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My mother used to sing in the garden every morning. I want you to hold onto that, because by the end of this you're going to understand exactly what it costs a woman to lose it — and you're going to recognise it, because it's happening to someone you love right now. My name is Claire. My mother is Pat. She is sixty-three years old and two years ago she disappeared in front of me, one small piece at a time, and not one doctor could tell me why. She didn't get sick. There was no diagnosis, no scan, no terrible phone call. It was quieter and crueller than that. She just stopped. Stopped singing. Stopped gardening. Stopped getting down on the floor with my daughter. Stopped sleeping. Stopped being the woman who raised me. And the whole time she smiled and said she was fine, because that is what women of her generation do — they suffer in silence and they call it coping. I am writing this because I almost lost her to that silence. And I am not going to let it take your mother too. — Let me tell you who my mother was, so you understand what was stolen. Pat raised three of us more or less alone after my father's heart gave out. She nursed him through his last two years without a single complaint. She hosts every Christmas, twelve of us round a table built for eight, and she does it on her feet for three days. She is the one the entire family rings when something has gone wrong and nobody knows what to do. And every single morning of my entire childhood, she was out in that garden by eight o'clock, on her knees in the beds, singing. Half the time the radio, half the time nothing at all, just the sound of a woman who was happy in her own skin. I grew up hearing it through the kitchen window. My own daughter grew up hearing it. That sound was my mother. Two years ago it stopped. — It started so small I told myself I was imagining it. A stiffness in her hip in the mornings. "Bit creaky today," she'd laugh. She was sixty-one. Everyone's creaky at sixty-one. That's what I told myself. Then the few minutes of creaky became twenty minutes of not being able to walk straight. Then her hip became both hips. Then her knees, on the stairs. Then her hands — my mother, who could fillet a fish and ice a wedding cake, couldn't open a jar of jam. She'd hand it to me across the kitchen without a word and something in my chest would crack, because she wouldn't ask. She'd just quietly hand me the jar. Then came the night I'll never get out of my head. We were staying over. I got up at four for a glass of water and the landing light was on. I found my mother sitting on the edge of her bed in the dark, both hands gripping the mattress, just sitting there. She'd been awake since two. She couldn't lie on her side anymore — thirty years of sleeping curled on her side and now it sent a bolt of pain through her hip that woke her gasping — so she slept flat on her back, when she slept at all, staring at the ceiling. She looked up at me and she was embarrassed. My mother, embarrassed, in front of her own daughter, at four in the morning, for the crime of being in pain. "Go back to bed, love," she said. "I'm fine." She was not fine. — And then the worst one. The one I have to make myself remember. My daughter — Pat's only granddaughter — had built something out of blocks and she ran to show her nana, the way she'd done a hundred times, expecting Nana to get down on the floor with her the way Nana always had. And my mother didn't. She stayed in her chair. And she said, "Bring it over here, darling, let Nana see it from here." My daughter's face did something small and confused, and then she carried her little tower over to the chair, and I stood in the doorway and watched my mother choose her chair over the floor because the floor had become a place she could no longer get up from. That was the day I understood my daughter was going to grow up with a different grandmother than the one she'd started with. A grandmother in a chair. And I went into the kitchen and I ran the tap so no one would hear me. — So I did what you do. I tried to help her fix it. We tried turmeric — everyone says turmeric. A bottle from the chemist, two a day, three months. Nothing. Collagen. Glucosamine. The big yellow bottle. Nothing. I took her to her GP myself. He pressed her hip, glanced at an X-ray, and gave us the sentence I have come to hate more than any words in the English language: "It's just wear and tear. It's her age. Take some ibuprofen." Her age. As if my mother was a worn-out kitchen appliance you keep until it