In my previous life, Emery distrusted me just like this. Back then, I had no choice but to physically block his car and tear up his plane ticket to keep him from leaving. Only then did he stay.
His expertise as a firefighter allowed him to quickly control the flames. He rescued the twins, Luna and Liam Fike, preventing the fire from spreading further.
However, once the situation was handled, Emery still rushed off to a nearby island to meet Sasha Woods and “explain things.” He found out too late that she had been swept away by the ocean, and her body was never recovered.
Surprisingly, Emery did not react with the grief or despair I had expected. Instead, he became a model husband and father—working regular hours, taking on all the housework, and even preparing nutritious meals for me and the kids.
Within three months of his care, I found out I was pregnant. One day, without warning, my body failed me. I collapsed, gasping for air as my vision blurred. Emery just stood there while watching me struggle. His expression was cold and detached.
That was when the truth hit me—his so-called care had all been an illusion. Everything he had fed me was laced with a slow-acting poison. Blinded by the illusion of love, I had never suspected a thing.
When I finally reached the neighborhood today, I noticed that the fire trucks had not arrived yet. Our house was only three miles from the fire station. We had bought this place because it was close to Emery’s work, knowing how crucial rapid response was in his line of duty.
Confused, I dialed the station myself. The line connected, and a voice I knew all too well answered.
