The morning of the third day felt strangely calm.
Almost too calm.
I woke up to a quiet house, no footsteps, no clinking dishes, no Edward hovering outside my door pretending to be a loving husband.
Just silence.
Dangerous silence.
I slipped out of bed slowly, letting my knees wobble a little the way I had been practicing. When I walked into the bathroom, I stared at my reflection.
I looked tired. Faded. Slower.
Perfect.
Exactly what Edward wanted to see.
Exactly what I needed him to believe.
I tied my robe and went downstairs. The air smelled different today, not like lilies or vanilla candles. It smelled… stale. As if something was about to shift.
Yazja was wiping the dining table, but when she saw me, her hand froze mid-air.
"Good morning, ma'am," she said, voice too small.
I nodded. "Good morning."
"You should eat something," she whispered. "I prepared oatmeal."
I forced a weak smile. "Thank you."
As she turned to leave, her eyes flicked briefly toward the hallway, the one that led to the back entrance.
Something was happening.
And she knew.
I sat slowly, taking small spoonfuls of oatmeal I had no intention of swallowing. I was pushing it around the bowl when my phone buzzed under the table.
A single message.
From my father.
He's coming today. Be ready.
My heart thudded once, hard.
Mr. Alton.
The man who would help me die.
The man who would pull me out of this nightmare.
I typed back quickly,
What time?
A few seconds later,
Between 1 and 2. He will not knock. He is already inside the estate.
Already inside?
A shiver ran through me.
This was happening.
My life, my real life, was about to end, at least to the world.
I finished pretending to eat and stood up to return the bowl to the sink. Yazja took it from me, but her fingers brushed mine briefly, deliberately.
A warning.
A silent message.
Be careful.
Edward returned home around noon. I heard the car door slam from the living room. I quickly adjusted my breathing, making it shallower.
When he entered the room, he looked… irritated.
Not at me.
At something else.
Something he couldn't control.
"Miranda," he said softly, but his voice had a sharp edge. "Are you okay?"
"Yes," I answered. "Just… tired."
He watched me closely. Too closely. As if expecting me to collapse any moment.
"How was your breakfast?"
"It made me sleepy," I said, lowering my eyes. "I took my medication afterward."
His shoulders relaxed a little.
Good.
He believed it.
He sat beside me on the couch, placing a hand on my thigh. "You're doing well, Mira. You're cooperating. I appreciate that."
Cooperating.
Like I was a prisoner.
"Do you need anything?" he asked, voice sweet but empty.
"Just rest," I whispered.
"Good," he replied. "You should sleep more. Dr. Daniel said your heart might be under stress."
Stress?
From the poison he approved?
I nodded quietly. "I will."
Suddenly, he leaned closer. Too close.
His hand moved from my thigh to my waist.
"Come to the room with me," he murmured.
A cold shiver shot down my spine.
He never touched me tenderly anymore. This wasn't affection, it was intrusion. Surveillance. Control.
"I feel dizzy," I whispered.
He frowned. "You can lie down in the room."
"I'll go soon," I said softly. "Let me rest my eyes here first."
He stared at me for a moment, suspicious. Then he forced a smile.
"Alright."
He stood and left the living room.
I exhaled shakily.
If he had insisted…
If he had dragged me upstairs…
Mr. Alton wouldn't be able to reach me.
The timing had to be perfect.
The moment came quietly.
I was sitting on the couch, staring at my hands, when I felt… watched.
Not the usual watching.
Not Edward's predatory gaze.
Something sharper. More calculated.
I lifted my eyes slowly.
A man stood behind the staircase bannister, half-hidden in the shadowed hallway.
Tall.
Black suit.
Expression unreadable.
My heart stopped for half a second.
Mr. Alton.
He didn't speak.
He didn't move.
He simply nodded once.
It's time.
I stood weakly, gripping the couch for support, and walked toward the hallway as if I needed fresh air. When I reached him, he turned and blended deeper into the shadows.
