So this is the private residence you gave Livia in my past. Heh! How funny... I’m getting to experience this multi-million residence now, what a pity.
The words ran through Kamilah’s mind as she stepped over the threshold, her heels clicking against the polished marble floor of the entryway. Her eyes swept over the interior with a slow, deliberate scrutiny, taking in every detail with the kind of attention that came from years of being denied nice things.
The floors were veined marble, the walls were adorned with paintings that probably cost more than most people’s entire life savings, and the furniture was a curated collection of antiques and modern pieces that somehow blended together into something that felt both timeless and effortlessly elegant.
There was a grand piano in one corner, its black lacquered surface gleaming under the soft glow of the chandelier, and floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a panoramic view of the rain-soaked city.
It was beautiful. It was everything she had ever dreamed of having and never been allowed to touch.
And it had been meant for Livia.
Maeve stopped in her tracks, the words hitting her like a physical blow. She didn’t confront Kamilah, didn’t let her expression betray the turmoil that was suddenly churning in her chest.
She just listened, her heart clenching with every bitter syllable that echoed through her mind. Her hand, hidden in the folds of her damp coat, curled into a fist so tight that her nails bit into her palm.
Sigh... I spent my entire years in our marriage where we lived in your parents’ mansion, constantly being bullied by everyone inside for being useless... I really wished it was different before... But now that I have come back, it’ll be different this time.
There was a resolve in the way Kamilah had said those words inside her head, a steely determination that made Maeve’s hand clench even tighter. The image of Kamilah in the Belvedere mansion, surrounded by people who treated her like dirt, enduring it all in silence while Maeve did nothing—it was a knife twisting in her gut.
But she remained cold and composed, not wanting to make Kamilah notice she was listening. She couldn’t reveal her secret, not yet. She needed to understand more, needed to know exactly what had happened in that other life before she could figure out how to fix it.
"Maeve, did you buy this property?" Kamilah asked, her voice was light and casual as she looked outside the opulent window. The rain was still falling heavily, streaking down the glass in silver rivulets.
She pressed her palm against the cold pane, feeling the chill seep into her skin. "It’s cool... I suppose you’re saving this for someone special, hahaha. But who am I to find out? I’m a mere wife in our contract."
The words were delivered with a smile, but Maeve could hear the bitterness beneath them. The self-deprecation, the casual dismissal of her own worth—it was a defense mechanism, a way of protecting herself from being hurt again.
Kamilah was building walls even as she stood in the middle of the most beautiful room she had ever seen, and Maeve could feel every brick being laid into place.
Maeve felt a physical ache in her chest as Kamilah’s internal monologue unfolded. The image of Kamilah spending years in the Belvedere mansion, enduring bullying and isolation while being labeled ’useless,’ was a horror that Maeve couldn’t reconcile with her current feelings.
The irony—that this home had been a gift for Livia in another timeline—made the air in the room feel stagnant and heavy with guilt. She could almost see it: Livia, draped in silk and diamonds, lounging on these very couches while Kamilah suffered in a cold, loveless house.
The resolve in Kamilah’s thoughts was inspiring, yet the bitterness in her spoken words was a jagged blade. Hearing her call herself a ’mere wife in our contract’ while staring out at the rain triggered a possessive instinct in Maeve, but this time, she suppressed the urge to snap.
She remembered the ultimatum. She would be the controlled, calm version of herself. She would be the person Kamilah needed her to be, even if Kamilah didn’t believe such a person could exist.
Maeve stepped closer, not touching her, but standing near enough that Kamilah could feel the heat radiating from her body. She looked at the expansive view outside, her voice low and devoid of the arrogance that usually defined her.
"I bought it for myself," Maeve replied truthfully, her tone soft but firm. "It was meant to be a sanctuary, away from the noise of my parents and the expectations of the family."
She paused, her gaze was shifting from the rain to Kamilah’s profile. The longing in her eyes was barely concealed, a vulnerability she rarely allowed anyone to see. "And as for who it was saved for... The fact that you are here now means you are the only one I want in it. You are not a ’mere wife’ to me, Kamilah. Even if you aren’t ready to believe that yet."
"Heh." Kamilah smirked and crossed her arms against her chest, continuing to look outside the windows. The rain blurred the city lights into smears of color, and for a moment, she looked like she was a million miles away. "I wonder how many women you’ve fooled with those words, Maeve."
It seems like she’s not interested, but she still said what she wanted to say. The thought flickered through Kamilah’s mind, a small crack in the wall of indifference she was trying to maintain. She was testing Maeve, probing for weakness, looking for the lie that had to be there somewhere. Visit g.com for the full chapter.
Maeve didn’t flinch at the smirk or the cynicism. In fact, the sheer lack of belief in her words was almost a relief; it meant Kamilah wasn’t easily swayed by superficial charms. For a woman who had spent her life mastering the art of the deal and the game of power, Maeve found this genuine skepticism refreshing.
