He Loved Two Women, Until One of Us Disappeared

A faint sound of crying drifted from the garden, and before I could think about what I was doing, my feet had already carried me toward it. I pushed aside the hanging wisteria and stopped dead. Vincent. My husband stood beneath the garden lights in an immaculate suit, looking as untouchable and dangerous as the man everyone else feared. A leather whip hung from his hand. Sabrina was tied to the antique chaise lounge I had spent weeks choosing for our villa, her body exposed beneath the soft glow of the lights. Then Vincent dropped the whip. He bent over her and kissed her. There was nothing reluctant or forced about it. His hands moved over her with familiarity, his body close to hers, and the sight made my stomach twist violently. The sound I had mistaken for sobbing hadn't been pain. It had been Sabrina's moans. The punishment I had imagined Vincent giving her wasn't punishment at all. The secluded villa wasn't a prison where he had hidden the woman who destroyed my life. It was their private sanctuary, their place to indulge in whatever kind of love they had been hiding from the world. I staggered backward, my eyes falling on the chaise lounge. I had chosen it for Vincent. I remembered how carefully I had picked it, imagining us spending quiet evenings together. He had once held my hand and told me, “You deserve every beautiful thing in this world, Amara. This lounge belongs to you, just like my heart does.” Now another woman occupied it. My hands clenched until my nails cut into my palms. Why? Why would Vincent do this? Then Sabrina's voice reached me. “Darling, I still can’t believe I finally married you. I feel like I’m living in a dream. I’m so happy.” Vincent calmly pulled on his shirt as though nothing unusual had happened. “You deserve to be happy,” he said. Then his expression turned cold. “Four years ago, all I wanted was for Amara to stay here with me forever. But you took an axe to her hand and destroyed the future she had worked so hard for. Then you turned yourself in, thinking you were some kind of martyr, willing to sacrifice your freedom because you believed my happiness mattered more than yours.” A terrible ache spread through my chest. Vincent continued, “Sometimes I wonder if that makes me heartless, but I can’t ignore someone who was willing to sacrifice herself for me. Amara can have my love openly. You stay here, away from everyone. I give you the title of my wife. That’s a fair arrangement.” Fair? I almost laughed. Years ago, a spoiled nobleman had called me a broken-winged angel. Vincent had punished him so viciously that the man never dared insult me again. That was the Vincent I knew. The man who couldn't tolerate anyone hurting me. Yet here he was, standing beside the woman who had destroyed my hand, giving her affection, gifts, and now a title. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. More than anything, I wanted to disappear. “But what if she finds out?” Sabrina asked anxiously. “Miss Sinclair will never accept this.” Vincent smiled with absolute confidence. “My feelings for Amara haven't changed. I’ll protect her for the rest of her life. She doesn’t need to know about this, and you’ll never be allowed to hurt her again.” Then he took out a small box and placed something in Sabrina's hand. A pink diamond. Sabrina stared at it, stunned. “It was the final piece sold at the Paris auction a few days ago,” Vincent said. “It cost a hundred million.” Her lips parted. “Something this expensive… am I really worthy of it?” Vincent smiled and brushed his fingers against her cheek. “You’re my woman. Of course you are.” He kissed her gently before whispering, “Happy fourth anniversary, my wife.” I stood there in silence, watching the man who had once promised I was his entire world give another woman the love I thought belonged to me. I didn't leave the mountain until Vincent's black car disappeared down the road. For a long time, I remained where I was, unable to move. If I stayed still, perhaps I could pretend none of this was real. Then my phone vibrated. I looked down and opened the message. [Amara, I’m heading home. I can’t wait to celebrate our seventh anniversary with you, darling. I love you.] I stared at it. Then I laughed. The sound was so broken that I had to bend over, tears streaming down my face as my shoulders shook. Our seventh anniversary? He had just celebrated four years of marriage with Sabrina, and now he was coming home to celebrate seven years with me. What was I to him? A joke? A possession? Or simply a fool who hadn't realized her marriage had ended four years ago? There was no seventh anniversary. Vincent and I had been divorced for four years. And if this was his idea of love—destroying my future, keeping me inside a beautiful cage, and lying to my face—then I didn't want it anymore. Not even a little. He thought I would never discover the truth. I wiped my tears and looked down at the application in my trembling hands. “No,” I whispered. “You’re the one who’s going to lose me.” Forever. I turned away from the villa and did the only two things that mattered. First, I submitted an application to erase my identity from every official record in the country. Second, I filed my application again under a new name. A new identity. A new life. Four years ago, Sabrina hadn't merely cut off my right hand. Afterward, she had thrown it to wild dogs as though I were worthless. Vincent had gone insane when he found out. He spent a fortune finding specialists who could give me a prosthetic hand realistic enough to fool almost anyone. It allowed me to live normally, but I could no longer operate the way I once had. I was a surgeon. My entire career depended on precision, and no replacement could completely restore what I had lost. My dream died that day. I tried three times to escape the pain entirely. Three times, I failed. Eventually, after crying until I had nothing left, I forced myself to keep going. I entered rehabilitation and began training my transplanted hand. It was brutal. For more than a thousand days and nights, I endured pain, blood, torn skin, and fingers that split open only to heal and break again. But I kept going until, eventually, I could use my hand well enough to stand on my own again. I never told Vincent. I had wanted to surprise him. I wanted him to see that the woman he claimed to love had survived. Now, I was grateful I had kept it secret. Because if he had known I was recovering, would he have taken both my hands from me? My phone vibrated once more. I looked down. [Your cancellation application has been submitted and will be processed within eight business days.] Eight days. That was all I needed. After eight days, Amara Sinclair would disappear completely. No name. No records. No trace. And even a man as powerful as Vincent Ravelli couldn't find someone who no longer existed.

