marble.

CHAPTER 2

While Alexander attended to Victoria's every whimper, I slipped quietly through the service entrance.

I had barely made it halfway down the winding driveway when headlights flooded the darkness. A familiar black SUV pulled up alongside me, the healers vehicle.

The family lawyer, Mr. Reeves emerged with a sympathetic smile.

"Lauren, thank goodness we found you. Alexander is worried sick," he lied smoothly. "You're having another episode. Let us help you home."

Before I could protest, two nurses in white uniforms approached from behind. One pressed a cloth against my face, the smell flooded my senses before darkness took me.

I woke up in our home medical suite, My clothing had been changed to a thin gown, and an IV dripped clear fluid into my arm.

Alexander entered my line of vision.

"You're finally awake," Then he leaned close to my ear and whispered, "Try to run again, and next time you'll wake up in the psychiatric ward I just purchased. A lifetime of sedation might finally cure your disobedience."

The healer approached with a chart. "Mr. Blackwood, I must advise against this procedure. The risks to your wife's reproductive system—"

"The procedure happens now," Alexander cut him off. "Victoria needs those hormones for the baby, and Lauren isn't using her ovaries for anything important, are you, dear?"

I stared at him, uncomprehending, until the Healer explained in clinical terms.

"We'll be harvesting immature egg follicles and extracting hormones to create a treatment for Victoria's pregnancy complications. The procedure is aggressive. It will likely damage your ovarian tissue permanently."

My body went cold. "You're taking my ability to have children?"

Alexander's eyes hardened. "Victoria's baby is the only Blackwood heir that matters. Your role was always temporary."

From across the room, Victoria called out, her voice strained. "Alexander, the pain is getting worse! Please hurry!"

Without hesitation, he abandoned our conversation and rushed to her side.

The healer looked at me with genuine pity. "I have to sedate you now."

As the drugs pulled me under, I heard Alexander instructing the doctor: "Take everything you need. If she can't walk afterward, it doesn't matter."

Without another word, Alexander rushed out, leaving me with the doctor who looked at me with genuine pity just as the mask came down over my face.

Three days later, I woke in a private hospital room. The first thing I saw was Alexander sitting by the window, his laptop open on the small table beside him.

A nurse entered with a tray of hospital food and medications. Alexander dismissed her with a wave.

"You need to eat," he said flatly, picking up the spoon.

I turned my head away. "I can feed myself."

He sighed then set the tray down where I could reach it.

"The procedure was successful," he stated. "Victoria's body is accepting the treatment. The baby's vitals have improved significantly."

"I need my medication," I whispered. "My heart—"

Alexander checked his watch. "The healers say you're exaggerating your symptoms again. You should try to be less dramatic."

I reached for the call button, but he moved it out of my reach.

"Alexander, please," I exclaimed. "My pills are in my purse."

With a look of annoyance, he rifled through my bag, finding the small orange bottle. Instead of handing it to me, he studied the label.

"These are expensive," he remarked coldly. "Another drain on resources that could be going to Victoria and the baby."

As my breathing became more labored, he finally tossed the bottle onto the bed, just beyond my reach. I struggled to grasp it with trembling fingers.

"You know," he said, watching me struggle, "you should really stop this childish behavior. It's embarrassing at your age."

I managed to swallow a pill dry, waiting for the medicine to ease the crushing pressure in my chest.

Alexander's phone chimed with a message. His entire appearance changed as he read it, his face softening.

"Victoria's having cravings again," he murmured.

Before he could leave, I gathered my strength to ask, "May I have my phone?"

He paused, studying me with sudden suspicion. "Who would you need to call?"

"My healer," I lied smoothly. "About my medication."

After a moment of deliberation, he instructed a nurse to bring my phone from the drawer.

As I scrolled through my notifications, I noticed dozens of missed calls from a number Alexander had never seen before.

"Who's been calling you so persistently?" he demanded, hostility creeping into his voice.

I looked up at him, my gaze unwavering for the first time in years. "Someone who actually cares whether I live or die."

His jaw tightened as he loosened his tie. Leaning over my hospital bed, he gripped the railing until his knuckles turned white.

"Olivia," he hissed, "I've tolerated your little rebellion long enough. You belong to me, remember? Everything you have—your medical care, this private room, the clothes on your back—all of it exists because of my generosity."

