I Was Dying While You Chose Her

Twenty minutes passed before my mother arrived.

By then, the rain had soaked through every layer of clothing I had. I was shaking so violently that my teeth wouldn't stop clattering, and every breath felt like it scraped through my lungs. I honestly thought the cold might finish what my illness had started.

The moment her car pulled up, she rushed out.

"Alina!"

A thick blanket landed over my shoulders before I could even respond.

She wrapped it around me and practically carried me into the car.

Everything felt distant and blurry. I was only half-aware of what was happening, but I could feel her steady hands holding me upright and hear her voice telling me I was safe.

For the first time in a long while, someone was taking care of me.

Not because they wanted something.

Not because they needed something from me.

Just because they cared.

My mother drove directly into the city.

The hotel she brought me to looked like something out of a movie. Marble floors gleamed beneath crystal chandeliers. Employees greeted her with respectful bows the second she stepped inside.

I barely had the strength to take it all in.

She led me into a luxurious suite, settled me onto a couch, and pressed a mug of hot tea into my hands.

Then she brushed damp strands of hair away from my face.

The gesture was so gentle that it nearly broke me.

"Rest for now," she said softly. "Leave everything else to me."

I looked up at her.

She smiled faintly.

"I'm not the same woman who left years ago, Alina. I've built an empire. These days, I can move people around like chess pieces if I need to. Whatever problems you're facing, let me handle them."

For the first time in days, the knot in my chest loosened.

I wrapped both hands around the warm cup.

"Thank you, Mom."

Her eyes immediately filled with tears.

---

Later that evening, after the city had settled into silence, we sat beside the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the skyline.

Lights glittered across the darkness below.

My mother swirled the wine in her glass while calmly discussing things most people only saw in movies.

Influence.

Connections.

Power.

The ability to make problems disappear.

"If you ever want a clean start somewhere else," she said casually, "I have people who can arrange it."

I stared down at my trembling hands.

Then I asked the question that had been growing inside me for days.

"Can you fake my death?"

She didn't even blink.

"Yes."

The answer came instantly.

"That wouldn't be difficult."

I swallowed hard.

"You can really do that?"

A small smile crossed her face.

"I know exactly who to call."

But before any of that could happen, there was one thing I needed to do.

One final goodbye.

I picked up my phone and dialed Viktor's number.

Once.

No answer.

Twice.

Nothing.

Three times.

Four.

Still nothing.

On the fifth attempt, he finally answered.

His voice sounded irritated before I even spoke.

"Alina. What is it now?"

My throat tightened.

There were so many things I wanted to say.

So many memories.

Five years of love.

Five years of marriage.

Five years of believing we would grow old together.

"Viktor..." I whispered. "Thank you. For these past five years. I finally realized—"

He cut me off immediately.

"Oh, now you finally realized?"

His laugh held no warmth.

"Good. Then come to the hospital tomorrow and apologize to Bianca."

I closed my eyes.

He continued.

"Try showing some gratitude for once. She's willing to save your life. The least you can do is treat her decently instead of acting like everyone owes you something."

I opened my mouth to answer.

Then another voice interrupted.

Bianca.

"Who are you talking to?"

Her tone dripped with concern so fake it made my stomach turn.

"It's Alina."

Viktor sounded bored.

"Oh."

A dramatic gasp followed.

"What does she want now? Is she begging again?"

I could practically hear her smile.

"Viktor, I don't want any more conflict. I'm honestly scared of her. After she hit me, I've been traumatized."

I gripped the phone tighter.

Her voice softened even further.

"Maybe after a month, once I've recovered emotionally, I'll agree to the surgery. I understand she's jealous. I just don't want you two fighting because of me."

Then she added quietly,

"I'm sorry."

Viktor immediately answered.

"No, Bianca. You have nothing to apologize for."

The call disconnected.

He didn't even say goodbye.

The line simply went dead.

I lowered the phone slowly.