By the time the sun began sinking below the horizon, I returned to the villa. The moment I stepped through the doors, I knew something was wrong. The entire room was thick with fear and disorder. Vincent stood in the center of the living room with several of his men surrounding him. The servants were bound on the floor, their pale faces trembling as Vincent stared them down. “Where is she?” he demanded, his voice dangerously quiet. “Do you honestly think I won’t make every one of you regret keeping your mouths shut until someone tells me where she went?” The servants immediately turned toward me. “Miss Amara!” Vincent spun around. The fury disappeared from his face almost instantly, replaced by such obvious relief that it looked painful. “Amara.” He crossed the room and pulled me against him, wrapping his arms around me as though he had been afraid I would never come back. “Where have you been?” he demanded softly. “I’ve been trying to reach you for hours. I thought something had happened. You scared the hell out of me.” My body went rigid for a moment before I forced myself to relax against him. “I went shopping,” I answered quietly. “I lost track of the time.” He pulled away just enough to study my face, then released a breath as though he couldn't bring himself to be angry with me. “Next time, take me with you,” he murmured, gently smoothing my hair away from my face. “Let me carry your bags, pay for whatever you want, and come running whenever you call. Isn’t that what a husband is supposed to do?” Husband. The word struck somewhere deep inside me. No. You stopped being my husband four years ago. “Besides, today is our seventh anniversary,” he continued with a faint smile. “Come with me. I have something waiting for you.” He took my hand and led me outside toward the helipad. Before I could ask where we were going, he simply scooped me into his arms and carried me aboard the helicopter as though I weighed nothing. A moment later, the blades began to turn. Wind tore through my hair as we lifted away from the villa and rose above the city. I said nothing. I only watched Vincent. The man beside me looked exactly like the husband I remembered, yet after everything I had learned, he felt like a stranger wearing a familiar face. Once we were high above the city, Vincent gently turned my chin toward the window. “Look down.” I followed his gaze. The lights below began shifting across the darkness, hundreds of them moving into position until they formed enormous words across the city. LOVE, Amara. My breath caught. It was breathtaking. It was extravagant and ridiculous and completely Vincent. He leaned close until his lips nearly touched my ear. “I love you, Amara,” he whispered. “I always have, and I always will.” My chest tightened. Anyone watching us from a distance would have thought I was the luckiest woman alive. So why did I feel as though I were slowly drowning? The helicopter eventually descended and landed at an enormous estate far beyond the city. The mansion looked less like a home than a palace built for royalty—or perhaps for someone powerful enough to frighten royalty itself. Vincent had reportedly spent five billion on the property, and the stories surrounding it had already turned the place into something of a legend. Then I saw the words carved into the gates. Amara’s Palace. For a moment, I forgot how to breathe. Everything inside the estate had been designed around me. The architecture reflected an aesthetic I had once casually mentioned liking. I hadn't even remembered telling Vincent about it, yet he had remembered. The gardens were overflowing with orchids, including rare varieties that cost more than most people could earn in years. And beyond the gardens was something even more unbelievable. An amusement park. My amusement park. There were carousels, Ferris wheels, and roller coasters glowing beneath the night sky, all arranged like something pulled from one of my childhood fantasies. Near the edge was a small petting zoo where dogs wandered freely, playing with one another or sleeping safely in the grass. I remembered the stray dog I had once stopped to feed. I had only told Vincent that the poor thing looked lonely. That had been enough. My eyes burned as I stared at everything he had built. He remembered. For seven years, Vincent really had remembered every little thing about me. He had given me things I wanted before I even knew how to ask for them. So why did looking at all of it make me feel as though something inside me were dying? Because now I knew the truth. His love had never belonged entirely to me. He had divided it between us. Half for me. Half for the woman who destroyed my future. Vincent came closer and brushed the tears from my cheek with his thumb. His touch was so gentle that it almost made the pain worse. “Hey,” he murmured. “A man is supposed to look after his wife. When you cry like this, you make me miserable too. So please, don’t do this to me.” I nearly laughed. Wife? Which wife was he talking about? Then, beneath the stars, Vincent suddenly lowered himself onto one knee. My breath caught. He opened a velvet box, revealing a ring that glittered beneath the lights. “Amara,” he said, looking up at me as though I were the most precious thing in his world, “marrying you was the greatest thing that ever happened to me. I love you so much that being away from you feels unbearable.” My fingers began to tremble. “So I made sure it won’t happen again,” he continued. “There’s a tracking chip inside this