Rai’s POV

The rain came in heavy sheets that morning, drumming against the windows like an anxious child. I hadn’t planned to leave the house, a haven of memories and ghosts. I didn’t want to breathe air outside if it meant returning to anything that reminded me of my family, a family that felt more like a group of ghosts than a support system.

But my mother had other ideas.

“Drop these off at the hotel for your father,” she said over the phone, her voice clipped and demanding, not even stopping to say hello. “It’s time you start being useful.”

So here I was, umbrella in one hand, package in the other… so I stepped into the luxury hotel that bore my last name: Whittaker Grand.

Everything was the same as I remembered, white floors that gleamed like mirrors, reflecting my own unease, huge crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling like watching eyes, flower arrangements that cost more than my old apartment, lively yet oppressive. It smelled like polished wood and expensive silence, a smell that made my stomach twist.

I walked past the reception desk, holding the papers to my chest like a shield, a weak protection against the world I was about to re-enter. Every step I took made my heels echo louder than my thoughts, a beat that matched the storm outside.

It had been months since I’d picked up a paintbrush, the lack of color in my life, a dull ache in my fingers. They itched for the feel of bristles against cloth, for something soft. Something that didn’t lie. Edmond’s house was full of cold beauty, but no soul. No clothes. No comfort.

Maybe... just maybe I could ask for one of the storage rooms upstairs. Quiet. Unused. A place to paint again, to find comfort in lines of color and creativity.

But that small hope was killed off the moment I heard it—

Laughter.

Not the slick, fake chuckle my mother gave at events. Not the controlled laugh of my father in board meetings.

No, this was real. Loud. Familiar. Painfully familiar.

I stopped near the hallway leading to the executive rooms, my heart racing in my chest as if it knew what was coming.

Another laugh. Female. Sharp. Followed by a male voice that made my stomach sink like a stone dropped into still water.

“God, I missed this bed.”

Tom.

My feet moved before my brain could stop them. I tiptoed down the hallway, past the golden-framed art that now felt like a gaudy reminder of my own insignificance, past the staff elevator, until I found the door left slightly ajar.

Suite 504.

The gap in the door was small, but enough.

There they were.

Raquel, sitting in nothing but a silk robe that barely stayed shut, one leg thrown over the side of the couch like she owned the world, her smile bright and careless. And Tom—my ex. Shirtless, his designer jeans riding low on his hips, a bottle of champagne dangling from one hand, his laughter booming like a threat.

I couldn’t move.

I couldn’t breathe.

I just watched as my world burned in front of me, flames dancing in my chest.

Raquel popped a grape in her mouth, then raised her glass, her eyes sparkling with fun. “To freedom.”

Tom grinned, his blue eyes glinting with mischief. “And to be smart enough to ditch that walking Kleenex box.”

They both laughed, a sound that rang in my mind like a cruel melody.

“Can you believe she actually cried at the altar?” Raquel said, rolling her eyes with a disgust I had never seen before. I saw the pictures. She looked like she was being sent to slaughter.

“She kind of was,” Tom said, smiling. “Poor little backup bride.”

“She thinks Edmond loves her.” Raquel nearly choked on her, laughing, the sound cutting me deeper than any blade.

Tom made a big gasp. “No! Say it ain’t so.”

“She’s wearing my dress. Living in my house. Sleeping next to a man who doesn’t even like her. I almost feel bad.”

“But not really,” Tom said, his voice dripping with mock pity.

“No. "Not really,” she confirmed, and their laughter rang out again, a chilling harmony.

I couldn’t take it.

I stepped back too fast. My heel scuffed the smooth floor.

Inside, silence.

Then Raquel’s voice, sharp and aware.

“Did you hear something?”

I turned and ran. I didn’t care if they saw me. I didn’t care if I broke both knees doing it. I just needed to get out of there, away from the lies, away from the betrayal that was smothering me like a plastic bag pulled tight over my head.

The papers fell from my hand, floating across the hallway like wasted tissue, useless remains of my old life. I didn’t turn back for them.

I burst through the hotel’s glass doors and into the storm, the rain hitting my skin like a thousand tiny needles.

Thunder cracked above, an angry growl that matched my internal storm. Water soaked through my coat within seconds, my hair stuck to my face, my makeup—what little was left, ran with my tears, a testament to my broken heart.

I stopped in the middle of the path, my chest heaving, raindrops mixing with the salt of my tears, stinging my eyes.

They’d planned it.

All of it.

The disappearance.

The switch.

The marriage.

I wasn’t just a filler.

I was a ruse.

A human cover to protect Raquel’s freedom—and Tom’s lies.

All those nights I cried over him. All the time, I begged my sister to just talk to me. To explain the unexplained.

She was laughing behind my back. With him.

The street blurred as cars passed, their headlights cutting through the rain like knives.

I leaned against the closest lamp post, the cold metal grounding me as I pulled out my phone. My fingers shook, a mix of energy and sadness.

I didn’t want to scream.

I didn’t want to cry.

I wanted to burn.

I opened the voice recording app and hit “record,” my voice popping out, shaky at first. “My name is Ria Whittaker… no—Ria Cozen now.”

Deep breath. My lips shook, but I didn’t stop.

“I was never the favorite. Never picked one. But today… I saw my sister and my ex-fiancé in bed. Laughing. While I played wife to a man who didn’t even look at me.”

A lump rose in my throat, a bitter reflection of my own worthlessness. I swallowed it like poison.

“I didn’t ask for this life. I was thrown into it. But if they think I’ll stay quiet? If they think they can keep using me… they’re wrong.”

Rain blurred the screen, the drops mixing with my makeup, spreading it like war paint, a sign of my resolve.

“This ends now,” I mumbled, resolve stiffening in my chest.

Click.

I saved the clip, a piece of my heart caught in digital form, and for the first time in weeks, I felt… alive. Not okay, not healed, but awake.

I walked away from Whittaker Grand with no cover, no plan, and no more dreams.

Let them laugh. Let them scheme. Because the quiet girl they threw into a stranger’s mansion?

She was gone, and in her place was someone they should have never misjudged.

As I reached the parking lot, my phone buzzed again. There was a message from an unknown number: “You looked lovely in your sister’s dress, but be careful, Ria. Because you’re asking the kind of questions that get girls buried.”