I Raised My Husband's Love Child...Then He Shot Me

"I'm ready to accept your terms and return as the heiress," I said into the phone before hanging up.

I turned to look around the bedroom I'd lived in for eight years. A sad smile tugged at my lips. Eight years of devotion, patience, and love—yet I had nothing to show for it.

"How dare you wear my mom's clothes!" a shrill voice pierced the air behind me, yanking me from my thoughts.

I let out a soft sigh and turned to face Ivan, his little face twisted with anger. "You're not even gonna say anything?" he barked.

"Go back to your party, Ivan. Your friends are probably waiting," I said quietly.

"No!" he shouted, grabbing the pitcher on the table and flinging its contents at me.

I screamed as hot coffee splashed across my skin.

"That's what you get!" he snapped. "You'll never be my mom! You killed her with your jealousy, and now you're parading around in her favorite dress!"

A maid rushed in, her eyes going wide when she saw me—soaked and slightly burned.

"I'm so sorry, Miss. Ivan ran away from the group. I'll take him now," she apologized before ushering the smug, smiling boy out.

I sighed and walked into the shower. The dress? It wasn't Amelia's favorite. She never even wore it. It was mine. A gift from my late mother. But like everything else, Amelia had stolen it from me—just like she stole my life.

Eight years ago, I was supposed to marry Michael Russo. My childhood sweetheart. I thought we were in love. Then everything crashed. He married my step-sister, Amelia, and just like that, she was pregnant and living the life that was meant for me.

Then she died in childbirth. And I became the villain. The jealous sister. The unlucky omen. The one they said must've wanted her dead.

So, as Amelia's only sister—and Michael's almost-bride—I was sent here to raise Ivan. My stepmother told me to care for him like he was my own son.

And I did. For eight years, I poured my heart into raising Ivan. I loved Michael, too. But I was a fool. He never truly loved me back.

They both made sure I knew my place—beneath them. A glorified nanny. A tolerated presence. A living shadow of a woman who'd stolen everything from me.

Ivan never respected me. He'd lash out whenever he wanted, and Michael always defended him. But today… today is different.

Today is Ivan's eighth birthday.

And I'm leaving.

Three years ago, if he'd poured hot coffee on me, I would've begged him to forgive me, told myself he was just a kid.

Now? I'm done.

So done.

"The party's starting. Where are you, Rachel?" Michael's voice called from outside the bedroom, snapping me out of it.

I stepped out of the bathroom just as he walked in, his eyes falling on my stained dress.

"I heard what happened with Ivan," he said with a sigh. "Don't take it too hard. He's just a kid—and he loves you."

I scoffed. "That kid doesn't know the first thing about love—especially when it comes to me."

Michael frowned. "Don't say that. He's a good boy."