I Faked My Death to Destroy My Husband

He chose his mistress on our anniversary. He didn't know I was already planning my funeral.

For three years, I was the perfect wife. I swallowed the insults from his family. I bore the guilt of our daughter’s death. Everyone blamed me. Yet, I loved Mateo Santiago with everything I had.

Until the day I found out the truth.

On the same day I discovered I was pregnant again, I learned my husband was expecting a child with another woman: my own step-aunt, Valentina. And worse? I finally discovered that he was the one responsible for our first daughter's death, not me.

I didn't scream. I didn't fight. I simply texted him: "Your birthday is in a month. I’ll prepare a gift you’ll never forget."

Thirty days later, Mateo Santiago watched my car burn at the bottom of a cliff. He buried an empty casket and cried for a wife he thought he loved.

But Isabella Romano didn't die that day. She just disappeared.

I was not alone anymore. I had another life growing inside me but then I stumbled upon a stranger. A stranger shadows feared. Dante Galante.

The pregnancy

Isabella’s POV

The pregnancy test lay on the sink.

I told myself not to look yet. I told myself to breathe.

But I opened my eyes and the second line appeared anyway.

Positive.

For a moment, I couldn’t move, staring at the pregnancy test until my vision blurred. Slowly, I pressed my trembling hand to my stomach.

A baby. Another one.

Hope rose before I could stop it. My eyes burned. My throat tightened.

Please, I thought, not sure who I was praying to. Please let this one live.

The memory from one year ago flashed right in front of my eyes.

A year ago, this moment would have sent me running down the hallway, laughing, jumping into Mateo’s arms. But that was before.

Before Elena.

My beautiful, tiny Elena baby. She had only been on this earth for one month. I could still feel her tiny body against my chest. The way her fingers curled around mine like she trusted me completely.

I squeezed my eyes shut. My tears were already falling.

They said I failed her. Everyone did. Mateo’s mother had screamed at the funeral, calling me careless, claiming I had left her unattended, that I was a child playing house who didn't know how to be a mother.

And My husband Mateo? The man I had saved from the gutter, the man I had stood by while he climbed the top of the Santiago Group? He hadn’t defended me. He hadn't yelled back. He just looked at me with hollow eyes and silence that felt heavier than any accusation.

Now, I’m pregnant again. Is this a second chance? Or am I going to be a failure again?

My phone buzzed on the counter.

I ignored it. But it continued to buzz again. And again.

I reached for it without looking, wiping at my cheeks. The name