The next morning Aria knelt on the kitchen floor, gathering broken plate shards with shaking hands.
"I'm sorry. I'll clean it," she whispered, eyes fixed on the tiles.
Tom stood in the doorway. His face stayed blank. No anger. No sympathy. Only emptiness.
"You dropped three plates this week," he said.
"I know. I'm sorry."
"Get up."
She rose too fast and almost lost her balance.
Tom stepped closer and stopped inches from her. The scent of his cologne filled the space. His jaw was tight.
"Why did I marry you, Aria?"
Her throat closed. "To be your wife."
"And what did you promise me?"
Her eyes burned. "That I was pure."
"Were you?"
"Yes. I swear."
"I paid fifteen million dollars for one thing." He moved closer. "And you failed."
A tear slid down her cheek. More followed.
Tom turned away as if she repulsed him. "Clean this. Stay in your room. I don't want to see you tonight."
He left.
Aria sank back onto the floor and continued picking up porcelain, crying quietly as blood marked her fingers.
A knock sounded at the front door.
She wiped her face and opened it.
A man stood there, tall and broad, with warm brown eyes and an easy smile.
"You must be Aria."
She nodded. "Who are you?"
"Bryan Yeris. Tom's best friend." He offered his hand. "I wanted to meet the new wife."
She shook it. Her shoulders eased without knowing why.
"Nice to meet you," she said softly.
Bryan's smile faded as he studied her face. His gaze lingered, puzzled, searching.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
"Yeah. Sorry." He shook his head. "May I come in?"
They sat in the living room. Silence pressed in.
"How's everything going?" he asked.
She stared at her hands. Small cuts lined her skin. "It's fine."
"Aria." His voice lowered. "Look at me."
She did.
"Are you happy here?"
Her control broke.
"No." Tears spilled freely. "He hates me. He thinks I lied. He punishes me for it. I didn't lie. I swear I didn't."
Bryan moved closer. "This isn't your fault."
"It is."
"No." His hands rested on her shoulders, gentle and steady. "You don't deserve this."
Something passed between them. Confusion. Recognition without memory.
Bryan pulled her into his chest. She did not resist.
"I've got you," he said. "You're not alone."
For the first time in days, her body stopped bracing for pain.
Just then, Tom walked in and met them in a very intimate state.
BRYAN'S POV
The front door shut behind Tom with a sharp sound.
Aria was still in my arms.
Her body went stiff the second she heard him. She pulled away so fast she almost stumbled, her hands flying to her sides like she'd been caught stealing.
Tom stopped a few steps inside the room.
His eyes moved from her face to my chest, then back to her. Slow. Measuring.
"What is this," he said.
Aria swallowed. Her fingers twisted together.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to—"
"Upstairs," Tom said.
One word. Flat. Final.
She nodded at once and rushed past him. Her shoulder brushed his arm. She flinched hard enough for me to see it. Her footsteps faded. A door closed above us.
Tom did not look up the stairs.
He looked at me.
"You enjoy getting involved," he said.
"She was crying," I said.
"She cries often."
That answer was wrong.
I glanced at the floor. White porcelain shards were still scattered near the counter. Small red drops stained the tiles.
"You let her clean broken plates with bare hands," I said.
"She drops them," Tom replied. "Actions have results."
I bent and picked up one shard. Blood still clung to the edge. I held it up.
"These are results too."
Tom's mouth tightened. "You are not here to judge my house."
I stepped closer. Not threatening. Not backing down.
"She kept saying sorry," I said. "For things that were not her fault."
Tom's eyes hardened. "You do not know what she promised."
"I know what I saw," I said. "A woman afraid to breathe wrong."
Silence stretched between us.
Tom spoke again. "You held her."
"She leaned into me."
"That was a mistake."
I shook my head. "She did not look like someone plotting anything. She looked worn down."
His voice remained calm. Too calm. "You feel sorry for her."
I did not answer.