ring, and mine has the receiver. That way, I’ll always know where you are and what you’re doing. I’ll never have to worry about losing you again.” Something inside me turned cold. Was that love? Or was it control dressed up as devotion? The intensity in his eyes frightened me. It was the look of a man who would tear the world apart rather than allow something he considered his to escape. Vincent reached for my hand. But just before he could slide the ring onto my finger, his phone rang. The ringtone was familiar. I saw the brief change in his expression. Sabrina. He glanced at the screen, his face becoming unreadable, then slipped the ring onto my finger anyway as though nothing had happened. “I need to take this,” he said casually. “It’s an important client. I’ll be back soon. Don’t wait up.” Client? I nearly laughed at the absurdity of it. Before I could say anything, Vincent had already turned away. Moments later, he was climbing into the helicopter, apparently more concerned with whatever waited on the other end of that call than with the anniversary he had spent the entire evening preparing. The blades began spinning. Then the helicopter disappeared into the night. I stood there alone as the sound gradually faded into the distance. Eventually, I lowered myself beside one of the puppies and picked it up. It gave a tiny bark against my palm, its body warm and alive. I held it against my chest. The dogs Sabrina had once treated as worthless had found a home. So why hadn't I? Something slipped from my finger. I looked down. The ring. My heart sank as I picked it up. Vincent hadn't even noticed. He had given me the wrong one. This was his ring—the one designed to receive the tracking signal. Which meant the ring he had taken with him was the one containing the chip. The one that could track me. The one that could monitor me. I stared at it for several seconds before finally pressing the tiny switch. A voice came through almost immediately. “Darling, I’m sorry. I never wanted things to become like this,” Sabrina said, her voice trembling. “I’ve been kept here for four years, and I honestly feel like I’m losing my mind.” My fingers tightened around the ring. “You don’t have to worry about me,” she continued, forcing herself to sound composed. “Today is your seventh anniversary with Miss Sinclair, so go and spend it with her. I’ll be all right. We’ve already survived four years, haven’t we?” There was a brief silence. Then Vincent answered. “Stop saying things like that,” he said, his voice firm but controlled. “Do you really think I’d abandon you now? You’re not well. I’m your man, and taking care of you is my responsibility. It doesn't matter what day it is.” Something inside my chest cracked.

“I don’t care whether it’s our anniversary, a meeting, or anything else,” Vincent said, his voice softening. “When you’re like this, you come first. Come outside with me. We’ll get some air and clear your head.” “Really?” Sabrina sounded delighted. “You’re actually letting me leave? I’m not dreaming, am I?” Vincent gave a quiet, almost amused laugh. “When have I ever lied to you? Go get ready. We’re leaving.” Soon, the familiar roar of helicopter blades filled the air, carrying Sabrina away once again. Four years earlier, when I had lost my right hand and the pain was so severe that I could barely breathe, Vincent had stayed beside me without leaving. He barely slept or ate, as though he believed that letting go of me for even a moment would cause me to fall apart. One night, he carried me from my bed straight onto a helicopter. I was weak enough that I could barely hold myself up, so I clung to him while he held me tightly. When we were high above the city, he turned my face toward the window. “Look down,” he murmured. “All those buildings seem enormous from the ground, but from here, they’re tiny. That’s how your problems are, too. They may seem impossible when you’re facing them, but none of them are bigger than you.” He pressed his forehead to mine. “You don’t have to face anything alone, Amara. You have me. Whatever happens, I’ll get you through it.” Back then, I had believed him. Now I knew the nightmare I had spent years recovering from had started because of him. The sound of helicopter blades brought me back to the present. I looked up, and my heart tightened when another helicopter descended onto the neighboring property. Another mansion stood there, almost identical to mine. The ring in my hand vibrated, and Vincent's voice came through. “Sabrina, you couldn't leave the villa before, but that changes now. This house is yours. Consider it your anniversary present.” I couldn't breathe. “I’ll stay here with you tonight,” he added. Sabrina laughed happily, as though he had just given her the world. At the same time, my phone lit up. [Amara, I have to meet a client about a project, so I won’t be home until tomorrow night. Don’t wait for me. Go enjoy yourself. If you need anything, call your husband. Love you.] My fingers tightened around the phone as a tear blurred the word husband. Vincent could build the same life twice. He could give two women beautiful homes, extravagant gifts, and promises that sounded like devotion. But he could belong to only one woman. And it wasn't me. He was with his real wife just beyond the wall, while I felt like some secret he was ashamed to reveal. This time, I didn't cry. There was no reason to. I turned away from the mansion and went home. Instead of dwelling on what I had seen, I returned to work. I arranged my