It was a wall she actually wanted to spend time dismantling. She watched Kamilah’s crossed arms, noting the defensive posture, and felt a surge of that dark, protective hunger. She wanted to unravel that defiance, not by force, but by sheer persistence.
Hearing the underlying tone of Kamilah’s voice—the part that was actually listening despite the sarcasm—gave Maeve a sliver of confidence. "None," Maeve answered simply, her voice was devoid of any theatricality. She didn’t try to convince her with a long speech or a desperate plea. Instead, she just stood there, a steady, unwavering presence in the opulent room.
"I’ve never been interested in ’fooling’ people, Kamilah. I’m far too efficient for that." She took a single step closer, her shadow was overlapping with Kamilah’s on the polished floor. "I’m interested in what is real. And right now, the only thing in this house that feels real is the fact that you’re here, and that you despise me."
A small, almost imperceptible glint of amusement flickered in Maeve’s eyes. "I can work with despise. It’s a far more honest emotion than the fake love most people offer me."
"I see."
Yet you fell for Livia’s lies in my past life. You chose her over me... Chose her birthday over me... So I died all alone...
"Heh." Kamilah let out a small scoff, but Maeve heard the thought behind it. The sound was bitter, hollow, the kind of laugh that came from someone who had long since stopped expecting anything good from the world.
And after I died, you didn’t even wait until I was buried before you proposed to her. So yeah, you’re right. I despise you with all the fibers of my being after I came back here... But I am trying... Because hating you and still carrying feelings for you was heavier than the illness I had endured in my past life.
Kamilah became totally quiet, her gaze fixed on the rain, her shoulders slumping slightly as if the weight of her own words had drained the last of her energy. Maeve kept listening. The silence in the room became absolute, a suffocating vacuum that seemed to swallow the light.
Maeve stood as if carved from stone, her breath was hitching in her throat. The revelations pouring from Kamilah’s mind were like physical blows, each one more devastating than the last.
The image of Kamilah dying alone, the sheer cruelty of a proposal that happened before the body was even cold—it was an atrocity that Maeve’s current self couldn’t comprehend. A visceral, agonizing wave of grief and self-loathing crashed over her. She didn’t just feel guilt; she felt a profound sense of horror at the monster she had been.
The fact that Kamilah was still struggling with feelings for her—that the love survived the betrayal and the death—was the most painful part of all. It turned the ’despise’ into something far more tragic: a love that had been twisted into a scar.
Maeve’s hand trembled at her side. She wanted to scream, to fall to her knees, to beg for a forgiveness she knew she didn’t deserve. But she remembered Kamilah’s fragility, the way she had just told her she was "trying." If she reacted with too much emotion, she would only overwhelm her, adding another layer of drama to the fatigue Kamilah felt. For the first time, Maeve didn’t try to speak.
She didn’t try to defend herself or offer a hollow promise. She simply stood there, her head was bowed slightly, letting the weight of Kamilah’s sorrow fill the space between them. She remained in the silence, her heart breaking in a way she had never known possible, silently vowing that in this lifetime, she would be the one to carry the weight.
"Uhm... Perhaps you wanted to take a bath?" Maeve said, her voice was gentle as she tried to distract Kamilah from the heavy silence. She cleared her throat, forcing herself to sound normal, to be the steady presence Kamilah needed. "I asked the butler and maid to prepare your room and prepare you some clothes... And disposable underwear."
Kamilah glanced at her and smiled, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. "Thanks." She said, and was about to approach Maeve, but the maid descended down the stairs and bowed.
"Madam, your room is prepared, and we left the clothes you needed on your bed," the maid said, her voice soft and deferential.
Kamilah smiled brightly and nodded. "Mm~ Thank you. What’s your name?" She asked, her voice warm and curious.
"Uhm... Maria..." The maid answered, her voice hesitant, as if she wasn’t used to being asked such a question.
"Okay... Thank you, Maria," Kamilah said, and the maid was confused. Anyone who was lucky enough to even step foot inside a Belvedere property considered themselves superior, but still beneath the Belvedere family.
And it was still enough to give them enough confidence to bully servants of the household. But Kamilah didn’t. She thanked the servant with her name, not just acting like anyone superior.
"I’m going now, good night," Kamilah said to Maeve and went upstairs.
Maeve remained standing in the hallway, her gaze lingering on the stairs long after Kamilah had disappeared from view. The silence of the house returned, but it felt different now—heavier, yet somehow illuminated. The way Kamilah had spoken to Maria, with a genuine warmth and a simple, human curiosity, was a striking blow to Maeve’s understanding of the world.
In the Belvedere circle, servants were ghosts—functional tools to be utilized and ignored, or occasionally belittled to assert dominance. To see Kamilah treat a maid as an equal, to remember a name that most would find beneath their notice, made Maeve feel a strange, twisting sensation in her gut. It was a mix of profound admiration and a sharp, biting shame. This was the woman she had once ignored; this was the soul she had allowed others to crush. Visit g.com for the full chapter.
