Sara woke up cold.
The silk sheets felt like water against her skin, slippery and unwelcoming. The left side of the bed remained untouched, smooth and flat, as if no one had ever laid there. As if Killian King had never been beside her.
Because he hadn't.
She sat up slowly, her heart heavy with a familiar ache. The golden morning light flooded through the vast windows of the master bedroom—light that touched everything in the room except her.
This wasn't her world. It was Kara's. Every inch of this house was laced with the memory of a woman who had run for freedom… and left Sara behind to wear her name.
The events of the past few days still throbbed behind her eyes like a migraine. The rushed wedding. The icy silence. Killian's venom-laced vow that he would never touch her, never see her as anything more than a liar.
She looked down at the ring on her finger—a large, flawless diamond wrapped in platinum. Heavy. Cold. It mocked her with every glint.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She picked it up hesitantly.
Madeline Williams (Mother):
> Come downstairs. Now. Your in-laws are here for brunch. Try not to embarrass us.
Sara's stomach twisted.
Her in-laws.
She hadn't even realized it was Sunday. Days bled together in this place.
She rose from the bed, her legs weak beneath her. There was no time to wallow. She couldn't afford it. She needed to play the role. If not for herself, then for the sister she had protected.
Still, she took a moment to stare at herself in the mirror.
The woman staring back didn't feel like her. Her long chestnut hair was perfectly brushed. Her skin was glowing. Her frame carried the elegance Kara had always been known for. But the eyes… the eyes gave her away.
They were haunted.
---
She stepped down the marbled staircase of the King estate, her heels echoing like a countdown. The scent of jasmine tea, fresh waffles, and politics hung thick in the air.
Lady Eloise King, Killian's mother, sat on the terrace beneath a large white parasol. Regal and poised, dressed in muted blue silk and diamonds, she looked like a queen entertaining a court. Her lips curled slightly as Sara approached.
"Good morning, dear," Eloise said coolly. "Finally awake?"
Sara forced a polite smile. "Good morning, Lady King."
"Please," the woman said, lifting a cup of tea with delicate fingers, "you may call me Eloise. You are family now, after all."
Sara nodded but remained standing. She could feel the stiffness in her shoulders.
Beside Eloise sat a man Sara recognized from news articles: Sebastian King, Killian's uncle. Slightly younger than Eloise, stern with salt-and-pepper hair and a heavy gold watch. He didn't smile.
"Where's Killian?" Sebastian asked bluntly.
Sara kept her expression neutral. "He left early for work."
"He didn't wake you?" Eloise arched an eyebrow.
"No."
A brief silence.
Eloise set her cup down with a soft clink. "You must understand, Mrs. King, that in this family, appearances are everything. If your husband leaves the house without so much as a goodbye, the world starts to whisper. And we do not tolerate whispers."
Sara sat down across from them, smoothing her dress. "I'll speak with him."
Sebastian let out a low chuckle. "You'll speak with him?" he repeated, amusement clear in his tone. "You're either very brave or very foolish."
"Or both," Eloise added coolly.
Sara's throat tightened. "I understand what's expected of me."
Eloise leaned forward. "Do you?"
"Yes," she replied, softer this time. "Keep up appearances. Smile. Say the right thing. Pretend this was all part of a grand love story."
Something flickered in Eloise's eyes — surprise, perhaps — quickly masked.
"You have fire," she said. "Let's hope it doesn't burn you."
When the brunch ended, Sara stood in the hallway, her mind spinning.
Her hands shook as she leaned against the wall.
"You did well."
The voice behind her made her flinch.
She turned. Killian stood by the hallway pillar, hands in his pockets, watching her like she was a puzzle he hadn't decided how to solve.
"You left before I woke up," she said quietly.
"I had meetings," he replied. "Unlike some people, I don't have the luxury of sleeping in."
"Your mother and uncle were asking about you."
He shrugged. "They always do."
She hesitated, then asked, "Do you always treat people like this?"
He stepped closer. "Like what?"