surgical instruments and forced my stiff hands to concentrate. I had only passed the preliminary stage of the competition. If I wanted to advance, I had to become better—faster, more accurate, and more confident. Strangely, the pain seemed to sharpen my mind. Decisions came faster than before, and the hesitation that had once plagued me disappeared. When I finished my first procedure plan, I leaned back and studied it. My fingers accidentally brushed the ring resting on the metal tray. A faint click sounded. Sabrina's voice came through. “I know one day with you isn't enough,” she said quietly. “After tonight, I have to go back into hiding, don't I?” I froze. “I understand that I can't let Miss Sinclair see me, and I know I have no right to ask for more. But sometimes I wish I could be like her. I want to stand beside you openly instead of hiding away. Just once, I want to be your wife where everyone can see me.” Silence. My throat tightened, and my injured hand began to tremble. The memory of the axe returned with brutal clarity. The pain, the blood, the moment my future disappeared. Vincent knew what Sabrina had done. That was why he kept her hidden. He knew seeing her would destroy me again. He wouldn't allow that. Wouldn't he? After a long pause, Vincent finally answered. “Fine.” One word. That was all it took to shatter what remained of me. I pressed a hand against my chest, struggling to breathe. The next day, Vincent returned as though nothing had happened. He came home with gifts, looking every bit like the devoted husband he pretended to be. He brought me a blue necklace that shimmered like the ocean and a custom-made gown covered in diamonds. “Amara,” he said warmly, “it’s our seventh anniversary. I want everyone to see how happy we are.” Happy. I said nothing. I changed into the dress, let him fasten the necklace around my neck, and allowed him to take my hand as we left for the celebration. The banquet was held at one of his hotels, naturally. The ballroom was filled with celebrities, business elites, powerful underworld figures, and people whose wealth and influence made them almost untouchable. Everything looked perfect. But something felt wrong. Every waiter wore the same uniform and a mask. Vincent glanced at the staff before turning toward me. “Tonight belongs to you,” he said. “No one is taking your attention away. The masks simply keep the staff where they belong—in the background.” My stomach tightened. Somehow, I already suspected why. Guests immediately surrounded us with compliments. “Mr. Ravelli is still completely devoted to his wife.” “Mrs. Ravelli is incredibly lucky.” “I heard he gave her a five-billion-dollar mansion for their anniversary.” “Every year his gifts become more extravagant. So does his love.” The word love made me feel sick. Then a sharp ripping sound broke through the ballroom. One of the waitresses had fallen, her uniform torn along her thigh. She scrambled upright, visibly terrified. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. No one moved. Everyone knew Vincent didn't tolerate mistakes. His expression turned cold. “Come with me.” Then he looked at me, and his voice softened instantly. “Amara, rules exist for a reason. Sometimes people need to learn the consequences of breaking them. I’ll deal with her and come right back.” I nodded. Vincent grabbed the waitress by the wrist and pulled her away. Something about the scene bothered me. Minutes later, I found myself following them upstairs. I didn't know why. Perhaps some part of me already understood what I was about to discover. The conference room door stood slightly open. I pushed it inward just enough to see through the gap. And everything inside me shattered. The waitress was sitting on the table with her arms around Vincent, her legs wrapped around his waist. Her mask was gone. I knew that face. Of course I did. It was Sabrina.

Her face was wet with tears, making her look so fragile and wronged that anyone watching would have assumed she was the victim. My chest tightened. So this was what the entire evening had been about. Not me. Her. “Darling, I’m sorry,” Sabrina whispered. “I should have been grateful that you brought me out, but then I saw you with her. You were so gentle with her, and suddenly I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I lost control and fell. Did I ruin your anniversary with Miss Sinclair?” “Of course not.” Vincent wiped her tears away without hesitation. “I’m worried about you. You don’t look well, so I’ll have someone take you back and arrange for a specialist to examine you. You need to rest.” “I don’t want anyone else. They can’t make me feel better. You’re the only one who can, so please don’t send me away.” Vincent studied her, something dark flickering through his eyes. “You really believe I’m the only cure you need?” “Then prove it.” He gave a quiet laugh before pulling her close and kissing her. I stood frozen. “Better?” he murmured. “A little,” Sabrina whispered. “But I still need more.” Her hands moved over him, deliberately teasing until his breathing changed. “Are you doing this because you’re sick,” Vincent muttered, “or because you want to drive me crazy?” “Why can’t it be both?” He pushed her against the table, and whatever restraint he had left disappeared. I flinched. Four years ago, I had seen Sabrina naked on his desk, begging him for a chance. “Please, just once…” Vincent hadn't even looked at her. “Get her out of my office.” Then he had covered my eyes and pulled me against