A Bride to Replace the Forgotten Daughter

When I opened my eyes, it felt as though a heavy weight was pressing down on my entire body.

My skull throbbed with a dull ache, and my stomach churned emptily, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten anything since the previous day. But worse than hunger was the heaviness lodged inside my chest—the echo of last night’s conversation, bruising me from the inside out.

Slowly, I forced myself upright. The early light of morning slipped in through the curtains in soft, golden stripes that fell across the floor. My throat was parched, but thirst was the least of my concerns. What hurt more was the ache in my heart.

Not because I hadn’t eaten.

But because of the voices I had overheard in the hallway.

“I’m feeling much better now,” Yvette’s voice rang lightly from the other room, followed by the gentle trill of her laugh. “Thank you for keeping me company last night.”

“I only wanted to be sure you were alright,” Jerwin answered, his tone calm, deep, and protective. “You were burning up with fever. I couldn’t just walk away.”

“You’re always there for me,” she whispered softly. “I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.”

My hands curled into tight fists around the blanket.

So, he stayed in her room the entire night.

Even after I had stood in the hallway—starving, humiliated, desperate—he had chosen her. Always her.

I reminded myself of the original arrangement. Jerwin had been hired to protect me. Not Yvette. Me. That was the agreement from the start.

And at first, he had done exactly that. He shadowed me wherever I went—quiet, dependable, solid as a wall. For a while, I foolishly let myself believe his constant presence meant something more—that maybe he cared.

But now? That illusion had shattered.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror. No tears. No cracks. Only a mask of stillness. After steadying myself, I dressed and walked out of my room.

Jerwin was already standing in the hallway, as though waiting for me. When his eyes met mine, the first words out of his mouth were, “Did you eat the meal I left in your room?”

I kept my expression cold. “No. I threw it away.”

His brows knit together. “Why are you being so melodramatic?”

I raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“This is about last night, isn’t it?” he pressed. “Look—when I’m off duty, I’m free to do as I please. Your sister wasn’t well, and I stayed with her because she needed me. You, on the other hand? You were just hungry. Couldn’t you have made something for yourself?”

Each word landed like a slap, sharper than I wanted to admit.

But I didn’t argue.

I didn’t explain myself.

I simply stared at him for a long, suffocating moment until the silence thickened between us, unbearable.

Then, without a word, I turned and started to walk away.

“Where are you going?” he called after me.

I halted, but I didn’t turn back. “Why does it matter to you? When you’ve made it clear you don’t care at all.”

And with that, I stepped out the front door.

The morning air was crisp, the cool wind brushing against my skin like a fleeting comfort. I began to jog—not for fitness, not to exercise, but to escape. To outrun the thoughts clawing at me, thorns lodged too deep to pull free.

I was just finding my rhythm when a familiar voice carried behind me.

“Fatima!”

Yvette.

I didn’t slow down.

“Can we jog together?” she asked, appearing at my side, her tone bright and cheerful as though nothing had ever been wrong between us.

I said nothing.

She matched my pace anyway, jogging alongside me with a persistence that gnawed at my nerves.

Barely a minute later, she slowed and turned to Jerwin, who had followed close behind. “Why does she hate me so much?” she said with a pout. “I only want to be close to her. She’s my sister…”

I caught Jerwin’s response, low but steady. “Don’t trouble yourself over it. If she refuses to accept you, I’ll be here. I’ll never leave your side.”

That was enough.

I pushed harder, lengthening my stride until I left them behind—pretending I hadn’t heard, pretending it didn’t matter.

But they followed anyway.

Our path twisted through the back roads of the estate until we stumbled into the unfinished construction site—an expansion project my father had demanded months earlier.

The area was hushed, filled with skeletal beams and scattered piles of materials. I slowed to a walk, lost in spiraling thoughts, blind to my surroundings.

I didn’t notice the loose metal plank underfoot until it shifted.

“Fatima!” someone shouted.

But it was already happening. My foot slid against the unstable surface. The screech of metal scraping against stone split the air as the plank tilted beneath me. My balance faltered, and in an instant, everything stretched into a slow, nightmarish blur.

Gravity yanked me downward. Pain shot through my side as debris struck me, dragging me into a helpless fall. The sky whirled above me. The breath ripped from my lungs.

And just before darkness swallowed me whole, I caught movement in the corner of my eye.

Jerwin.

He was running.

But not toward me.

Not to catch me.

Not to shield me.

He was running to Yvette.

He pulled her tightly into his arms, dragging her behind a steel beam, his entire body shielding hers from the shower of rubble. His expression—etched with pure panic—was turned only to her.

Even as I plummeted.

Even as I screamed silently into the collapsing world.

I was the one left bleeding, shattered, forgotten.

And he had already chosen the person who mattered most.

Pain ripped through me, searing, unbearable—until everything blinked away into silence.

And then there was nothing.

Only darkness.