I clung to the wall and dragged myself upstairs.
The moment I reached my room, I tore through everything tied to Ethan.
Photos.
Love letters.
Postcards from every trip.
Then my fingers brushed an old sketchbook—and I froze.
Ethan had drawn it all. A timeline of every step of our love.
Page one: Our first meeting. I’d found him bleeding out and saved his life. He claimed he fell for me the second he opened his eyes.
Page ten: The first time he took me home. Mrs. Carter Sr. told me to crawl in through the doggy door. I’d turned around and walked off. Ethan chased after me, desperate, apologizing over and over.
“Luna, I failed you. I let them humiliate you. I swear it’ll never happen again.”
He sent Mrs. Carter Sr. to a mountain retreat for six months after that.
Page twenty: He stood before the whole Carter family and announced he’d marry me. Grandpa Carter dragged him to the Family Shrine, threatening him with ancestral wrath.
Ethan just scoffed, tossed the ancestral tablets into the fire, and said,”I make the rules now. Who the hell cares about ancestors?”
But now…
That same “ancestral wrath” was his excuse to drag a mistress into our home.
My grip tightened on the sketchbook until my knuckles turned white.
Grandpa Carter’s warning before the wedding echoed in my head:
“My grandson only likes obedient dogs. If you want to stay with him, learn to be a good little dog.”
I’d brushed it off back then. Thought he was trying to scare me off.
Now I knew the truth. Ethan didn’t want a wife—he wanted a puppet. Someone who bent when he tugged the string.
But I, Luna, would never be anyone’s accessory.
I didn’t hesitate anymore. I threw everything into the roaring fireplace.
And when I turned around, Ethan was standing there—eyes locked on the flames.
“What are you burning?” His voice was flat.
“Just things I don’t need,” I said.
He nodded, then pulled out a first—aid kit.”See? Even when I punish you, I’m still the one spoiling you. I’m putting this cream on myself.”
His hand was warm. His touch was gentle.
But my skin felt ice—cold under it.
“Luna, Mom’s birthday is in three days. I’m throwing a huge party—everyone who matters in New York will be there.”
“No need,” I said.”My mom doesn’t care about that.”
“No.” He brushed a hand through my hair, soft but commanding.”Good girl. I want the world to see how much I spoil you.”
I lowered my eyes. No warmth. Only exhaustion.
Three days later.
Carter Group’s biggest hotel was packed with New York’s elite.
“Mr. Carter spoils his wife so much—billions for a birthday party!”
“He’s the perfect husband. Mrs. Carter’s so lucky!”
But in a quiet corner, my mom stared at the burn on my hand, her eyes red.
“Luna, you’ve suffered enough. Two more weeks. I’ll take you away then.”
My throat tightened. Tears stung, but I forced them back.
Ethan finished a phone call and walked over.
“Luna, Chloe wants to come celebrate Mom’s birthday too.”
“I don’t want to see her,” I snapped.
He frowned.”Stop being dramatic. She’s already coming. Don’t make this harder.”
He walked off, gaze fixed on the entrance—never even glancing back at me.
My chest went hollow.
Mom dragged me out to the balcony.
Cold wind slapped my face.
She took off her jacket and wrapped it around me.”Look at the moon. Tomorrow will be sunny.”
“I hope so,” I whispered.
Footsteps thundered behind us.
Ethan stormed out, face dark. He grabbed my wrist so hard I felt bone grind.
“Chloe’s missing. Did you take her? Speak!”
Pain shot up my arm, but I met his eyes.”It wasn’t me.”
He stared at me for a long beat… then smirked coldly.
“Fine. You won’t confess? I’ll make you.”
A chill ran through me.
“Get her mother out. Now!”
Bodyguards rushed in, yanking Mom away.
“Ethan! Let go of my mom! Where are you taking her?”
I fought like hell, but his grip only tightened.
The ballroom.
They forced me to my knees on the cold marble.
Ethan lounged on the leather sofa, legs crossed, smoke curling around him.
“Where’s Chloe?”
I shook my head again.
I’d lost count of how many times he’d asked.
But I didn’t know. I truly didn’t.
He stood, crushed out his cigarette, and gripped my chin.
“You’re being stubborn.”
He gestured. A bodyguard stepped up and handed him a phone.
The video played.
My mother.
Tied to a chair.
A time bomb strapped to her chest.
The numbers on the timer dropped, second by second.