him. “Don’t look, Amara. She disgusts me. I’ll only ever touch one woman, and that woman is you.” I had believed him. Now, there was no disgust in his eyes as he touched Sabrina. Only tenderness. I couldn't watch anymore, so I turned and walked away with trembling legs. When Vincent returned, he acted as though nothing had happened. He came toward me carrying a box. “Amara, this hotel belongs to you now.” I stared at him. “The transfer documents are inside. Since we celebrated our anniversary here, I thought you should have it.” Billions of dollars, handed to me as casually as a bouquet. People around us stared with envy. They thought I had everything. They had no idea. Then I noticed Sabrina coming down the stairs in her waitress uniform, her face hidden behind the mask again. No one recognized her, but I knew immediately. She looked furious. A moment later, she returned to arranging the champagne tower. She carefully stacked the glasses until, suddenly, her ankle twisted. She grabbed the tablecloth. The entire tower collapsed. Glass exploded across the ballroom. Vincent reacted instantly. He ran toward Sabrina, not me. He wrapped himself around her, shielding her from the flying shards. I had already moved away, but his body struck mine as he rushed past. I fell. My head hit the floor, and everything went white before blood began running down my face. Glass cut into my skin, and pain spread through my body until I could barely breathe. Yet somehow, I smiled. I had once believed Vincent loved us both. Now I knew that if he ever had to choose, he already had. When I woke, I was in a hospital bed. “Amara,” Vincent murmured beside me, sounding almost guilty. “I was trying to protect you. Everything happened so quickly. I thought I was reaching for you, but I grabbed the wrong person.” The wrong person. He kept kissing my hand as though his affection could undo what had happened. I stared at him without feeling anything. “What about the waitress?” Vincent paused. “She was careless. I’ve already had her blacklisted. She won’t be able to work anywhere again.” I stared at him, then laughed. Sabrina wasn't even a waitress. So what kind of punishment was that supposed to be? It was meaningless. Vincent seemed relieved by my laughter, apparently believing I was fine again. Afterward, he stayed beside me and became the devoted husband everyone expected him to be. He checked my IV, treated my wounds himself, and even peeled a lychee before holding it to my mouth. “Eat.” I did. When I reached the seed, he held out his palm without saying anything. I dropped it there, just as I had done countless times before. The nurses passing by looked at me enviously. If only they knew. Then his phone rang. That familiar ringtone. Vincent paused before standing. “Amara, something came up at the company. I need to deal with it. I’ll be back soon, so don’t wait for me.” I nodded. Only after he had completely disappeared did I activate the receiver in the ring. That was when I learned Sabrina was in the hospital too. But unlike me, she barely had a scratch. Vincent wasn't treating her injuries because there weren't any worth treating. Instead, his voice came through the receiver, lower and rougher. “Hold still. You’re going to make a mess.” My body stiffened. I didn't want to listen, but I couldn't stop. “Darling, if you keep me locked away like that, I’m going to lose my mind,” Sabrina whispered. “I can’t breathe in that place anymore. It feels like I’m dying slowly. Please don’t send me back. I want to go outside. I want people to see me. I want to stand beside you, even if she’s there.” My grip tightened around the ring. “I even want to be close to you like this,” she continued, her voice hesitant. “Even if Miss Sinclair is nearby…” I closed my eyes. “Be careful what you ask for,” Vincent warned, his voice dropping dangerously. I didn't need to hear what came after. I switched the receiver off. My hand was trembling, but my chest felt strangely empty. There was no anger left, no jealousy, not even enough strength to cry. After everything, Vincent had said that word again. “Fine.” Three days later, I was discharged from the hospital.

Vincent carried me from the hospital to the car and then all the way into the villa, as though I were too weak to take a single step on my own. He settled me carefully onto the sofa before brushing my hair away from my face. “You’re still healing, so don’t force yourself,” he said gently. “I don’t want you exhausting yourself.” The tenderness in his voice might have fooled me once. Then I saw Sabrina. She stood among the servants in a maid’s uniform, looking as though she had every right to be there. My chest tightened. She had said she wanted to leave the villa, and this was Vincent’s answer? He had brought her into our home? “Amara, hear me out.” Vincent pulled me closer, his arms tightening around me. “If Sabrina had gone to prison four years ago, she would have been released by now. I don't think that's enough punishment for what she did.” He lifted my chin until I was forced to meet his eyes. “That’s why I brought her here. She can serve you and spend the rest of her time making amends for what she did.” My stomach twisted. “I even consulted a psychologist,” he continued. “You’ve been under a lot of pressure lately. Having her around might help you confront what happened instead of carrying it forever. Trust me, Amara. I’m only doing this because I love you.” Love. He said it so naturally, and the sincerity in his expression made