dies. Physio. Twice a week, four months. Cortisone — two injections, eleven good days the first time, barely a week the second, then the pain came back worse, like it was angry it had been interrupted. Over a thousand pounds. Two years. And my mother got smaller, and quieter, and further away, and the worst part — the part that still makes me furious — is that she started to believe them. "Maybe this is just how I am now," she said to me one afternoon. My mother. Who nursed my dying father. Who feeds twelve at Christmas. Giving up. I wanted to scream at every doctor who'd shrugged at her. Because not one of them — not one — ever told us what was actually wrong. — It took a stranger at my sister's wedding to do that. Seated next to my mother at the rehearsal dinner was the groom's mother, Sheila — early seventies, sharp as a tack, walked to the pub from the next village and didn't mention it. I watched the two of them talk for half an hour, and I watched my mother's face change in a way I hadn't seen in two years. On the walk back, Mum told me what Sheila had said. Sheila had been exactly where my mother was. Stiff, shrinking, told it was her age. Until she found out it wasn't her age at all. It had a name. And once she knew the name, everything changed. The name is hormonal inflammation. When a woman goes through the change, her whole inflammatory system shifts — and in so many women it floods the joints and never switches off. That's the deep ache. That's why it starts in one place and spreads everywhere. That's why it's worst in the morning, because it builds overnight while she sleeps. That's why turmeric and collagen and cortisone and ibuprofen did nothing — because every single one of them was aimed at the wrong thing. None of them touched the actual fire. My mother had been suffering for two years from something with a name, and four medical professionals had handed her ibuprofen and called it old age. — But here is the part that nearly didn't happen, and it's the part I most need you to hear. When Sheila mentioned turmeric, my mother almost laughed in her face. "Tried it. Did nothing." And Sheila said: you tried the wrong one. The turmeric my mother had bought from the chemist — the one nearly every woman buys — is around three percent curcumin. Curcumin is the only part that actually fights inflammation. Three percent. The rest is filler. My mother had spent three months swallowing a capsule that was ninety-seven percent nothing and then concluded turmeric was useless. The version that actually works — the version in the real studies — is ninety-five percent curcumin, with black pepper extract so the body can absorb it instead of flushing it straight out. Not three percent. Ninety-five. My mother hadn't failed turmeric. The chemist had sold her a watered-down imitation of it and let her believe she'd given it a fair go. The brand Sheila used was called She Again — the concentrated version, ninety-five percent, with the black pepper, made specifically for the hormonal inflammation that was eating my mother's joints alive. Two capsules in the morning. That was the whole thing. — I'm going to tell you what happened, because I was the one watching, and I watched my mother come back to life. The first fortnight, nothing. We'd braced for that. Week four, I heard it. She was at the kitchen sink washing up and she was singing. Under her breath, something I didn't even recognise. She didn't notice she was doing it. I had to leave the room. Week six, my daughter ran to show her a drawing, and my mother got down on the floor. She just lowered herself down onto the rug and sat there with my little girl, and got back up afterwards, and nobody made a thing of it except me, standing in the kitchen with my hand over my mouth. By high summer she was back in the garden. On her knees in the beds at eight in the morning, secateurs in hand, doing the roses she'd let go wild for two years. She came in for lunch with soil on her forearms and I realised I'd been grieving that exact sight without knowing it. And then one morning she rang me from her car after a check-up, the bloods all fine, told to carry on exactly as she was. And underneath her voice, on the radio, I could hear her singing along. My mother was back. The chair didn't get her. My daughter has her grandmother — the real one, the one on the floor, the one in the garden, the one who sings. — So now I'm the stranger at the rehearsal dinner. I'm your Sheila. If you are watching your mother go quiet — if she's handing you the jar instead of asking, if she's choosing the chair over the