Dominic Hayes had a chilling obsession: curating the moans of women. He was a genius music producer. For eight years of marriage, he’d brought home one woman after another, yet he’d never once touched me. On the anniversary of my mother’s death, he actually brought home my stepsister, Seraphina Thorne, the woman who had caused my mother’s demise. The sounds of their passion were so loud, they echoed through the entire floor. By morning, Seraphina purposefully showed off the lingering marks of their intimacy. “Oh, Amy, being Dominic’s woman is absolutely divine.” She giggled, “Oops, I forgot you’re mute, Amy. Can’t make a sound, can you? Or are you still a virgin?” Ten years ago, that fire stole my voice, and with it, my chance to charm Dominic. I’d gone mad, made scenes, but he’d only coldly retorted, “If it wasn’t for your mother guilt-tripping me into this marriage, why would I ever marry you?” I ignored Seraphina’s taunts, calmly opening my laptop to import audio for editing. Dominic, emerging from the bathroom, roughly shoved my chair aside. “These sounds are exquisite. I’ll handle this myself.” He tossed a black card at me. “I’m busy on our anniversary. Figure something out for yourself.” But he probably forgot. The divorce agreement he’d handed me on our wedding night was set to expire in just ten days.
I sent an email to the person I’d never met. “Does your promise from back then still stand? I’ll come find you abroad in ten days.” “What are you being so secretive about? Who are you emailing?” Dominic’s voice cut through the silence from behind me, making me jump and snap my laptop shut. He didn’t probe further, just impatiently waved his hand. “Don’t dawdle. Come out with me.” The car stopped in front of a high-end bridal boutique. He sat down, flipping through catalogs leisurely for almost half an hour, finally pointing to two wedding dresses. “Hey, which one do you think looks better?” Staring at those two gorgeous white gowns, my heart fluttered with a ridiculous hope. Eight years of marriage, and all we had was a marriage certificate. No wedding photos, no ceremony. He once said that weddings were the most hypocritical form of performative nonsense. Was he, now…? Before that ridiculous hope could even fully form in my mind, he clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Sera has such a great figure, she’d look stunning in anything. It’s so hard to choose.” My heart instantly sank. So, he didn’t hate performative nonsense. He just hated performing it for me. I dug my nails into my palms, just barely keeping my emotions in check. He glanced at me sideways, his tone mocking. “Stop looking like a wronged woman. If I hadn’t married you, she’d have had my name years ago. Now I can only compensate her with a bridal photoshoot. What else do you have to be unhappy about?” Just then, his phone rang. His assistant must have said something urgent because Dominic’s face instantly darkened. He shot up from his seat. “Send me the link! Get everyone in PR to the conference room, immediately!” He hung up, staring at his phone screen, his eyes chillingly grim. #Rising Starlet Seraphina Thorne Secretly Meets Acclaimed Director, Spends Three Hours Together At Hotel# Below, there were several blurry, intimate photos of Seraphina. He cursed under his breath, grabbed his car keys, and stormed out. I followed him to the garage. Before I could even buckle up, the car lurched forward. My forehead slammed hard against the window, and my vision swam. As soon as we arrived at the company, Seraphina burst into tears, throwing herself into his arms. “Dominic, I’m ruined! Those photos…” Dominic patted her back, his voice a gentle murmur I’d never heard directed at me. “Don’t be afraid, I’m here. The sky won’t fall.” During the emergency meeting, the head of PR nervously proposed a plan. “Mr. Hayes, the only way now is to find someone with a similar build to Miss Thorne, and have them claim the person in the photos is themselves.” The moment he finished speaking, everyone’s eyes simultaneously landed on me. Dominic’s eyes lit up. For the first time, he took my hand and led me into his office. “Amy, you and Sera are half-sisters, you look six parts alike. For Sera’s acting career, would you make this sacrifice for her?” I felt a chilling numbness spread through me, staring at him in disbelief. He knew, he knew that Seraphina and her mother were the ones who drove my mother to her grave! I shook my head frantically, trying to run out, but he grabbed me from behind. “Just a few photos to cover it up! It won’t kill you! I won’t shortchange you once it’s done.” I struggled, shaking my head even harder, but he ignored me, roughly throwing me onto the sofa. He leaned over me, pinning my legs with his knee, one hand tearing at my clothes, the other holding his phone. Eight years of marriage, and this was the first time he’d been this close to me, our breaths mingling. But it was to force me to take degrading photos, to cover for my enemy. Tears streamed down my face, disappearing into my hair. After he got the photos he wanted, he looked down at me, sprawled like a broken doll. “Be obedient. The position of Mrs. Hayes will always be yours.” A cold laugh echoed in my heart. Mrs. Hayes? I didn’t want that position anymore. And you, Dominic, I didn’t want you either.