it worse. It was the same face he'd worn seven years ago when he'd knelt before me and promised I would never have to suffer again. Now he was the person hurting me most. I thought I'd scream at him. Instead, I felt strangely empty. “Fine,” I said quietly. “I’ll do whatever you want.” He could turn Sabrina into the mistress of this house for all I cared. I was leaving soon anyway. For the rest of the day, Sabrina played the obedient servant, quietly cleaning and keeping her eyes lowered. Vincent didn't acknowledge her once. He remained beside me as though she weren't even in the room. That night, he handed me a glass of milk. “Drink this before bed. You still need plenty of rest.” I accepted it, but when he looked away, I poured it out and pretended to drink. Something about it didn't feel right. Later, I lay in bed with my eyes closed, breathing evenly as I waited. Just as I expected, Vincent leaned down and kissed my forehead. “Get some sleep,” he whispered. He left, and the door clicked shut behind him. A few seconds passed before Sabrina's voice drifted through the glass doors. “Darling, are you certain this is all right? Even with her here?” Vincent laughed quietly. “You worry too much. Have I ever gone back on a promise I made to you?” My lashes trembled. I opened my eyes and looked toward the doors. There they were. Vincent had Sabrina against the wall, his body close to hers as he kissed her slowly and intimately, as though there wasn't another person in the room. As though I didn't exist. My nails dug into my palms, but the pain wasn't what it had once been. Perhaps because I finally understood that Vincent wasn't worth hurting over anymore. The following morning, he left early for the company. I stayed in my room working on my designs, deliberately avoiding Sabrina. I had no desire to encounter her, so I had the maids bring my meals upstairs. Breakfast passed quietly. Then lunch. By evening, someone knocked. When I opened the door, Sabrina stood there carrying a tray. Her posture was composed, but there was something cruel beneath her pleasant expression. “Amara,” she said lightly. “I saw you outside the conference room that day.” My fingers tightened around the door. “I never imagined someone as proud as you would end up like this. You used to have everything. Now you've lost a hand and abandoned the future you worked for. How do you even live this way?” She stepped closer. “Although I suppose you don't have much choice. You can't do what you used to, and you need Vincent for almost everything. That’s why you won’t fight me, isn't it? You know you can't afford to.” I stared at her. “What exactly are you trying to say?” Her smile widened. “I'm saying that hiding behind him won't keep him yours forever. I'll take you out of his life slowly, until there's nowhere left for you to go.” Her eyes hardened. “Vincent belongs with me.” For one moment, I wanted to slap her. Then I stopped myself. She wasn't worth touching. I stepped back to close the door. Footsteps sounded behind her. Sabrina's entire demeanor changed. The smug expression disappeared, replaced instantly by trembling lips and frightened eyes. She suddenly threw herself backward. The tray flew from her hands, spilling rice and soup across her uniform. She lifted her reddened hand and stared at me tearfully. “Miss Sinclair, I know you're still angry with me. If hurting me makes you feel better, then I won't complain. If you need to do it again, I’ll endure it.” Disgust turned my stomach. “I didn't touch you,” I said coldly. “You did that yourself.” Her tears immediately spilled over. “If that's what you need to believe, then I'll just say I lost my balance.” Vincent stood behind her. I saw the brief flash of concern in his eyes. For Sabrina. His expression darkened before he looked at me, almost as though he were forcing himself to trust what I'd said. “Amara, I believe you,” he said slowly. “If the two of you can't live peacefully together, then I'll send her away.” Sabrina's face went pale. “What?” Vincent's voice hardened. “You heard me. Pack your things and leave.” She looked devastated, biting her lip as tears gathered in her eyes. “All right,” she whispered. “I'll go.” “Good.” Vincent immediately turned toward me, his expression softening. “Don't let someone like that ruin your mood. I came home early because I wanted to spend time with you. Come on. Let me take you somewhere nice.” He took my hand and led me toward the dressing room as though nothing unusual had happened. Inside, he selected a dress himself and chose jewelry to match it, studying every detail with the same concentration he once reserved for making me happy. “Get changed,” he said. “I'll take care of Sabrina first.” He left. The moment the door closed, I activated the ring. His voice came through, completely different from the one I'd just heard. “Darling, I'm sorry you had to witness that. Seeing her treat you that way made me furious.” I clenched my jaw. “But it's all part of the arrangement,” he continued. “She agreed that I would send her away, which means she's free now.” Sabrina sounded confused. “What are you saying?” “Go back to the villa for the moment. After that, you can go wherever you want. You're not being kept there anymore. Just let me know when you arrive so I know you're safe.” Her voice trembled with emotion. “You’re really too good to me.” Vincent laughed softly. “You're my wife. If I don't look after you, who else is going to?” I switched off the receiver. My fingers had gone cold.