"Don't look at me directly," he said quietly. His voice was calm, steady. "Walk past me as if going to the guest restroom."
I did as he said, pretending to lean against the wall like my legs were failing.
He followed behind me, silent as a breath.
Inside the small guest room, he locked the door.
I turned to face him fully.
He looked ordinary. No flashy clothes, no intimidating aura, just a man who knew how to disappear.
"My father sent you?" I whispered.
"Yes."
"And… you're going to help me… die?"
He nodded once. "We will make it believable. But you must follow my instructions exactly. No hesitation. No second thoughts."
I nodded.
"What happens today?" I asked.
"Today," he said, pulling out a black pouch, "we begin preparation. The actual 'death' will occur tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?"
"Yes. The timeline had to be moved."
"Why?"
He met my eyes. "Because your husband's doctor ordered a stronger dosage starting tomorrow morning. If you stay here past tomorrow… you will not survive."
My stomach twisted.
He wasn't exaggerating.
He was warning me.
"So this is our last chance," he said.
"What do you need me to do?"
"Tonight, you will pretend to collapse. We'll use a controlled sedative to lower your pulse enough to fool Edward and the staff."
"Will it hurt me?"
"No. It only mimics cardiac distress. But it must be timed perfectly."
I swallowed hard. "And after that?"
"Your father's PA will switch your body with a prepared decoy."
A decoy.
A corpse.
They were truly going to replace me.
"After that," Mr. Alton continued, "you will disappear before dawn. New identity. New home. New life."
A part of me felt frozen.
Another part felt… free.
"I understand," I whispered.
"Good." He handed me a tiny vial. "Drop this in your dinner. Pretend it's a reaction to the medication. You'll faint naturally."
I held the vial with trembling fingers.
This was real.
This was happening.
"Do not let anyone else touch this," he said. "And whatever you do… do not cry tonight."
"Why?" I whispered.
"Because Edward will be watching," he said calmly. "More closely than ever."
When Mr. Alton left, I returned to the living room with shaky steps, rehearsing the faintness I would display later.
Edward appeared almost immediately.
"Where were you?" he asked sharply.
"I… needed fresh air," I murmured.
He tilted his head, studying me, searching for cracks.
"You look pale," he said.
"I feel… weak."
His eyes gleamed with satisfaction.
"Good. Go upstairs and rest."
I obeyed quietly, clutching the vial in my palm.
In my room, I sat on the bed and stared at it.
One drop.
One faint.
One staged death.
One escape.
I closed my eyes and whispered to myself,
"You can do this."
At dinner, Edward insisted we eat together.
Yazja served rice and fish stew. When she placed my plate in front of me, she didn't look at me. Not once.
But when she turned to leave, she brushed past me and a tiny folded note fell beside my hand.
Good luck.
My throat tightened.
I waited until Edward was distracted with his phone. Then, with a steady hand, I dropped exactly three drops from the vial into my food.
The liquid vanished instantly.
No color.
No smell.
No trace.
Perfect.
Halfway through the meal, I began to blink slowly, letting my eyelids droop.
Edward noticed.
"Miranda? What's wrong?"
"I… feel dizzy…" I whispered, touching my chest.
He stood immediately.
"Are you okay? Mira?"
I swayed in my seat.
His eyes widened.
"Mira?"
I let my head fall forward.
The plate crashed.
The chair slid.
I hit the floor.
My body went limp.
Edward rushed toward me.
"Miranda! MIRANDA!"
I kept my breathing shallow. Almost nonexistent.
I felt his hands shaking my shoulders.
"MIRANDA!"
Yazja screamed in the background.
"Sir, sir, she, she's not breathing!!!"
I felt the room spin.
Not from the drug.
But from the truth that rang inside me,
From this moment on…
Miranda Albert no longer existed.
I was dead.
At least to them.
And tomorrow…
I would disappear forever.