At the press conference, Dominic Hayes held Seraphina Thorne tightly. “Ladies and gentlemen, regarding the baseless rumors circulating online, I want to clarify something here. Yes, someone acted improperly. And yes, someone took inappropriate photos. But that person wasn’t Seraphina. It was her half-sister, Amelia Vance.” Seraphina’s eyes welled up, looking on the verge of tears, her face a picture of wronged innocence. “Amy felt I took away our father’s love, but I never imagined she would try to ruin me this way. Still, no matter what, she’s my sister, and I don’t blame her…” He held Seraphina close, walking away without a backward glance, leaving me alone on the stage. All the cameras and microphones instantly swiveled to face me. “Miss Vance, are you jealous of your sister? Is that why you’re trying to frame her?” “What is your purpose behind such a despicable act?” “Please answer! Why aren’t you speaking?” I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. In despair, I climbed the steps, urgently signing with my hands. “I am Dominic Hayes’ legal wife. We’ve been married for eight years. Since his true love is her, I will step aside and let them be together. Dominic Hayes, let’s get a divorce!” A reporter in the crowd who understood sign language gasped, quickly translating to those around her. “Eight years? Dominic has been married for eight years?” “Then Seraphina is officially the mistress?” “Oh my God! They were just twisting the truth and trying to pin all the blame on the original wife!” The tide of public opinion instantly turned. My phone vibrated non-stop, Dominic Hayes’ calls flashing across the screen. In eight years of marriage, he hadn’t called me this many times in half an hour combined. He was panicking. As soon as I got home, Dominic, absolutely furious, violently slammed me against the wall in the entryway. “Amelia, you’ve gotten bold, haven’t you? Who gave you permission to spout nonsense out there?” My back throbbed with pain, but I stubbornly looked up, signing my retort. “Whether I’m your wife or not is for the law to decide.” Dominic laughed, a cruel, mirthless sound, as if I’d told the greatest joke. “Have I ever touched you? This ‘wife’ title is nothing more than your mother’s dying wish, guilt-tripping me into marriage!” He took a deep breath, trying to control his anger. “Yes, I married you! But Sera saved my life. Without her, I’d be dead! I owe her my life, so it’s only right that I treat her well!” My heart felt as if it had been pierced by a thousand needles, a dense, throbbing ache. “I’m sorry for wasting so many years of your life. Dominic, let’s get a divorce!” Dominic roughly pulled me closer, his fingers digging into my chin. “Why now, Amelia? If you want a divorce, fine, but don’t expect a single penny from me!” “I’ll walk away with absolutely nothing!” He was no longer the man I remembered, and he had long forgotten our unspoken promise. I expected him to agree immediately, but to my surprise, he fell silent. “Amelia, marriage isn’t a game. Let’s talk once you’ve calmed down.” Watching his retreating back, I couldn’t help but laugh, but as I laughed, tears streamed down my face. He said marriage wasn’t a game, yet on our wedding night, he handed me a divorce agreement. “My heart already belongs to someone else. I won’t touch you. After eight years, you’ll know when to leave gracefully.” I thought true love could conquer all, but after eight years of struggling, I was exhausted. With only five days left until the agreement took effect, I began to pack my bags. Going downstairs to take out the trash, I ran into Dominic and Seraphina, deep in an intimate moment. “Dominic, your birthday is coming up. What kind of gift do you want?” Dominic chuckled softly, leaning in to kiss Seraphina’s forehead. “I want to hear you sing. Could you record ‘Every Tomorrow’ for me? You sang it before, and I loved it.” Seraphina was tone-deaf; she couldn’t sing at all. “Dominic, my throat has been a little scratchy lately. How about I record it in a few days?” “Every Tomorrow” – that was my favorite song.