That evening, Vincent took me to an expensive Italian restaurant high above the city, the kind of place designed to make every dinner feel unforgettable. The food was exquisite, the lights were soft, and the view stretched endlessly beneath us. Under different circumstances, it might have been romantic. I felt nothing. Vincent sat opposite me, outwardly relaxed, but I noticed how often his attention drifted toward his phone. He was waiting for something, and I knew exactly what it was. He was waiting for his wife. When the phone finally rang, he answered so quickly that he accidentally activated the speaker. “Vincent…” Sabrina's frightened voice filled the table. “Someone took me. I don't know where they're bringing me, but maybe this is for the best. If I disappear, Miss Sinclair won't have any reason to be angry anymore. Ah—please! Somebody help me!” The call abruptly ended. Vincent immediately tried calling her back. Once. Twice. Again. There was no answer. Then his eyes settled on me. “Amara,” he said, trying to keep his voice controlled, “where did you send her?” I frowned. “What are you talking about?” “If you're angry with her, you should have come to me. I'll deal with it.” His expression hardened. “Why would you take matters into your own hands?” I calmly set my fork down. “I already told you. I had nothing to do with this.” His hand suddenly closed around my wrist. “Sabrina isn't in a condition to deal with something like this!” His voice rose. “She can't take much more. Amara, you need to stop. I know you've suffered since losing your hand, but Sabrina has suffered too. Just leave her alone. Is that really so difficult?” My heart seemed to stop. Sabrina has suffered too. I nearly laughed. She had attacked me with an axe and destroyed the future I'd spent years building. Vincent had made certain she never had to pay for it in prison. Instead, she married the man she had wanted all along, lived safely in hiding, and spent four years being loved and protected. And now she was free. Yet somehow, she was the one he was worried about. I swallowed the tears burning behind my eyes. “I told you I didn't do it,” I said quietly. “And whether this hand is transplanted or not, it still hurts when you squeeze it like that.” Vincent immediately released me. His eyes dropped to my wrist, where the skin had already reddened. “Damn it, Amara. I'm sorry.” His expression shifted with guilt. “I thought you might have done something impulsive. I wasn't trying to hurt you.” Then, as though something else had suddenly occurred to him, he asked, “Where are the rings I gave you? Why aren't you wearing them?” I almost smiled. “You gave me the men's ring. It was too loose, so I took it off.” He looked momentarily confused before nodding. “Fine. We'll exchange them when we get home.” After that, he said nothing more about Sabrina. It was as though she had simply vanished from his thoughts. Three nights later, his phone rang well after midnight. Vincent immediately got out of bed. He was already reaching for the door when he stopped and glanced back at me. I remained where I was, perfectly calm. I didn't ask where he was going or try to hold him back. Something unsettled crossed his face. Perhaps he had expected me to question him. For a moment, he seemed as though he might stay. Then the phone rang again. “Something happened at the company,” he said hurriedly. “I need to handle it.” And he left. He never returned that night. The only thing I received was a message. [Amara, work came up. I’ll be staying late, so go to bed without me. Love you.] I stared at those words for a long moment before locking my phone. Once, they would have made my heart soften. Now they were nothing more than empty sounds. The following morning, one of the maids told me someone was waiting outside to see me. I had barely stepped out when something struck the back of my head. The world disappeared. When I regained consciousness, I was bound tightly from head to toe. My wrists and ankles were restrained, and something covered my mouth so I couldn't speak. I was in a private room inside a nightclub. Music throbbed faintly somewhere beyond the walls. Someone had dressed me in a servant's uniform and placed a mask over my face. Then I realized something else. My hair was gone. It had been cut brutally short, uneven strands barely reaching my ears. Vincent had always loved my long hair. He used to tell me it made me look gentle and feminine. Now there was nothing left of it. The door suddenly burst open. “Is that the woman who locked you up and tortured you for three days?” Vincent's voice was frighteningly cold. Sabrina immediately answered. “Yes! That's her!” She pointed at me, her voice trembling with convincing fear. “She told me Miss Sinclair wanted me punished. She said she wanted me to suffer until I begged to die. She kept me locked away and brought men in to humiliate me. I thought I was never going to get out.” Her voice broke. “I barely survived.” I struggled against the restraints, desperately trying to make a sound. Nothing came out. Vincent stared at me. His expression hardened. “Amara went too far this time. I won't lay a hand on her, but someone needs to pay for what happened to my wife.” He turned toward his men. “Bring me the whip. The one treated with salt.” My entire body began to shake. Sabrina hadn't simply accused me of kidnapping her. She had transformed me into a monster in his eyes, someone he could punish without hesitation. Vincent stepped closer, the whip hanging from his hand. For one brief moment, he stopped. His eyes narrowed. Something about me seemed to bother him, although I couldn't tell whether it was recognition or merely instinct. The room was dim, and my face was hidden behind the mask. Then Sabrina approached him from behind and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Darling,” she whispered, “thank you for protecting me. She hurt me so badly. I was terrified.” I understood immediately why Vincent hadn't recognized me. I had never worn a servant's uniform. I'd always kept my hair long because he loved it that way. The woman standing before him now had short, uneven hair, cheap clothing, and a hidden face. There was no way he could imagine that she was his Amara. I watched the realization settle inside him. Whatever doubt had existed disappeared. The warmth vanished from his expression, replaced by something frighteningly cold. “If you ever lay a hand on my wife again,” Vincent snarled, “I'll make you suffer for it a thousand times over. Do you understand me? I'll make you regret the day you were ever born.” He raised the whip. I couldn't move. The weapon sliced through the air. Crack! The first strike tore across my back, the barbed ends biting into my skin. My body jerked violently from the impact, and a cry died behind the gag. I stared at the man standing before me. The man who had once sworn he would protect me from everyone in the world was now the one hurting me. And he still had no idea who I was.