Because my chest felt tight and I did not understand why.
I had seen her only once before today. Yet when I walked in and saw her face, something hit hard. Like recognition without memory. Like a bruise pressed from the inside.
"She listens for your steps," I said quietly. "You know that."
Tom stared at me.
"She moves before you finish speaking," I went on. "She apologizes before blame lands."
"That is discipline," he said.
"That is fear."
His jaw flexed.
"Stay out of this," he said. "You are my friend. Not her shield."
I looked toward the stairs.
"She bleeds for small mistakes," I said. "That does not look like a contract. That looks like punishment."
Tom took one step toward me. Close enough for warning to settle in the space between us.
"Leave," he said.
I did.
Outside, the night air felt cold.
I stood there longer than I needed to.
My eyes kept lifting to the upstairs window.
I did not know why she stayed in my thoughts. I only knew walking away from her felt like a mistake.
ARIA'S POV
I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling.
My phone sat on the nightstand. Silent.
I had not called Mum in days.
The thought hit hard. Guilt spread through my chest. She was sick. Dying. And I had let fear, marriage, and Tom's cold anger push her out of my mind.
I reached for my phone and dialed her number.
One ring. Two.
Voicemail.
I frowned. Mum always answered.
I tried again.
Voicemail.
My chest tightened.
I called the hospital.
"D'Thom Medical Center. How can I help you?"
"My mother," I said. "Jasmine Summer. Patient ID four seven eight two nine."
"One moment, please."
The pause stretched too long.
"I'm sorry, ma'am," the woman said. "That patient is no longer in our system."
My heart dropped. "What do you mean?"
"The file shows she was discharged three days ago."
"Discharged?" My voice shook. "She has stage four cancer."
"That's all the information available. You'll need to speak with her attending physician."
"Dr. Jackson. Transfer me to him."
"I'm sorry. Dr. Jackson is no longer with this branch. He left three days ago."
Three days.
The phone slipped in my hand.
I hung up and sat there, breathing too fast.
Discharged. Doctor gone. No calls. No messages.
I called Mum again.
Voicemail.
I sent a text.
Mum, please call me. I'm worried.
Nothing.
The next morning, I waited until Tom left then I grabbed my bag and slipped out.
At the hospital desk, I said her name again.
The nurse typed. Her brow creased.
"She was discharged," she said. "No forwarding details."
"She was dying," I said.
"I'm sorry."
I walked out numb.
Mum's house was my last option.
Maple Street looked the same. White walls. Blue shutters. Flowers trimmed neatly.
I knocked.
"Mum?"
No answer.
I knocked harder.
Nothing.
I tried the doors. Locked. All of them.
Through the kitchen window, everything looked untouched. Clean. Quiet.
I called her phone.
A ringtone echoed inside the house.
My breath caught.
"Mum," I shouted. "I can hear your phone."
The ringing stopped.
Voicemail again.
No footsteps. No movement.
I went next door.
Mrs. Chen opened with a smile.
"Aria."
"Have you seen my mum?"
Her smile faded. "She moved out three days ago."
My ears rang. "Moved?"
"A truck came. She left with suitcases. Said she was relocating for treatment."
"She didn't tell me."
Mrs. Chen shook her head. "She said she'd call."
I walked back to the house and stared at the locked door.
Three days ago.
After the wedding.
After the money was transferred.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Stop looking for her. She doesn't want to be found.
My hands went cold.
Who is this?
Someone protecting the truth. Go back to your husband. Play your role. Or everyone you love will suffer.
I looked at the house again.
If Mum left, why was her phone inside?
Unless she wanted it left behind.
Or wanted to confuse me.
Something shifted inside me. Slow. Sharp.
The woman I loved. The woman who raised me. The woman who called me obedient.
I had accepted her version of everything.
Not anymore.
I closed my phone.
If the truth were buried, I would dig.
Even if it destroyed everything I thought I knew.