The contrast was staggering. Kamilah was a paradox: a woman who could be cold and detached, who harbored a deep-seated hatred for the woman standing before her, yet who possessed a natural, effortless kindness for the vulnerable. It made her an enigma that Maeve was becoming obsessed with solving.
Earlier, it was the two kids in the streets, now this. Maeve couldn’t help but wonder what other surprises Kamilah had in store for her, what other layers she would peel back to reveal the woman beneath the masks.
As Maeve finally turned to walk back toward the living area, she didn’t think about the property or the contract. She thought about the way Kamilah’s smile hadn’t reached her eyes—a reminder that the damage from that other life was still there, humming beneath the surface.
Maeve’s jaw tightened. She wouldn’t just ’learn’ to be better; she would dismantle every piece of the world that had ever made Kamilah feel she was ’mere’ or ’useless.’
She paused by the mirror in the hallway, looking at her own reflection. She saw a woman who had everything—power, money, beauty—and yet, for the first time in her life, she felt completely bankrupt.
The rain continued to fall outside, a steady drumbeat against the windows that seemed to mark the passage of time. Maeve stood there for a long moment, staring at her reflection as if she were seeing herself for the first time. The woman who looked back at her was a stranger—someone who had been so consumed by ambition and control that she had lost sight of what truly mattered.
But that was going to change. She was going to change.
She turned away from the mirror and walked toward her study, her mind was already racing with plans. She needed to understand what had happened in that other life. She needed to know who had hurt Kamilah, who had failed her, who had stood by while she suffered.
And then she needed to make sure it never happened again. The first step was Livia. Maeve had seen enough to know that there was something off about the girl, something that didn’t quite add up. The way Kamilah reacted to her—the coldness, the contempt, the bitter resignation—spoke of a history that went far deeper than simple sibling rivalry. There was something else going on, something that Maeve intended to uncover.
She sat down at her desk and opened her laptop, her fingers flying across the keyboard as she began to search. She had resources, connections, people who owed her favors. It wouldn’t take long to dig up the truth about Livia Worthington and her relationship with the Worthington family.
As she worked, the hours slipped by unnoticed. The rain continued to fall, the city lights blurring into streaks of color through the window. Maeve didn’t stop, didn’t rest, didn’t allow herself to think about anything other than the task at hand.
She was going to fix this. She was going to protect Kamilah, even if Kamilah didn’t want her protection. She was going to be the person she should have been all along. And she was going to start by tearing down every lie that had ever been told about the woman she was beginning to love.
Meanwhile, upstairs, Kamilah was sitting on the edge of the bed in the guest room, her hands folded in her lap, her eyes fixed on the rain-streaked window. The room was beautiful—far more beautiful than anything she had been given in the Worthington mansion—but she couldn’t bring herself to appreciate it.
The bed was soft, the sheets were silk, the pillows were plush and inviting, but none of it mattered. She kept thinking about Maeve’s words.
"You are not a ’mere wife’ to me, Kamilah."
The sincerity in her voice had been almost convincing. Almost. But Kamilah had learned long ago not to trust sincerity, not to believe in promises that could be broken at the slightest provocation.
She had trusted Maeve once. In her past life, she had loved her, had believed in her, had given her everything she had. And Maeve had thrown it all away. She had chosen Livia, had chosen ambition, had chosen everything except the woman who had actually loved her.
Kamilah’s hands clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms. She couldn’t let herself forget that. She couldn’t let herself be fooled again. No matter how much Maeve claimed to have changed, no matter how sincere her words seemed, Kamilah knew the truth.
People didn’t change. They just got better at hiding who they really were.
She lay back on the bed, her eyes still open, staring at the ceiling. The rain continued to fall, a soothing rhythm that slowly began to calm her racing thoughts. She thought about the children in the rain, about Maria the maid, about all the small acts of kindness she had tried to perform in both her lives.
Maybe that was the key. Maybe she couldn’t control what Maeve did or didn’t do. Maybe she couldn’t control what Livia did or didn’t do. But she could control herself. She could control her own actions, her own choices, and her own kindness.
She closed her eyes, letting the sound of the rain wash over her. The day had been exhausting, filled with more drama and emotion than she had expected. But she had survived it. She had survived worse.
Tomorrow, she would face whatever challenges awaited her. Tomorrow, she would continue to build the life she wanted, the life she deserved. Tomorrow, she would be stronger.
But tonight, she would rest.
And as she drifted off to sleep, the last thought that flickered through her mind was not of revenge or hatred or pain. It was of Maeve, standing in the rain, her eyes were filled with something that looked almost like love. It was a dangerous thought. A foolish thought. But for just a moment, Kamilah allowed herself to believe that maybe, this lifetime could be different.