Six Years of Sexless Marriage, My Devout Husband's Hidden Family

Kierra's POV

“Francis, I’ve had enough of this life. Let’s get a divorce.”

There was a long silence.

It felt like an eternity before he finally spoke, “Do you really want a divorce? Are you sure this isn’t just a momentary impulse?”

I didn’t hesitate. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“Alright.” He let out a deep breath, almost like he was steeling himself. “Then come with me to a party. After it’s over, I’ll sign the divorce agreement.”

I felt numb, like I had already died inside. I just wanted to escape him as quickly as possible, so I agreed without a second thought.

That night, I slipped into the evening gown he’d given me—a dark, form-fitting dress—and showed up at the extravagant banquet.

The entire place reeked of excess.

Francis, the aloof, distant man who had always avoided women, especially loathed these kinds of events.

He didn’t even try to tell me what to do, so I ended up sitting alone in the corner of the room, nursing a drink as I watched the festivities unfold.

I was deep in thought when a female server approached. She smiled apologetically and then spilled something on my gown, the liquid spreading across the fabric like an unforgivable stain.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” the server said, pretending to be flustered. “Let me take you to a room to change.”

I didn’t think much of it at first.

I simply nodded, letting the female server guide me through a hallway. But when she turned to leave, the door clicked shut behind her.

The lock snapped into place.

And then the air grew thick, a suffocating haze filling the room as smoke poured in. I couldn’t breathe.

My eyes burned, and I coughed violently, desperate to see and get out. But there was no one coming, no one answering my frantic shouts for help.

And then the beam above collapsed, and I couldn’t move fast enough to avoid it.

The last thing I remembered was the world crashing down around me.

...

When I opened my eyes, everything was blurry. I could barely focus, but I could tell by the sterile smell and the beeping of machines that I was in a hospital.

“Don’t move, Kierra.” Francis’s voice cut through the haze, unusually soft.

He was sitting by my hospital bed, looking concerned in a way that didn’t sit right with me.

“I just had your skin graft done. You were hurt. The doctor will be performing cosmetic surgery on you later.”

I glanced at him, but my thoughts were foggy.

His hand was wrapped around mine, and his voice was oddly gentle as he said, “Don’t worry. I’ll stay here with you.”

I could hear the nurses whispering nearby. “Your husband really loves you, doesn’t he? He’s so handsome and gentle. If I had a husband like that, I’d feel like my life was complete.”

I froze.

The words hit me like a punch to the gut.

I remembered the diary I had seen by accident not long ago—Francis’s carefully written plans.

It all made sense now.

'It won’t be long before I figure out how to make Kierra undergo cosmetic surgery to look like Natasha. By then, Natasha can return to my side, fully legitimate.'

The party.

The sudden fire.

The skin grafts.

The cosmetic surgery.

All scattered fragments of a puzzle that had tormented me in the dark. Now, each piece clicked into place with terrifying clarity.

So that’s what this was all for!

That cryptic phone call—Francis telling Natasha that within three months, their family would be whole again.

He wasn’t talking about me. He never was. He had planned to remake me and reshape me into her.

He wanted to erase me and turn me into a living replica of Natasha. And then bring her back to take my place, in my life, in my name, in his home.

A classic bait-and-switch. A cruel, sinister scheme.

I staggered back, nausea twisting in my stomach.

I wanted to run, to rip off the bandages and to claw my way out of this white, sterile prison and scream until someone listened.

But my body wouldn’t move.

And then I saw her.

Natasha.

Standing in the doorway, wearing my face—our face.

The woman who resembled me smiled a twisted, malicious curve to her lips.

“Kierra,” she hissed, her voice laced with venom, “you’ve always been just my stand-in. The one he truly loves is me. From now on, you’ll be the one trapped in Silverstone City, living my life... while I become you—the rightful Mrs. Weston.”

My heart clenched. Vision blurred. Her words crashed over me like a tidal wave I couldn’t outrun.

I had no strength left to fight.

Numb, shattered, I threw myself from the window.

As I fell, the last thing I saw was Francis. His arms were wrapped around Natasha, comforting her as she sobbed so pathetically, as if she were the one who had been betrayed.

...

Francis's POV

Natasha clung to me, her face pale, tears streaming down as she clutched me like I was her lifeline.

"Francis, I was just trying to help when I saw Kierra fall. I didn’t expect her to try to kill me with a knife..."

I turned to tend to her wounds, my hands shaking with frustration.

"Where is my wife?" I asked. "Haven’t you found her yet?"

My assistant stood there, helpless, shaking his head as if there was nothing more to be done. Then, just as panic started to grip me, one of the bodyguards rushed in, his face pale.

“Mr. Weston, something’s happened! Someone saw Madam trying to escape the hospital by jumping out of the window. It’s the 22nd floor. She fell... She fell to her death on the spot.”