floor, if she's awake at four in the morning telling you she's fine — she is not fine, and it is not her age, and she does not have to vanish into that chair. It has a name. It's hormonal inflammation. And the reason her turmeric did nothing is almost certainly that she was sold the three-percent version, like my mother was, like nearly every woman is. The strong one — ninety-five percent, built for exactly this — is called She Again. It's a smaller company and it sells out, so if it's gone when you look, get on the restock list, because it's worth the wait. Don't let her disappear an inch at a time the way I almost let my mother. Don't wait until your child is carrying a drawing over to a chair. She's still in there. Go and get her back.

Chapter 1 What Is the Gender? Twenty-five weeks pregnant, Sloane Powell caught her husband cheating—right outside the hospital. A tall, striking man in a black overcoat was shielding a soft, delicate-looking girl in his arms. The girl wore a white fox-fur coat. Her cheeks were rosy, her small face tucked into a fluffy wool scarf, her features pretty as a porcelain doll. Sloane clenched her prenatal checkup slip so hard her fingers went white. The cold wind sliced across her face, but it was nothing compared to the stabbing ache in her chest. Jaxson Cole saw her from far away. His expression stayed indifferent, not a trace of shame at being caught. He personally opened the car door for the girl, his demeanor gentle. So the cold, untouchable man at the top of the world could be tender, too. The girl seemed to notice Sloane. She paused, looked at Sloane with confusion first, then turned to Jaxson and asked, “Why is that old woman staring at you? Jaxson, do you know her?” The wind howled in Sloane’s ears. She didn’t know what else the girl said to Jaxson. But from the shape of her mouth, Sloane could clearly make out two words. “Old woman.” That was supposed to be her. Sloane’s lips curled into a bitter smile. She was only twenty-four. But she’d always been a little chubby, with an ordinary face. Wrapped in a black puffer jacket and a black knit hat, her late-pregnancy body was swollen and heavy. Add in the exhaustion on her face, and she really did look like some worn-out woman in her thirties or forties—how could she compare to a young, bright, beautiful girl? Jaxson protected the girl as she got into the car. Sloane stood frozen, watching the vehicle pull away. She and Jaxson had married because of the baby. This forced marriage—to a man like Jaxson, heaven’s chosen—was a stain on his life. The child in her belly was the tool she’d used to corner him. He hated her. And she had loved him in secret for eight years. Sloane knew she never deserved him. All she could do was study harder, keep pushing, take him as her life’s ideal, and chase after his footsteps. Finally, she got what she wanted. She became his assistant. She could stand close to him. But that night destroyed more than Jaxson. It also tore apart every last shred of pride and dignity she’d ever had in front of him. She would never forget the way he’d stared at her afterward—disgusted, like he’d touched something filthy that made him sick. So, of course, only a beautiful girl like that deserved him. A hot tear slid from the corner of her eye. Then her lower abdomen cramped hard. She hurriedly held her belly with one hand and braced the stone pillar beside her with the other. A passing nurse saw her and rushed over, supporting her and taking her into an exam room. It was just the emotional shock—she’d stirred the baby. Once she calmed down… Sloane left the hospital, driving alone back to Emerald Bay Mansion with a body and soul that felt wrung dry. This was Jaxson’s villa. Wren Cole, Jaxson’s grandmother, had arranged for experienced housekeepers from the Cole Estate to look after her. At that moment, the two housekeepers assigned to her were sitting in the warm living room like they owned the place, eating good food and laughing together. When they heard the sound, they turned toward the door. Seeing Sloane back, one of them stood and walked over, asking, “How were the results?” The attitude was arrogant, the tone dripping with contempt. They were supposed to be taking care of her, but they looked more like they were here to watch her and act like the real masters. Sloane only gave the housekeeper a cold glance and didn’t answer, heading straight for the stairs. The housekeeper frowned in displeasure. “I’m talking to you.” Sloane still ignored her. The housekeeper spat toward Sloane’s back. “Fat as a pig. You really think you’re