“Boss, the woman’s awake!” a man’s voice suddenly shouted.
Hazel opened her eyes and found herself standing at the edge of a cliff. Two men ere gripping her arms, keeping her from moving. Below her roared the sea—wild, foaming waves crashing against the rocks. If these men let go, she would fall, and there’d be nothing left of her but broken bones and saltwater.
She gasped for air, fighting the panic rising in her chest. Her face was swollen, blood trickling down from her temple, streaking across her cheek. She didn’t even know why these thugs had kidnapped her.
She couldn’t remember offending anyone. All she’d done was stop for coffee before work. Then, as she turned the corner, a group of huge men grabbed her. She hadn’t even managed to scream before everything went black.
Did her husband know she’d been taken? She had no way of finding out.
She tried to speak. “Who are you? Why are you doing this to me?” Her throat burned with pain, her voice cracking.
“Dead people don’t need to know that much,” said the scar-faced man they’d called “Boss.”
The men holding her loosened their grip slightly, just enough for her body to sway dangerously near the cliff. Hazel screamed. “Wait! I have money! If that’s what you want—whoever sent you, I’ll pay ten times more!”
The scarred man glanced at his companions, and they tugged her back an inch from the edge. “And what makes you think I need your money?”
Hazel forced herself to stay calm, her mind spinning fast. “If you really wanted to kill me,” she said, voice trembling but steady, “you wouldn’t have waited for me to wake up. But you did.”
For a second, surprise flickered across his face. Hazel exhaled quietly. She pressed on. “So what do you want from me?”
The scarred man’s lips curled into a grin. He stepped closer, placing a rough hand against her cheek. “You’re pretty. And smart,” he said, his breath hot against her skin. Hazel’s stomach twisted—she felt like throwing up. She clenched her lips shut.
“The person who paid us told us not to kill you,” he said finally. “She just wants to confirm something.”
She. Hazel caught the pronoun immediately. Not he. She. Her mind sharpened.
There was only one woman in the world who hated her that much—her husband’s stalker, Olivia Howard. A complete lunatic.
“Is it Olivia Howard?” Hazel asked.
His eyebrows lifted again. Hazel took a silent, shaky breath of relief. She was right. If it was Olivia, she might still make it out alive. Olivia probably just wanted to humiliate her—make her see that her husband, Rayan, didn’t love her. If Hazel agreed to divorce him, she’d be fine.
Technically, Hazel understood Olivia’s obsession. After all, her husband was every woman’s fantasy—tall, sinfully handsome, like something carved from marble in an Italian museum. And those blue eyes… when he looked at you, you couldn’t help but surrender.
But Olivia wasn’t that lucky. She didn’t have the face of Rayan Knight’s lover. Even though she was the sister of Evelyn—Rayan’s dead lover—she didn’t look like her.
And that made her jealous.
Still, Hazel hadn’t thought Olivia would go this far.
Wasn’t she afraid of being arrested? The woman was out of her mind.
Hazel didn’t wait for Scarface to speak again. “So what does Olivia want me to do?”
“Call your husband,” he said. “If he’s willing to pay the ransom, you walk free. If he’s not… you go over the edge.” He smirked. “Sweetheart, don’t hate me. It’s your husband who gets to decide.”
“I heard you,” Hazel muttered, stepping back slightly, revolted by his endearment.
“Good. I’m curious to see what kind of man would abandon a woman as beautiful and clever as you.”
He shoved a phone into her hand. “Hurry up. I’m not a patient guy.” Hazel took a deep breath and dialed the number she knew by heart. Her hands shook. No one outside knew what her marriage was truly like. Rayan had never treated her like a wife. In public, he played the perfect husband—smiling for cameras, taking her to expensive restaurants, buying diamonds, handbags, and designer gowns.
But Hazel knew—those were the things Evelyn had loved, not her.
At home, she was nothing more than the gum stuck under his shoe—disgusting, unwanted.
Still, she hadn’t fought back. She was the Knight family’s adopted daughter. She had no say in her life. When Rayan chose her, she could only nod. And yes—she loved
him. Loving Rayan was written into every woman’s DNA.
But now she knew what truly mattered—her life. Nothing, no one, was worth dying for. Especially not him. She had promises to keep, people to meet again.
The call connected. But it wasn’t Rayan’s voice—it was a woman’s.
“Hazel? I’m not surprised you’d call. How are you?” Olivia’s voice was sweet and sickly, like poison coated in sugar.
Hazel swallowed, forcing herself not to break. Olivia’s plan was airtight. She was with Rayan. Right now.
What were they doing together?
“Olivia, cut the crap. Put Rayan on the phone. You’ll get what you want—I mean the divorce,” Hazel said sharply.
Olivia laughed, soft and cruel. “Of course. But right now, he’s standing at my sister’s grave, paying his respects. He’s saying he can’t live without her. Oh, Rayan, how pathetic. Always the substitute.”
“Yes,” Hazel said with a brittle smile. “But compared to you, I’m still better off. At least I share a bed with him. You can only jerk off to his picture in secret—”
“Enough!” Olivia screamed. “Soon you’ll be thrown out of the Knight family, and I’ll be the only woman at Rayan’s side!”
Scarface shot Hazel a look, silently urging her to get on with it. Hazel steadied her breathing. “Then tell me, Olivia,” she said coldly, “why not just convince him to divorce me yourself? If he loves you that much.”
“Don’t play innocent, you bitch!” Olivia shrieked. “He married you because you look like my sister! You were a replacement, a pathetic crutch to stop him from breaking down!”
“Then why kidnap me? You could’ve told me directly—I’d have agreed to the divorce,” Hazel snapped.
“Oh, I know you would,” Olivia hissed. “I know he doesn’t care about you. But you still shamelessly agreed to be his wife. You need to pay for that. I want you to suffer. And I want you to hear from his own mouth how little you matter to him!”
Hazel clenched her fists. She heard footsteps—Rayan’s. She knew that stride anywhere.
“Who is it, Olivia?” His deep voice rumbled through the phone.
Olivia covered the receiver, whispering, “It’s Hazel. She insists on talking to you. I told her what day it was, but she didn’t care. She says she’s your wife.”
Hazel held her breath.
Rayan frowned, took the phone, and his voice came cold and precise. “Hello.”
Hazel inhaled shakily. “Rayan, I’m in danger. I need your—”
He cut her off. “Hazel Foster, I thought I made your position in my life very clear from the start. Know your place. Don’t test my patience with your pointless dramatics.” The line went dead.
The cold, repetitive beep sliced through her like a knife. Hazel’s heart shattered. He despised her even more than she’d imagined.
The scarred man smirked. “Looks like your so-called husband doesn’t want you anymore. But don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll make sure you don’t miss him tonight.”
He lunged at her.
Hazel reacted instantly—she bit the man beside her, hard. He howled, and she shoved him back with all her strength, then leapt—straight off the cliff.
Because Hazel believed one thing: she wouldn’t die that easily.