Once, those words would have broken me. I would have apologized, begged for forgiveness, tried to make amends.

Instead, I simply pointed to his vibrating phone and said tonelessly, "Victoria needs you."

The fight drained from his expression at the sound of her name. Without another glance in my direction, he strode into the hallway to answer her call.

The moment the door closed behind him, my phone rang again. I answered immediately, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Lauren? Thank God you finally picked up! I've been worried sick," came the urgent voice on the other end. "Our plan was for you to meet me at the safe house two days ago. What happened?"

CHAPTER 3

"I'll call you back," I whispered urgently into the phone. "I just need a little more time. Three days at most."

As the hospital room door closed behind Alexander, I quickly slipped the phone under my pillow, my heart hammering against my weakened ribs.

"Who was that?" he demanded again, his voice calm as he approached my bed.

"My pharmacist," I lied smoothly. "About my heart medication."

He studied my face for a long moment before glancing at his watch.

"Victoria's having false contractions," he said dismissively. "She's asking for special ice cream from that place downtown."

Even in a medical emergency, her cravings took precedence over my recovery.

"I have meetings all afternoon," he continued coldly. "I'll check on you tomorrow."

Tomorrow came and went. Then another day passed. And another.

Alexander never returned to the hospital.

Instead, through our mutual friends' social media feeds, I watched his life unfold without me. Video clips of Alexander escorting Victoria to her prenatal yoga classes. Photos of them shopping for nursery furniture at exclusive boutiques.

The worst was the live stream of him at a charity gala. His hand possessively curved around Victoria's body as he proudly announced to the crowd, "My child will be born in five months. The Pierce legacy continues!"

Not once did he mention that he already had a wife.

On my discharge day, after signing my own papers and refusing the wheelchair offered by a nurse, I checked my phone one last time before leaving.

Alexander had posted a professional photoshoot on his social media: Victoria in a flowing white gown, her baby bump prominently displayed, while he knelt before her, pressing his lips to her stomach. The caption read: "The beginning of my real family."

With trembling fingers, I typed a comment:

[Congratulations. May your child grow up knowing true love.]

Within minutes, my phone rang with Alexander's call. I silenced it and slipped the device into my pocket.

As I made my way through the corridors, I passed the fertility clinic where we had once discussed treatments—before Alexander decided the problem must be with me, not him, and refused further testing.

That's when I saw them—Alexander and Victoria standing at the reception desk, his arm protectively around her shoulders.

"Mrs. Pierce, your prenatal vitamins are ready," the receptionist called out cheerfully to Victoria. "And Mr. Pierce, the special fertility supplements you ordered for her have arrived as well."

My feet froze to the floor. He'd never once purchased supplements for me during our years of trying to conceive.

"Alexander is so attentive," Victoria gushed to the receptionist. "He even installed a special air purifier in every room of our home to protect the baby."

I remembered the mold in my bathroom ceiling that Alexander had refused to fix for two years, claiming I was "being dramatic" about the respiratory infections I kept developing.

A nurse approached Victoria with a tablet. "Mrs. Pierce, I've scheduled your next three appointments. Mr. Pierce has already approved the dates."

My hand instinctively moved to my flat stomach.

Three years ago, I'd lost our baby after falling down the stairs. I later discovered that Alexander had "forgotten" to mention that he'd asked the housekeeper to wax them that morning.

When I called him from the emergency room, sobbing as they prepared me for surgery, I heard Victoria's voice in the background. "Hanging up already? But we've only just started..."

Alexander had called back an hour later, Victoria curled against him in the frame.

"Why are you always so clumsy?" he'd snapped. "You can't even carry a child properly. What good are you to me?"

Then, lowering his voice to a whisper that only I could hear: "Maybe this is nature's way of telling us you were never meant to be a mother."

The memory burned like acid in my throat.

I was about to turn and find another exit when Alexander spotted me. His eyes narrowed as he strode toward me, leaving Victoria at the desk.

"Why are you lurking around like some pathetic stalker?" he hissed.

"I wasn't—I was just leaving," I stammered, hating how quickly I reverted to defending myself.

"Wait." His hand clamped around my wrist, and I noticed Victoria watching us, her expression darkening.

