(Ria's POV)

The next morning, I woke up to the sound of quiet—cold, stretched silence. The kind that settles into your bones and refuses to leave.

The bed was unchanged on his side. Edmond hadn’t returned last night.

I walked barefoot through the mansion’s endless halls, the marble floors freezing against my skin. Every corner of this house was glass, steel, and shadows. Not a single family picture. No warmth. No sign of life.

I peeked into the study. Empty. The grand piano in the corner had a thick layer of dust. The living room looked staged—like a hotel lobby made for magazines, not people.

I found the kitchen and poured myself coffee. A maid entered and paused when she saw me.

“Good morning, Mrs. Cozen,” she said.

I winced. That name still didn’t feel like mine.

“Good morning,” I whispered.

She put a tray of fruit on the counter. “Mr. Cozen left early.”

“Did he say where he was going? ”

Her eyes flicked down. “He never does.”

Of course not.

I wandered back upstairs and paused at his bedroom door. My hand hesitated over the knob before I knocked softly.

Nothing.

I knocked again. “Edmond? ”

The door opened a crack. He was inside, naked again, fresh marks coloring his ribs. Bandages wrapped his left hand.

He looked up once, then went back to buttoning his shirt.

“I just wanted to ask if you were—”

“I’m fine,” he said curtly.

I paused. “Can we talk? ”

“We don’t need to.”

My fingers curled into my palm. “I’m your wife.”

“You’re a Whittaker,” he said, eyes cold. We both got forced into this, Ria. Don’t try to play the victim.”

“I never asked for this either,” I said, my voice rising.

“Then we agree,” he said simply, and shut the door in my face.

By noon, my mother had arrived.

In pearls. In heels. In decision.

She didn’t greet me with a hug. Just looked me up and down and sighed. “God, you look miserable. At least brush your hair.”

“I didn’t know you were coming,” I mumbled.

“We have a reputation to uphold,” she said, sliding on her sunglasses. “And you have a husband’s card to spend.”

“I don’t need anything.”

She turned, clapping once. “You need to look like a dozen.”

Half an hour later, we were in a black SUV heading to the most expensive buying street in the city. The kind where nobody touches price tags.

My mother walked ahead like she owned the world. I followed quietly, holding her bags.

“I saw the wedding photos,” she said, looking through her phone. “You looked constipated.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. “It was the happiest day of my life.”

She ignored the sarcasm.

In Chanel, she wanted wine. In Louis Vuitton, she threw five bags on the bar with a snap of her fingers. In Dior, she pointed at a dress and said, “Your size. Try it.”

I didn’t move.

She turned sharply. “Act like you belong.”

“I don’t,” I whispered. “None of this is mine.”

“Then fake it better,” she snapped. “Do you know how many girls would kill to be Mrs? Edmond Cozen? ”

I swallowed hard. “Then why didn’t Raquel kill to be her? ”

She went still.

Then she reached out and fixed my collar. “Because she had the guts to choose something better.”

We stopped at a high-end store. My mother was fighting with the checker over a necklace discount.

I sat on a plush stool near the window, trying to breathe.

My phone buzzed.

I almost didn’t read it. But something made me look.

Raquel.

My heart stopped.

She had posted a story.

I tapped it with shaky fingers.

The picture loaded slowly—then hit me like a punch to the throat.

She stood outside a casino in Las Vegas. Smiling wide. Tanned. Dressed in a sparkly fashion jumpsuit. A man’s arm wrapped around her waist—Tom.

My Tom.

Her caption read:

“Freedom never looked this good ”

My chest tightened.

I stared, frozen.

All this time… she hadn’t run in fear. She hadn’t been taken. She wasn’t ashamed or hiding.

She was celebrating.

Living her best life.

While I was thrown into a stranger’s bed, abandoned, traded like a deal, and married to a ghost.

I turned to my mother, my phone shaking in my hand.

“She sent me this,” I said, my voice shaking.

My mother didn’t look. “So? ”

“She’s in Vegas. With Tom.”

“She’s young. Let her have fun.”

“She left on her wedding day,” I snapped. “And you—you made me marry her fiancé! ”

Her lips thinned. “And? You’re married to a billionaire. Count your blessings.”

I stood. “You threw me away.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be dramatic. You’ve always had a flair for martyrdom.”

“I’m not a martyr. "I’m a placeholder,” I said bitterly. “Do you even care that she humiliated me? ”

“She saved herself,” she said simply. “And you saved the family." You should be proud.”

We stepped outside. The sun was too bright. My heart was too heavy.

“Why didn’t you defend me? ” I asked.

My mother stopped walking. “Because you don’t fight back.”

“Maybe I was waiting for someone to believe in me,” I whispered.

She turned to me, her voice sharp. “You want someone to believe in you? Then act like you're worth the belief.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I gave up everything.”

“You didn’t give up anything,” she said. “You were nothing before this." Now you're Mrs. Cozen. You should be kissing my feet.”

“Kissing the feet of the woman who let me rot in Raquel’s place? ” I scoffed. She’s out there living. While I’m drowning in her wasted life.”

My mother stepped closer. “Grow up. That’s how the world works. Pretty girls get picked. Smart girls get used. And quiet girls like you? They do what they’re told.”

“I hate this,” I whispered.

“No, Ria,” she said, eyes hardening. “You hate that no one ever chose you." Not Tom. Not your father. Not even Edmond. And maybe that’s because you don’t give anyone a reason to.”

I froze.

Her words cut through me like glass.

She walked away, heels tapping across the sidewalk.

I stared at the screen again. Raquel’s smile. Tom’s hand on her waist. Her perfect caption.

Freedom never looked this good.

I wanted to scream.

Instead, I whispered to no one:

“No one ever chose me. They just use me.”

That night, I returned to Edmond’s house.

He still wasn’t home.

I walked into the study again.

The door I’d seen him lock earlier?

It is open now.

Curiosity burned through my anger. I opened it and froze.

Inside sat a flash drive…

And a picture.

My father.

My sister.

And Edmond.

Together.

Smiling.

But it was written three months before the wedding.

And written on the back, in faint black ink:

“The trade is done.”