On our first wedding anniversary, I had edited and packaged that very song, recorded when my voice was still good, as a birthday gift for him. But he hadn’t even looked at it, casually tossing it into the deepest part of his closet. And that very night, he’d brought home his first woman, beginning his absurd string of affairs. Four days before my departure, I went to the cemetery to visit my mother. She had been a renowned composer, and her greatest regret on her deathbed was leaving her magnum opus unfinished. Before I left, I wanted to fulfill her final wish. I locked myself in my room, pouring three days and nights into the composition, finally completing it. “Whispers of Moonlight”—a song overflowing with my mother’s selfless love for me. Exhausted, I fell into a deep sleep, cradling the sheet music. When I woke, the internet was ablaze with entertainment headlines. #Genius Music Prodigy Seraphina Thorne Releases New Original Song ‘Whispers Of Moonlight’—Allegedly ATribute To Parents’ Love!# That was my song, the one I had just finished. My hands trembling, I clicked on the video. Seraphina, dressed in a white gown, sat at a piano, playing “Whispers of Moonlight,” the song my mother and I had co-created. “This song is dedicated to my beloved father and mother, commemorating their unwavering love…” The comment section was filled with praise. “So touching! Seraphina’s parents must have such an amazing love story!” “This is a true ode to love!” My blood ran cold, my mouth agape, unable to breathe. My mother was hospitalized, the doctor saying she needed complete rest. While I was away, Seraphina brought a tablet to my mother’s bedside. “Don’t Dad and my mom look so good together?” On the screen, my father and Seraphina’s mother were entangled on my mother’s very bed! My mother instantly coughed up blood. Without a word, she breathed her last. Seraphina and her mother—they were the murderers who had driven my mother to her death. How dared she use that song to glorify their filthy affair? How dared she desecrate my mother’s final masterpiece? Rage burned away my reason. I stormed out of the house, heading straight for Seraphina’s apartment. “That piece is mine! How dare you steal it?” Seraphina crossed her arms, a malicious, triumphant smile on her face. “That trashy song? Oh, Dominic gave it to me. He said a mute like you had no use for it, so why not let me put it to good use?” She leaned in, lowering her voice. “Amy, don’t waste your energy. No matter what I do, Dominic will always be on my side. Want to bet?” The moment she spoke, a smell of burning reached us. My body went cold and stiff, a huge fear engulfing me as memories surged back. Ten years ago, on Christmas, I went to church to pray for my mother’s health but got caught in a fire. Dominic, who was behind me, could have escaped. But when he saw me pushed down and trampled, he turned back to pull me up, only to be struck by a falling beam. He bled heavily, clinging to life, yet still shielded me with his body. To keep him conscious, I kept talking. When I ran out of things to say, I sang. Yes, I sang “Every Tomorrow,” over and over again. The thick smoke billowed, my voice growing hoarse, but I dared not stop for a second. Dominic clutched my hand tightly, promising that if we made it out, he would marry me. Finally, my singing caught the attention of firefighters. After we were rescued, I realized his entire back was burned beyond recognition. He was quickly taken away by his family, and I searched the hospital but never saw him again. My vocal cords, damaged by inhaling so much smoke, could no longer produce a sound. It wasn’t until my mother showed me his photograph that I realized the man I was marrying was Dominic. I thought it was fate, and I married him without hesitation. In the end, it was all just wishful thinking on my part. In the flickering firelight, Dominic’s figure overlapped with the person from ten years ago.
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