She quickly composed herself and floated over, her face a mask of angelic concern.

"Olivia! You poor thing, you look terrible," she cooed, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. "Thank you so much for the bone marrow donation. The healer said your cells are already helping our baby develop stronger. You've been such a blessing to our little family!"

She turned to Alexander with pleading eyes. "Darling, shouldn't we give Olivia a ride home? It's the least we can do after her sacrifice."

Alexander brushed a strand of hair from her face with tender care. "Whatever makes you happy, my love."

Since I needed to retrieve my remaining possessions from the mansion anyway, I accepted Victoria's false kindness with a silent nod.

Inside Alexander's custom Bentley, Victoria suddenly burst out dramatically.

"Oh! What's this?"

She reached between the leather seats and pulled out a small velvet box.

"Alexander," she exclaimed with surprise. "You didn't mention buying me another gift!"

Opening the box revealed a charm bracelet—identical to the one I'd received from my mother on my sixteenth birthday. The one that had mysteriously "disappeared" from my jewelry box last month.

"Oh, this must be a mistake," Victoria said, examining the inscription inside: To our beloved daughter, forever in our hearts.

She held it up with a mocking glint in her eyes. "Isn't this... yours, Olivia? How strange that Alexander would have it."

Alexander's jaw tightened before he smoothly replied, "I had it resized for you, darling. I thought you might appreciate having a family heirloom, considering your connection to our family now."

The bracelet—the last gift from my parents before they died dangled from Victoria's wrist as she admired it in the sunlight.

"It's perfect," she cooed. "Practically made for me."

CHAPTER 4

Victoria pressed the charm bracelet to her heart, batting her eyelashes innocently at Alexander.

"You always know exactly what I need," she cooed, leaning in to kiss him while her eyes remained fixed on me, savoring my reaction.

Alexander smiled playing along with her charade yet I caught the way his gaze kept darting to my face, searching for signs of jealousy or hurt.

But when he saw that I wasn't upset at all—just absentmindedly sketching in the small journal I always carried, something darkened in his expression.

"Olivia," he said sharply, "you've been drawing in that useless book since we left the hospital."

"Is it for your art therapy? Or are you designing something for someone I should know about?"

I had just finished sketching a small cottage by the sea, the property I'd secretly purchased last month.

"Just doodling," I replied without emotion.

My indifference only seemed to fuel his irritation.

Without warning, he lunged across the car and tore the journal from my hands.

"Let me see what's so fascinating worth ignoring your husband for," he demanded.

Nine years of marriage.

A passion I'd pursued since childhood yet he couldn't recognize a single one of my recurring motifs before the pages began tearing in his rough grip.

Victoria watched with delight as Alexander demolished another piece of my identity.

The remainder of the journey passed in heavy silence.

When we arrived at the mansion, Alexander immediately rushed to Victoria's side as she whimpered about feeling dizzy from the car ride.

He carried her up the grand staircase to our bedroom, barking orders at the staff to prepare her favorite ginger tea and dim the lights.

After settling Victoria, Alexander returned to the foyer where the housekeeper was informing me that my things had been moved to the basement.

He paused, watching me gather my few remaining possessions. After a moment's hesitation, he turned to the chef.

"Make sure Lauren gets something to eat tonight." Then he added coldly, "But serve it in the kitchen. Victoria doesn't want her at the dining table."

I said nothing, simply nodding as I made my way down the narrow stairs to the basement. When I opened my luggage, I discovered my clothes soaked in dark red liquid that smelled of blood.

Someone had spray-painted BARREN WASTE across my wedding photo.

The walls of my room were similarly painted with cruel messages: "DEFECTIVE WOMAN" and "CHILDLESS FAILURE."

But worst of all was the fur scattered across my belongings. I recognized it immediately—it belonged to Cassie, the aging Persian cat my brother had entrusted to me before his death.

My heart raced as I searched for the small urn containing my brother's ashes. To my relief, it remained untouched in its velvet bag.

Just as I clutched the urn to my chest, Victoria appeared at the basement door, holding something in a blood-stained pillowcase.

"Looking for this?" she asked sweetly, dumping the contents onto the floor.

Cassie's lifeless body slid out, her once-beautiful coat with dried blood.

"Poor thing kept meowing for you while you were in the hospital," Victoria said with a pout. "Alexander said she was distressing me and the baby."