"Like they're property. Like they owe you for breathing."
Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. "Don't pretend to know me."
"I don't pretend," Sara replied. "That was always Kara's role. I only ever watched from the shadows."
Killian stared at her, long and hard, his jaw tightening.
"You should've stayed there."
Sara's breath caught.
Killian leaned in, so close she could feel his breath against her cheek. "But since you stepped into the light, sweetheart, don't be surprised when it burns."
Then he walked away, just like he always did.
And Sara stood there — not the bride, not the sister, not the girl with dreams — but the woman left to clean up a mess she never made.
But as she placed her hand over the diamond ring once more, a thought took root.
If she was going to be trapped in this lie… she might as well learn how to survive in it.
Even if it meant turning into someone her family — and Killian King — never expected.
The door clicked shut behind her.
Silence swallowed Sara whole as she stood in the middle of the vast, cold master bedroom. Outside, the sun was shining. Birds chirped somewhere beyond the marble walls. But inside her, everything was storm.
She stood still, her eyes glazed. Then slowly, she reached for the pins in her hair. One by one, she pulled them out until her curls tumbled down over her shoulders, like waves crashing after a hurricane.
The weight she had carried all morning — of her mother's demands, of Eloise King's sharp gaze, of Killian's poison-laced words — finally cracked something in her.
She took two shaky steps forward, then collapsed onto the edge of the bed.
It was like a dam breaking.
Her chest heaved as sobs rose, clawing their way out of her throat. Not delicate, tear-streaked sobs like in the movies. No — these were deep, aching cries from the pit of her soul. The kind that had waited for years. The kind no one ever hears because no one ever listens.
Her shoulders shook violently. She pressed a hand over her mouth, trying to quiet the sound, but the pain was louder than pride.
Why me?
She didn't ask it out loud. She didn't need to.
The question echoed in her bones. Why was it always her?
The unwanted daughter. The second shadow.
The girl with all the loyalty but none of the love.
Her fingers clutched at the edge of the sheets, trying to ground herself. But even the bed didn't feel like hers. Nothing here did.
This was Kara's life. Kara's ring. Kara's husband.
And yet Kara was gone. Free. Probably walking barefoot on some beach, smiling into the wind with her sketchpad tucked under her arm and no guilt left in her heart.
While she—Sara—was here, drowning in a life that wasn't hers.
She sat like that for what felt like hours. Crying. Breathing. Breaking.
And then…
Silence.
She had no more tears left. Her face was red, her eyes swollen, her throat raw. But she was… calm now. Empty.
She reached toward the nightstand and pulled open the drawer.
There it was.
The letter Kara had written. The one they had hidden from the Kings.
She unfolded it, her fingers trembling, her heart bruised all over again.
My DEAREST Sara,
By the time you read this, I'll be gone.
You always said I was brave. But you're the bravest one. Because you stayed. You wore the mask for me. You stood in the fire.
I know this isn't fair. I know I'm selfish. But I had to choose myself for once. I couldn't marry a man I didn't love. I couldn't live under Father's thumb anymore.
You deserve better than this life too, but I know you won't leave. Not when someone else needs you.
I'm sorry for everything. Please forgive me.
Love, Kara.
Sara let the letter fall onto her lap. Her hands curled into fists.
"I don't want to forgive you," she whispered bitterly. "Not yet."
Because forgiveness felt too close to surrender. And she wasn't ready for that.
She needed something else first. Something to remind herself that she still had power.
She stood up and walked to the vanity mirror. Her reflection looked shattered—smudged mascara, tear-streaked cheeks, lips bitten raw.
But beneath all that… she was still here.
Still breathing. Still standing.
She reached for the makeup wipes and began to clean her face slowly, tenderly. It felt like she was wiping off someone else's skin, trying to find herself beneath it.
When she finished, she looked herself in the eyes.
"No more crying in the dark," she whispered. "You want to break me, Killian King?"
A pause.
"Then you better make sure I stay broken."