I Faked My Death After He Proposed to Her

Samantha's POV

I gently pushed Ethan’s hand away, my voice calm but firm. “Mr. Jackson, you’re engaged now. Maybe show a little restraint.”

He didn’t flinch. Just leaned back slightly, completely unfazed.

“Are you mad?” he asked, like he was commenting on the weather. “Come on, Sam. Mr. Jackson, really? When have you ever called me that? You know what I meant when I called you a mad dog. It’s just a title. Is that really enough to shut me out now?”

I met his eyes, steady.

“I’m not mad,” I said. “You were the one who called me a mad dog, remember? And mad dogs don’t get to share a bed with their master. Not like this.”

His body tensed, the words clearly landing harder than he expected.

A moment stretched, thick with dread, before his face contorted into a sneer.

He stood abruptly as he said, “Fine. In fifteen days, I’m marrying Bethany. It’s going to be the biggest wedding Summerset’s ever seen. And guess what?” He leaned in, his gaze sharp as glass. “You’re going to plan it. Every last detail. So be a good and do what you’re told.”

He didn’t wait for a response and just slammed the door behind him.

The echo of it vibrated through the room—and through me.

I didn’t let myself break. Not yet. I reached for my phone and dialed a number.

“Garrett,” I said, my voice low. “I need a new identity. Fifteen days. Can you make it happen?”

Garrett had been mine long before he belonged to Ethan. Years ago, when his mom was dying, and he was drowning in debt, I gave him the money for her surgery—no strings attached.

Following that, he remained by my side and became loyal to me. Garrett was exactly who I needed at this moment.

On the other end, there was a pause. Then, “You serious about this, Sam?”

“Yeah,” I said softly. “I’m done.”

I meant it.

Thirteen years ago, my drunk father tried to sell me to some creep in a nightclub for a bottle of cheap liquor. Ethan showed up out of nowhere and pulled me out of that hell.

From that night on, I swore I’d stay by his side.

For over a decade, I wasn’t just his lover—I was his fixer, his shadow, his cleanup crew. I made enemies vanish, closed deals no one else could touch, and buried problems before they ever reached his desk.

Half of the empire he stood on? That was me.

But now? Now the dirty work was done. He needed something clean to polish the Jackson name. I was no longer part of the picture and just a stain he wanted to scrub out.

With that, I added, "Garrett, I have no reason to stay anymore."

“I’ve got it,” Garrett said after a beat. “I’ll move fast.”

“Thanks.”

I ended the call and let myself fall back onto the bed, drained.

Sleep took me like a wave crashing over my head.

...

I don’t know how long I’d been asleep, but I woke to voices—low, sharp, laced with tension. The kind that didn’t belong in this house.

Ethan’s estate was always silent, almost unnervingly so. He’d built it that way—remote, private, airtight. Nobody came here unless he allowed it. And nobody ever showed up unannounced.

That’s why the voices pulled me straight out of bed.

I moved quickly, barefoot on cold floors, and cracked the door open just enough to see. My heart stuttered.

Bethany.

She was standing in the hallway, clinging to Ethan’s arm like she owned it. Her brows were pinched, her lips pursed, and her eyes full of accusation.

“What’s this room for?” she asked, her voice high and tight, dripping with suspicion.

She caught sight of me and froze.

Her expression shifted in an instant from shock to outrage. “Why is she living here?”

Ethan didn’t even blink. Cool as always.

“She’s one of my most trusted employees,” he said smoothly. “She’s always lived here.”

Bethany curled her lip.

“‘Employee’?” she echoed, like the word tasted rotten. “If she’s just an employee, why is she staying right next to your bedroom? Shouldn’t she be in the servants’ wing?”

I saw Ethan’s brow twitch, just slightly. He didn’t answer right away.

But I did.

“It’s fine,” I said quietly, eyes lowered. “Miss White is right. This house has a real mistress now. I’ll move.”

“Samantha—” Ethan’s voice was laced with disbelief, like he couldn’t quite believe what I was saying.

I looked up at him briefly, calm, detached. “It’s the right thing to do.”

Bethany scoffed. “At least someone’s being reasonable.”

She tugged Ethan down the hall, already barking about her luggage.

He hesitated, just for a second, his eyes flicking back to me. Then he walked away.

No words. No apology. Nothing.

I stood there in the hallway, numb, not sure if I wanted to laugh or cry. The silence pressed in around me.

After everything I’d done—after everything I was to him—I still wasn’t enough. Not compared to Bethany, not compared to her wide-eyed innocence and spotless hands.