My legs nearly gave out beneath me.

She scrolled through her gallery. "Want to see something interesting? Remember when your brother was dying and you begged Alexander to use his connections to get him into that experimental treatment program?"

She turned the screen toward me, revealing a video of herself and Alexander in bed.

"This was taken the exact moment you were calling him from the hospital. Listen—"

From the recording, I heard my desperate voice: "Alexander, please, the doctor says James only has hours left. I just need you to sign the approval as his financial guarantor."

Then Alexander's dismissive reply: "Can't it wait until morning? Victoria and I are in the middle of something."

She paused the video, smirking. "He never told you why he didn't make it to the hospital in time, did he? We were testing out that fancy swing he installed in the guest house."

Fighting back tears, I walked past Victoria, clutching my brother's urn tightly against my chest.

"Where do you think you're going? I'm not finished with you yet!"

She ran forward, grabbing for the urn. We struggled briefly before she wrenched it from my grasp and ran toward the pool area.

"Let's see how much you care about your precious brother now!"

Before I could reach her, she threw the urn into the deep end of the pool and my brother's ashes dispersed in the water.

Victoria's laugh echoed behind me. "Oops! Looks like big brother's going down the drain!"

In that moment, blind with grief and rage, I turned toward her.

She must have seen something terrifying in my expression because she suddenly stepped back, her foot catching on a pool chair.

With a surprised shriek, she toppled backward into the shallow end of the pool.

"Help!" she screamed. "I can't swim! The baby!"

Without thinking, I dove in after her.

Though I couldn't swim well myself, I managed to reach her, I couldn't let her harm the innocent child she carried, regardless of how much I despised her.

Instead of accepting my help, Victoria grabbed my shoulders and forced me under.

"Alexander!" she screamed. "Help me! She's trying to drown me!"

Through the water, I could see Alexander sprinting toward the pool.

Without hesitation, Alexander dove in and pulled Victoria from the pool, carrying her in his arms like a rescued princess.

He didn't even glance back as I desperately fought to reach the surface, swallowing water as my strength faded.

My fingertips just grazed the pool's edge before darkness consumed me.

——

Two hours later, after ensuring Victoria was perfectly fine according to three separate doctors he'd summoned to the house, Alexander finally remembered my existence.

He searched every room, growing increasingly agitated when I was nowhere to be found.

By midnight, I was seated in the quiet corner of a 24-hour diner fifty miles away, nursing a cup of coffee as I waited for the mysterious contact to text me.

My burner phone vibrated with a text.

[Unknown number: Your car is waiting three blocks outside the pack. Everything's arranged as discussed.]

I deleted the message just as another notification appeared—a text from Alexander.

[I don't have time to track down a drowning victim. Don't make me file a missing persons report.]

CHAPTER 5

[Bring her medical records to the healer tomorrow at 2 p.m. He needs to confirm if her condition is genetic. The baby can't have any defects.]

I stared at the message, my thumb hovering over the screen. Instead of replying, I removed the SIM card and dropped it into the diner's cold coffee cup, watching it sink like my former life.

'Alexander—our story ends today. The woman you broke no longer exists.'

The next morning, at healer Medical Center—

"Alexander, is something wrong with the baby?" Victoria clutched her barely-showing stomach.

Alexander immediately crossed the private waiting room, enveloping her in his arms as though she might shatter.

"Nothing's wrong, sweetheart. The ultrasound shows perfect development. The fall into the pool didn't cause any harm."

"Thank God," she whispered. "You've been checking your phone obsessively since we arrived. I was terrified you were hiding bad news from me."

Alexander's jaw tightened, Anyone else would have missed it, but I'd spent years noticing his microexpressions to predict his moods.

He pulled out his phone again, scrolling through unanswered messages. The slight tremor in his hand betrayed his rising anger.

For six years, he had conditioned me to respond within minutes. To prioritize his demands above my basic needs. Once, I'd left a doctor's appointment mid-examination because he wanted me to bring him the tie he'd forgotten at home.

Now, my silence was the first power I'd held over him in years.

After ensuring Victoria was comfortable in the waiting room, Alexander stepped into the hallway. He made three separate calls, his face darkening with each one that went unanswered.