Pain tore through me with such force that I screamed behind the tape covering my mouth. The second strike landed before I could recover, sending a burning sensation through my body as though something scorching had been dragged across my skin. My vision blurred, and I could no longer tell whether I was struggling to breathe or simply breathing too quickly to think. The third blow made me clamp my teeth together until I tasted blood. My entire body curled instinctively, trembling as the pain seemed to settle into every bone. Then another came. And another. Vincent didn't stop. By the time he reached ninety-nine, I had stopped resisting. Blood covered my back, my body barely responding except for the occasional involuntary tremor. My thoughts had begun drifting away from what was happening, retreating somewhere distant where I didn't have to feel any of it. And in that strange, detached state, I remembered something Vincent had once promised me. He had sworn Sabrina would pay for what she'd done. He'd told me exactly how he intended to punish her, promising that he would have her restrained and make her suffer for taking my hand. He had sounded so certain. So why was I the one tied up now? Why was I the one bleeding beneath his hands? “Sabrina,” Vincent asked through the haze, his voice frighteningly calm, “how many men did she use to torment you?” “Ten,” Sabrina answered faintly. “Then ten isn't enough.” My stomach sank. “Find a hundred men,” he ordered. “The worse they are, the better. And make sure she has something to loosen her up.” He came toward me and struck my chin with his foot. “You thought you could hurt my wife and get away with it?” His voice was filled with fury. “I'll make sure you regret ever laying a hand on her.” The impact knocked my mask loose. “Vincent…” I barely managed to force his name past my ruined throat. For one desperate second, I wondered if he would recognize me. If you knew it was me, would you be sorry? But the words never came properly. They dissolved into broken sobs and strangled sounds. Vincent didn't even turn around. He was already taking Sabrina's hand. “Don't look at her,” he told her gently. “There's nothing worth seeing. I'll stay with you for the next few days, all right?” Their voices disappeared as they walked away, and the door closed behind them. I was left alone. Then someone returned and loosened my restraints just enough to force something into my mouth. I tried to spit it out, but I had no strength left. Within moments, heat rushed through my body. My skin seemed to burn from the inside, my chest tightening as panic rose through me. Then the men arrived. One after another, they crowded into the room, their clothes dirty and their bodies reeking of alcohol and sweat. Their eyes moved over me with a cruelty that made me feel less like a person than an object. Hands grabbed at me. I recoiled, fighting with whatever strength remained. Then the drug took hold more violently, twisting the pain and heat together until I couldn't understand what my own body was doing. I felt sick, terrified, and utterly trapped. Tears streamed down my face. What have they done to me? My hand found something beside me. A vase. I seized it and smashed it against the floor. Before anyone could stop me, I grabbed a sharp fragment and drove it into my thigh. The pain was immediate and clean. It cut through the haze enough for me to think again. I looked around. There were too many men between me and the door. But behind me was a window. I didn't give myself time to reconsider. I ran. Someone shouted as I climbed through the opening, and then I jumped. For one terrifying second, I thought I'd made a fatal mistake. Instead, I crashed onto the grass below. Pain shot through me, but I was alive. I pushed myself upright and ran. The club's rear entrance was open, and I stumbled through it without stopping. Blood soaked through my clothes, every step sending another wave of pain through my body, but I refused to slow down. I didn't look back. My phone vibrated repeatedly in my pocket. When I finally dared to check it, Vincent's message was waiting. [Amara, this project is taking longer than I expected. I may be gone for several more days. Be good and wait for me at home. Love you.] I stared at the screen. Then a laugh escaped me. It sounded nothing like happiness. It was hollow, exhausted, almost foreign to my own ears. Another notification appeared beneath it. [Your identity cancellation has been completed. All records associated with this identity are now invalid.] I read it twice. Then, for the first time that night, I smiled. It was done. I was no longer Amara Sinclair. The woman Vincent Ravelli thought he knew no longer existed. When I returned to the villa, I packed as quickly as I could. Vincent had taken most of my important documents years ago, but that no longer mattered. Those records had belonged to someone who was already gone. I only gathered what I truly needed. Before leaving, I removed the ring from my finger. There was still a faint trace of my blood on it. I placed it carefully on the desk where Vincent couldn't possibly miss it. Once, I'd imagined taking revenge myself. I had imagined confronting him and making him understand exactly what he'd done. But I didn't need to anymore. That ring would tell him enough. He would see it, understand that I had been there, and eventually realize that the woman he'd beaten and abandoned had been me all along. Perhaps the truth would hurt him more than anything I could have done. I walked out of the villa that night. The sky had turned a deep shade of blue, and the stars were barely visible through the glow of the city. Still, they were there, scattered across the darkness. Stars always found a way to shine eventually. I held tightly to that thought as I boarded the plane. The ticket carried my new name. There was no return flight. As the aircraft rose above the city, I leaned back against my seat and closed my eyes. For the first time in years, I didn't know what tomorrow would look like. And strangely, that uncertainty didn't frighten me. It felt like freedom. “Goodbye, Vincent,” I whispered, knowing he couldn't hear me. I only hoped that whatever life waited ahead, our paths would never cross again.