Hannah’s POV
The train stopped at a station I didn’t recognize.
I looked up from the window, my eyes swollen and raw from crying, and saw a sign that read “Millbrook.” It was a small town, the kind that existed in the middle of nowhere, the kind where nobody would ask questions.
I got off.
The platform was empty.
A single bench sat against the wall, weathered and worn.
A flickering light buzzed overhead.
The air smelled like rain and pine and something clean and unfamiliar.
I had no plan.
No destination.
No idea what I was supposed to do next.
I sat down on the bench and pulled my coat tighter around my shoulders.
The bag with my belongings sat at my feet, pitifully light.
I opened it and looked inside.
A change of clothes.
A toothbrush.
A photograph of my grandmother, the only family I had ever known.
And a cell phone.
Elijah’s phone.
The one he had given me when we got married.
The one I had never used because he never called.
I stared at the phone for a long moment.
Then I turned it off and threw it in the trash can beside the bench.
No more connections to the Martinez family.
No more waiting for calls that would never come.
No more hoping he would change his mind and finally love me.
It was over.
It was finally, truly over.
I sat on that bench for what felt like hours.
The night grew colder.
The stars came out.
And I had nowhere to go.
“Excuse me?”
I looked up.
A man was standing in front of me, wearing a janitor’s uniform and holding a mop.
He was older, maybe sixty, with kind eyes and a weathered face.
“You okay?” he asked.
“You’ve been sitting here for a while.
Train’s not coming back until morning.”
“I know.” My voice came out hoarse.
“I just…
I needed to think.”
He nodded like he understood.
“There’s a motel down the street.
Two blocks that way.
It’s not fancy, but it’s warm.”
I didn’t have enough money for a motel.
I had barely enough for the train ticket.
“Thank you,” I said.
“I’ll be fine.”
He studied me for a moment.
Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded bill.
“Take it.
Consider it a welcome to Millbrook.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.” He pressed the money into my hand.
“We take care of each other here.
That’s how it works.”
I looked at the bill.
Fifty dollars.
More than I had in my entire wallet.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
He smiled.
“Get some rest.
Things always look better in the morning.”
He walked away, and I sat there holding the money like it was made of gold.
Fifty dollars.
A stranger had just given me fifty dollars because he saw I was in pain.
It was more kindness than I had received in three years of marriage.
I stood up and walked toward the motel.
It was exactly what the janitor had promised.
Not fancy.
But warm.
The woman at the front desk didn’t ask questions.
She just took my money and gave me a key and pointed me toward room 7.
I locked the door behind me.
The room was small and dingy, but it had a bed and a bathroom and a window that looked out at the stars.
I collapsed onto the bed and finally, finally let myself break.
I cried until I had no tears left.
I cried for the marriage I had lost.
For the love I had given.
For the years I had wasted on a man who had never seen me as anything more than a blood donor.
And then I stopped crying.
Because crying wouldn’t fix anything.
Crying wouldn’t bring back the years I had lost.
Crying wouldn’t make Elijah love me.
I needed a plan.
I needed to figure out what came next.
I sat up and opened my bag again.
Tucked inside the lining, hidden from everyone, was my grandmother’s will.
I had found it a month ago, buried in her old trunk, the one I had kept in the attic because Elijah said it was taking up space.
I had opened it out of curiosity, expecting to find something sentimental.
A letter.
A photograph.
Something to remind me of the woman who had raised me after my parents died.
Instead, I had found the truth.
My grandmother was not poor.
She was not the struggling widow she had pretended to be.
She was Anna Winters, the founder of Winters Pharmaceuticals, a multibillion dollar company that had been secretly funding my entire life.
She had never told me.
She had let me struggle.
Let me work minimum wage jobs.
Let me marry a man who only wanted my blood.
And then she had died, leaving everything to me.
The will was clear.
I was the sole heir to the Winters fortune.
All of it.
The company.
The properties.
The investments.
Every single penny.
I had been sitting on billions of dollars for a month, and I had said nothing.
Because I hadn’t known what to do with it.
Because I had been too afraid to claim it.
Because some part of me still believed that if I stayed in my marriage, if I continued to be the obedient wife, Elijah would finally see me.
What a fool I had been.
I read the will again, tracing my grandmother’s signature with my finger.
She had signed it the day before she died.
She had known I would need it.
She had known I would need to escape.
I pressed the will to my chest and closed my eyes.
Tomorrow, I would start over.
Tomorrow, I would claim my inheritance.
Tomorrow, I would become someone new.
But tonight, I would grieve.
Three Years Earlier
I had been twenty-two years old when Elijah Martinez walked into the coffee shop where I worked.
He was the most beautiful man I had ever seen, tall and dark and devastating, with eyes that could cut through steel and a smile that made my knees weak.
He had ordered a black coffee and then he had looked at me.
Actually looked at me.
Like I was the only person in the room.
“You’re beautiful,” he had said.
“Has anyone ever told you that?”
I had blushed.
Stuttered.
Dropped his change.
He had laughed, a deep, rich sound that made my stomach flutter.
And then he had asked me on a date.
I had said yes.
Of course I said yes.
He was Elijah Martinez, the CEO of Martinez Group, the most eligible bachelor in the city.
And he was asking me out.
We had dated for three months.
He had taken me to fancy restaurants and exclusive clubs and rooftop gardens that overlooked the city.
He had showered me with gifts.
Compliments.
Promises.
And then he had proposed.
I had said yes.
The wedding was small.
Private.
His mother hadn’t attended.
His friends had looked at me like I was a bug they had found in their soup.
But I hadn’t cared.
I had Elijah.
I had his ring on my finger.
I had his name.
I thought that was enough.
I was wrong.
The first year had been okay.
Elijah was distant, but I told myself he was busy.
He was a CEO.
He had responsibilities.
He couldn’t always be with me.
The second year had been worse.
He stopped coming home.
Stopped touching me.
Stopped pretending he cared.
I would lie awake in our empty bed and wonder what I had done wrong.
The third year had been unbearable.
I found out about Isabella.
Found out about the donations.
Found out that my entire marriage was a lie.
I had been nothing.
A donor.
A blood bag.
A transaction.
And now I was nothing again.
I folded the will and put it back in my bag.
Tomorrow, I would call the lawyers.
Tomorrow, I would claim what was mine.
Tomorrow, I would become the woman my grandmother always knew I could be.
But tonight, I would let myself feel the pain.
I turned off the light and lay in the darkness.
Outside, the wind howled.
Inside, I was hollow.
But somewhere deep inside me, a tiny spark flickered to life.
I would survive this.
I would rise from the ashes.
I would become someone that Elijah Martinez would regret losing.
I just had to survive tonight first.