He escorted Victoria to lunch, made certain she was safely delivered to their penthouse, and only then did he head to the Enterprises.

The moment he entered the executive floor, his personal assistant approached cautiously.

"Sir, your father has returned from black fang pack unexpectedly. He's called for an emergency board meeting in thirty minutes."

Alexander didn't pause his stride. "Who else has he summoned?"

"The entire executive team, sir. And..." The assistant hesitated.

"Spit it out," Alexander snapped.

"He specifically asked if Mrs. Blackwood would be attending."

Alexander's steps faltered for just a heartbeat. Then he continued walking. "Purchase the sapphire necklace from Cartier. The one from their latest collection."

The assistant nodded, already typing the instruction into his tablet.

"Have it delivered to—" Alexander paused. "Have it delivered to the Wilson’s estate."

He was convinced I would run to my childhood home—the mansion my parents had left behind, which he'd deliberately kept in legal limbo to prevent me from selling.

He had no idea I'd never set foot there again.

One week later, well past midnight.

Alexander unlocked the front door of the mansion. The deal he'd been orchestrating for months had finally closed.

He loosened his tie as he entered the dimly lit living room, immediately noticing the slender figure curled up on the sofa.

"Lauren, how many times have I told you not to wait up for me? I've explained that these negotiations are crucial for the company's future, and I don't need you making me feel guilty for—"

His words died as he drew closer and realized his mistake.

Victoria gazed up at him and shivered under his gaze. "Alexander... she still hasn't come home."

"I've sent her dozens of messages apologizing for the... misunderstanding at the pool. But she won't respond to any of them."

"Maybe I should move back to my apartment? I never meant to come between you and your wife."

The tremor in her voice was so convincing that for a moment, even I might have believed her.

Watching her eyes fill with tears, Alexander's expression softened. He settled beside her, pulling her against his chest.

He pressed his lips to her forehead in the exact spot he used to kiss mine. "Don't upset yourself over this. Think of the baby."

"Whether Lauren approves or not, this is your home now. You and our child belong here."

Half an hour later, after Victoria had retired to the master bedroom, Alexander stood alone on the terrace, a glass of thirty-year-old scotch in one hand.

He hadn't drunk in months—not since the night he'd discovered Victoria was pregnant.

He pulled out his phone, scrolled to my contact, and stared at it for so long the screen dimmed.

After his second glass, he didn't call. Instead, he typed a message:

[Tomorrow is Father's 70th birthday celebration. I suggest you make an appearance and behave appropriately. Don't embarrass the family name any further—and stay away from Victoria.]

--

The following evening, the Blackwood family's annual gala began in earnest.

Alexander arrived with Victoria on his arm. They moved through the room like royalty, accepting congratulations until Edward Blackwood himself entered the grand ballroom.

Only then did Alexander release Victoria's hand, moving swiftly to his father's side to assist with greeting their most important investors.

"Where is Lauren this evening?"

Alexander's expression didn't falter. For once, he actually defended me.

"Lauren wasn't feeling well after her recent hospital stay. She insisted I represent us both rather than disappoint you on your birthday."

Three hours passed, then finally the event reached its scheduled highlight—the annual Blackwood family portrait and gift presentation.

But I still hadn't appeared.

Tension radiated from Alexander as he excused himself from a conversation with potential investors. In a quiet corner, he dialed my number for what must have been the twentieth time that day.

"The number you have reached is no longer in service..."

He tried again. And again. The same automated message taunted him each time.

Just as Edward was about to call the family forward for photographs, a courier in a uniform entered the ballroom.

He carried three distinct packages—each labeled with my elegant handwriting.

Under the scrutiny of three hundred pairs of eyes, Edward maintained his composure as he opened the first gift.

Inside was a leather-bound first edition of The Picture of Dorian Gray"—his favorite novel, which he had once mentioned in passing during a family dinner six years ago. The inscription inside read: "To remember me by."

Visibly moved, Edward carefully opened the second package.

Inside lay the Blackwood family signet ring—the one he had personally placed on my finger during our wedding ceremony.

A hushed murmur rippled through the crowd.

Everyone in their social circle understood the significance of returning such a powerful family symbol.

Before Edward could react, Alexander strode toward the third and final package.

With hands that barely concealed their trembling, he tore it open.