A second later, a message notification appeared.

My chest tightened before I even opened it.

It was from Bianca.

"See? I won."

"Your husband barely looks at you anymore."

"Why don't you make things easier for everyone and disappear?"

"Trust me, nobody would miss you."

I stared at the screen.

Strangely, no tears came.

Maybe I had already cried enough.

Maybe there was simply nothing left.

I turned toward my mother.

My voice was barely audible.

"Do it."

She looked at me.

"Are you sure?"

I nodded.

"Do it now."

For several moments, she simply watched me.

Then she reached for her phone.

The rest happened quietly.

Calls were made.

Instructions were given.

People moved through the city while the rest of the world slept.

Money changed hands.

Doors opened.

Doors closed.

My phone disappeared.

So did several other things.

I didn't ask questions.

I didn't want details.

The less I knew, the better.

All I remember is hearing distant reports about screeching tires.

A collision.

Flashing lights.

Then silence.

My wedding ring.

My bracelet.

My phone.

All left behind exactly where they needed to be.

Evidence for strangers to find.

Proof for the world to believe.

My mother stood beside me during every step of it, calm and composed as she watched the scene unfold from a distance.

---

The following morning, every news channel seemed to be talking about the same thing.

A fatal traffic accident.

A woman reportedly killed while traveling to a hospital.

No official identification had been released yet.

But footage of the recovered phone and jewelry circulated everywhere.

For most people, that was proof enough.

Inside the hotel suite, the television continued broadcasting the story.

My mother picked up the remote and switched it off.

"It's finished."

Her voice was steady.

"It's done, sweetheart."

I nodded.

I wasn't sure what I felt.

Relief.

Sadness.

Freedom.

Grief.

Everything seemed tangled together.

Part of me mourned the life I was leaving behind.

Another part felt lighter than I had in months.

Within hours, my mother had arranged everything.

New identities.

New documents.

New passports.

A private jet.

People moved quickly around us, carrying luggage under names that didn't belong to either of us.

Money opened every door we needed.

By dawn, we were walking through a private terminal so quiet it felt abandoned.

My mother's hand rested against my back.

Guiding me forward.

Protecting me.

I stopped for one final look at the city skyline.

The place where I'd fallen in love.

The place where I'd nearly died.

The place where I'd been betrayed.

A sharp ache settled in my chest.

Then I turned away.

And boarded the plane.

"Cabin secured. Preparing for departure."

The pilot's voice echoed through the aircraft.

My mother leaned closer.

"Are you alright?"

I looked out the window at the fading darkness.

For a long moment, I said nothing.

Then I nodded.

"Yes."

My voice was calm.

Because for the first time in months, I wasn't thinking about survival.

I was thinking about revenge.

"When I come back," I said quietly, "Viktor and that woman pretending to be my sister will pay for everything."

My gaze never left the horizon.

"For every scar."

I touched the fading bruise on my cheek.

"For every drop of blood."

I closed my eyes.

"This debt belongs to me."

And one day, I intended to collect it.

---

Viktor's POV

I lay propped up against the hospital bed, irritation simmering beneath my skin.

The bandages around my chest felt too tight.

The painkillers barely dulled the ache from the accident.

I was exhausted.

Frustrated.

And rapidly running out of patience.

I snatched my phone from the bedside table and called my men.

The second someone answered, I didn't bother with greetings.

"Bring Alina here."

My voice left no room for argument.

"I don't care how you do it."

I clenched my jaw.

"If she's hiding in the villa, drag her out."

The memory of Bianca crying flashed through my mind.

"I want her standing in front of me."

My expression hardened.

"And I want her apologizing to Bianca on her knees."

Silence greeted my order.

Several seconds passed.

Then someone on the other end cleared his throat nervously.

"B-Boss..."

His voice wavered.

A bad feeling settled in my stomach.

"What?"

The man hesitated.

Then finally said,

"She's not at the villa."

The room suddenly felt very quiet.