From His Wife’s Replacement to The Woman He Regrets Losing

So, I was the one meant to be sacrificed.

Ezekiel studied my silence before speaking earnestly. "Dahlia, I heard about your adoptive mother, but you’re carrying the future of this family on your shoulders. The South District development project is about to be approved. If you walk away now, what if President Davis pulls out of the deal?"

"And Stephen is your child, too. Can you really bear to abandon him like this? You can’t be so selfish."

A slow smile curved my lips. "You forget, I was never a Cavendish to begin with. That name was something you forced upon me, and now I’m giving it back."

"Tessa is grown now. The burden I carried for seven years should finally shift to her. If she wants the benefits, then she should be willing to pay the price. Isn’t that how this works?"

Fury flashed in Ezekiel’s eyes before he struck me hard across the face. "A bastard like you has no conscience! I should’ve listened to Mom back then and left you to freeze to death in the snow. You ungrateful wretch!"

My birth mother was Erica Cavendish.

But my father? Just an unknown male model, selling his looks in a club.

Back then, Erica wanted revenge on her husband for his affairs, so she picked a male model at random for a single night. She never expected to end up pregnant with me.

The doctor warned her that, given her condition, an abortion might leave her unable to conceive again.

So, she kept the pregnancy a secret. And when I was born, she ordered Ezekiel, who knew the truth, to leave me in the snow to freeze to death.

But he was just a boy, too afraid to take a life. Instead, he left me on the doorstep of my adoptive mother’s house.

For twenty years, she and I lived together until Ezekiel found me again. This time, he wasn’t offering salvation. He demanded that I donate my eggs to Evie as if my body belonged to the Cavendish family.

In his mind, if not for him, I would have died long ago. Any sacrifice I made for them was only fair.

I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth and met his gaze.

"Because of your fleeting hesitation that night, I lost seven years of my freedom. I lost all of my eggs. I can never have children of my own."

"What I owed you, I’ve already repaid."

Thinking about what Tessa had just said, I met his gaze and reminded him, “Instead of wasting time arguing with me, why don’t you go ask your dear sister? Maybe she’d be more than happy to be that replacement.”

Something flickered in Ezekiel’s eyes. A realization.

Then, without another word, he shot me a glare and stormed toward the study.

Behind me, familiar footsteps echoed in the hallway. Moments later, Carlos appeared, his presence as suffocating as ever.

I had no idea when he had stepped out, but the bodyguards trailing him were carrying several large boxes.

His gaze swept over my suitcase, his expression unreadable. Then, in that cold, measured tone of his, he said, “Are you still sulking over Stephen? He’s just a child. And besides, you were the one at fault yesterday. Stop being so stubborn.”

My fingers curled around the handle of my suitcase, but I said nothing.

“I’ve thought it over. Since you care so much about your adoptive mother, I’ll go with you to pay your respects. We’ll burn these offerings for her, fulfill your filial duty. Just don’t wear white again.”

“Also, I’ve already agreed to let Stephen call Tessa ‘Mom.’ She looks like Evie; maybe it will ease his longing for his mother.”

I almost laughed.

For seven years, Stephen had never once called me ‘Mom.’ And Carlos had never corrected him.

It turned out that the one thing I had longed for the most—all it took to receive it was a face that resembled Evie’s.

I let out a soft, bitter chuckle. “There’s no need. Once I leave, I’ll have nothing to do with the Davis family anymore. My adoptive mother has nothing to do with you, President Davis. And as for Stephen calling someone ‘Mom,’ that’s none of my concern.”

Carlos parted his lips as if to speak, but before he could, Tessa came running over, her face drained of color.

In her trembling hands, she clutched a black-and-white photo.

It was a picture of her, but her face had been defaced with lipstick, the features scribbled over until they were unrecognizable.

And scrawled across it, in bold, jagged letters, ‘Die.’