The night felt heavier than usual.
Maybe it was the silence of the mansion…
Maybe it was the weight of the plan settling into my bones…
Or maybe it was the truth that kept echoing in my head:
I have to die to stay alive.
At exactly 11:04 p.m., when I was sure Edward was asleep in the guest room, he claimed the shower made him tired, I slipped out of bed and sat on the cold marble floor beside the window.
I dialed my father.
He picked up on the first ring.
"Are you alone?" he whispered.
"Yes."
"Good. Listen carefully. We don't have much time."
His voice was stern but trembling underneath, my father, the unshakable Alberto patriarch, was scared. Not for himself, but for me.
"I've spoken to Mr. Alton," he continued. "He's the specialist. He handles disappearances, professionally. He's done it for government officials, protected witnesses… he knows what he's doing."
"Okay," I whispered, gripping my knees tighter.
"He'll come in five days. That's when we stage it."
Five days.
Only five days left of pretending.
Five days left of acting weak.
Five days left of sleeping beside a man who wanted me dead.
"Father…" I swallowed. "What happens after?"
"You won't be Miranda Albert anymore," he said quietly. "You'll get a new identity, a safe house, new documents. You'll be somewhere Edward and his accomplice will never find you."
His accomplice.
The other Miranda.
The woman wearing my name.
My marriage.
My life.
My father exhaled shakily. "We'll announce you died in your sleep. A quiet, peaceful death from a heart condition. Everything will look natural. Edward will mourn you publicly. The family doctor will sign confirmation."
"And you?"
"They'll think I'm grieving," he said. "But I'll be working from the shadows to expose them both."
My eyes burned.
"Dad… what if he suspects something?"
"He won't. You've convinced him the drug is affecting you. Keep playing your role. Stay small. Stay quiet. Act tired. Act scared. Act sick. Let him believe he's already won."
A single tear slipped down my cheek.
I wasn't used to pretending.
I wasn't used to lowering my head.
I wasn't used to being fragile.
But for survival…
For revenge…
For justice…
I would.
After ending the call, I crawled into bed and wrapped the blanket around myself. I forced my body to shiver, rehearsing how it would look if Edward suddenly entered.
And minutes later, he did.
He stood in the doorway, watching me with the same cold calculation he carried like a second skin.
"Miranda?" he whispered.
I blinked groggily, letting my eyes look half-open. "Hmm?"
"Are you feeling worse?"
Perfect. He was noticing.
"I don't know," I murmured. "Everything feels… slow."
His lips curved, not into a smile, but into something wickedly satisfied.
"It's normal," he said gently. "Your body is adjusting."
Adjusting.
To poison.
He walked closer, brushing my hair away from my face. His thumb grazed my cheek.
"You're doing well," he whispered. "Just a few more days."
My blood ran cold.
A few more days.
Was he counting down the same way I was?
When he left the room, I sat up slowly, clasping my hands to stop their trembling.
We were both waiting for the same thing.
My death.
But only one of us knew whose death it would truly be.
The Next MorningI woke up feeling restless.
Not because of fear,
But because every second that passed brought me closer to freedom.
I showered slowly, making sure to move as though every muscle hurt. When I came down the stairs, Yazja was already in the living room, arranging flowers.
She jumped when she saw me.
"You're awake early," she whispered.
I tilted my head slightly. "Is that… a problem?"
"No, no, ma'am." She bowed deeply. "How are you feeling?"
"Weak," I said, letting my shoulders fall a little. "The medication is strong."
A flicker of something, guilt, fear, maybe both, crossed her face.
"I'm sorry," she murmured, voice tight.
"For what?"
She froze. "Nothing."
Lies again.
She knew something.
And she was terrified.
Before I could speak, the door opened.
Edward walked in with Dr. Daniel behind him.
My pulse spiked.
"Miranda," Daniel said with a warm smile that didn't reach his eyes. "How are you feeling today?"
I lowered my gaze. "Still dizzy. Still tired."
He nodded, satisfied. "Good. That means the treatment is stabilizing your system."
His words stabbed through me like a blade.
Treatment.
Stabilizing.
Poisoning me slowly.
He sat on the couch and patted the cushion beside him. "Come sit. I want to check your vitals."
I obeyed quietly, moving slower than usual.
When he pressed his fingers to my wrist to feel my pulse, his brows lifted slightly.
"Your heart rate is lower today."
I forced a small, scared whisper: "Is that bad?"
"No," he said gently. "It's expected."
Expected.
I wanted to scream.
Instead, I nodded obediently.
Edward hovered nearby, watching every movement, mine and the doctor's.
Daniel took out a small flashlight and checked my eyes. "Your pupils are reacting normally."
He leaned closer. Too close.
"And your memory?" he asked softly. "Any confusion? Forgetting things?"
For a moment, I froze.
Confusion?
Were they hoping I wouldn't remember things?
Were they planning to make me appear unstable before killing me?
"I forget little things," I whispered, looking ashamed. "I don't know why."
Edward's smirk widened.
Daniel scribbled something on his pad. "Good. It's progressing."
Progressing.
My death.
He patted my hand. "Continue the dosage. I'll adjust it next week."
Next week.
I wouldn't be here next week.
They didn't know their victim was slipping through their fingers.
When they left, I rushed upstairs and locked the door.
I texted my father:
The doctor said my heart rate is dropping. He's increasing the dosage soon. We need to hurry.
His reply came instantly:
We'll move the plan to three days. Get ready.
Three days.
My breath caught.
Everything was moving faster.
Later That AfternoonI practiced my role again, weak steps, shaky breaths, a soft voice. When I went downstairs for lunch, Edward observed me with deep satisfaction.
"You're getting better," he said.
I lowered my gaze. "I hope so."
"Your body is responding," he whispered, almost to himself. "It won't be long now."
I pretended not to hear the last part.
After lunch, I sat in the backyard, holding a book I wasn't reading. The air felt heavy. The trees around me rustled as if warning me.
That was when Yazja approached.
"Ma'am," she whispered, glancing around nervously. "May I speak with you?"
I straightened slightly. "Yes."
She looked around again, then leaned closer.
Her voice was trembling. "Be… be careful."
My heart stopped.
"What do you mean?"
"I…" She pressed her lips together, eyes filling with dread. "I can't say more. But you… you need to be careful. Your food, your medicine… everything."
She stepped back quickly.
"Please don't ask me anything else. They're watching."
They.
Not just Edward.
Not just the doctor.
They.
A group.
A plan.
A conspiracy.
I nodded slowly. "Thank you, Yazja."
She swallowed hard, then hurried away before someone could see us speaking privately.
I sat frozen for a long moment.
She confirmed what I already knew.
I wasn't safe anywhere in this house.
Not in the kitchen.
Not in the bedroom.
Not even in my own skin.
And soon…
I wouldn't be here anymore.
NightfallI waited until Edward fell asleep again, he always slept deeply after taking long showers, and then I sat on the floor with my back against the bed.
I stared at the moon outside the window.
Three days.
Three days until my death.
Three days until my rebirth.
I whispered to myself:
"Be small. Be weak. Let them relax."
Because once I died…
Miranda Albert would rise again,
Not as Edward's wife.
But as the woman who would burn their entire plan to ashes.