Betrayed For A Fake Heir: The Wife's Exit

The silence inside the Aspen cabin wasn't peaceful.

It was the heavy, suffocating silence of a grave waiting for the first shovel of dirt.

I stood in the center of the living room, my breath misting in the freezing air.

The hearth was cold.

The pantry was bare.

Dante had exiled me here to reflect on my 'crimes,' stripping away the guards, the staff, and the heat.

He wanted me cold.

He wanted me desperate.

He wanted to break me so he could rebuild me into a compliant wife-one who would meekly accept his bastard child.

My phone buzzed against my hip.

I fished it out with numb, fumbling fingers.

The screen flashed a single name: Dante.

I answered, bracing myself for his rage, or perhaps his conditional mercy.

"Dante?" I whispered, my teeth chattering. "It's freezing."

"Hello, Serena."

The voice was light, airy, and sickeningly sweet.

It wasn't Dante.

It was Mia.

"Where is my husband?" I asked.

My voice trembled-not from fear, but from the bone-deep chill that had settled into my marrow.

"He's in the shower," she purred.

I could practically hear the smile stretching across her face.

"He was so worried about me after the poisoning attempt. You really are wicked, Serena. Trying to kill an unborn baby?"

"I didn't poison you."

"I know," she giggled, a sound like breaking glass. "But Dante believes I'm fragile. He believes I'm the victim. He's eating the porridge I made him right now."

A wave of nausea rolled over me.

"Put him on the phone."

"He doesn't want to talk to you. He said you need to freeze the rebellion out of your system."

I looked out the window.

The snow was falling harder now, a thick white curtain erasing the world.

Above the cabin, the mountain loomed, ominous and heavy with fresh powder.

A low rumble vibrated through the floorboards, shaking the dust from the rafters.

It sounded like a beast growling deep underground.

"Mia," I said, panic rising in my throat. "The snow. It's unstable. Tell him to send someone. Now."

"Oh, stop being dramatic. You always want attention."

The rumble grew to a deafening roar.

Through the glass, I saw the ancient pine trees on the ridge snap like toothpicks.

A wall of churning white was rushing down the mountainside.

"Mia, please!"

I heard a door open in the background on her end.

Then Dante's voice, muffled but distinct.

"Mia? Who are you talking to?"

Mia didn't answer him.

Instead, she whispered into the phone, her voice venomous.

"Die, Serena."

The line went dead.

I dropped the phone.

I turned and ran for the back door, but the roar outside swallowed the sound of my own heartbeat.

The windows exploded inward.

The world dissolved into a violent, churning whiteness.

The cold hit me like a freight train, lifting me off my feet and slamming me against the stone fireplace.

Darkness followed instantly.

And as the weight of the mountain crushed the air from my lungs, I didn't think of God.

I didn't think of survival.

I thought of the irony.

Dante Vitiello had sworn to burn the world down to keep me warm.

In the end, he was the one who left me to freeze.