some young mistress of the Cole family? Who are you trying to fool?” Back in her bedroom, Sloane sat on the bed, hollow and lost. Neither Jaxson nor the Cole family had ever accepted her. Wren had been the one to make the decision and force her and Jaxson to get their marriage certificate. But that was only because Noah Cole, Jaxson’s grandfather, had been critically ill. She’d shown up pregnant at just the right time, and they’d arranged the marriage to bring him good luck—two happy events at once. Whether it was coincidence or whether the “good luck” was real, Noah’s condition gradually improved. Only then did Wren’s attitude toward Sloane soften. But everyone else in the Cole family still looked down on her. Today’s hospital visit had been to confirm the baby’s gender. A girl. Mrs. Cole’s side had probably already gotten the hospital’s notice. Just then, her phone vibrated. Sloane pulled herself out of her thoughts. She reached into her bag and pulled out her phone. When she saw the caller ID, she froze—it was her advisor. She picked up. “Professor Grant.” “A spot just opened up for advanced study at Stanford—PhD track. You interested?” At Leo Grant’s words, Sloane went still for a long moment. When she didn’t answer, Leo continued, “If you’re not available—” “I’m in.” Sloane snapped back to the moment and answered with quiet certainty. This time, Leo fell silent. He knew better than anyone how hard Sloane had fought just to be worthy of standing beside Jaxson. Now that she finally had what she wanted—marriage, a baby on the way—how could she possibly walk away? He’d only mentioned the last slot on a whim, testing the waters. “Professor Grant,” Sloane said. Leo replied, “Come by my office tomorrow at ten.” “Okay.” He hung up without another word. Sloane set the phone down and let out a long breath. For the first time in a while, it felt like the clouds had parted, letting a sliver of moonlight through. She needed to wake up. A man who didn’t love you—no matter what you gave him, no matter if you bore his child—would never stay. He wouldn’t even glance back. Her phone rang again. This time it was Wren, asking her to come back to the Cole Estate. Sloane agreed. It was probably about the baby. Now she finally had a bit of energy. She went to the bathroom and took a long, hot shower. Afterward, sitting at the vanity, Sloane studied herself in the mirror—puffy face, dark circles under her eyes, sunken eyelids, cheeks dotted with freckles. Looking this worn down… who wouldn’t be repulsed? How could someone like her ever deserve to stand next to Jaxson? She put on makeup, slipped into a pink puffer jacket, and pulled on a white beanie. She looked much more presentable. She’d planned to drive herself back to the main residence. But the moment she stepped outside, Jaxson called. His voice came through flat and cold. “Come out.” Sloane startled. Wren must’ve told him to come back too. She answered, “Okay.” Outside the villa, his Rolls-Royce sat idling at the entrance. Two hours ago, that same car had picked up another woman and dropped her off somewhere. Sloane took a deep breath, walked over, opened the door, and got in. The moment she sat down, she caught a faint scent—sweet and young. On the seat beside her sat a pink teddy bear, the kind of plushie a girl would adore. When she lifted her gaze, she noticed a hair tie wrapped around the man’s wrist. A quiet claim. Jaxson must really like that girl. Sloane swallowed the sour ache rising in her chest, sat up straight, and buckled her seatbelt. The driver pulled away smoothly. Sloane stared out the window, silent. Before, every moment alone with him had been something to treasure. She’d inch closer, start conversations over and over, even if he looked down on her. Because she’d foolishly convinced herself they were already husband and wife—that they had a child, that there was a long future ahead. If she became a good wife, a good mother… maybe one day Jaxson would finally turn and see her. But in the end, it had all been lies she told herself. The man didn’t care about her feelings. As always, he was detached, asking in a casual tone, “What’s the baby’s gender?” Sloane answered, “A girl.” Hearing that, nothing shifted in Jaxson’s sharp, handsome features. He only said flatly, “After the baby’s born, we’ll get divorced.” The words landed. Sloane’s fingers tightened. It felt like a hand had clenched around her heart, making it hard to breathe. This marriage was never meant to last. She’d always known. But hearing him say it—now, like this—still cut deeper than she’d expected. She bit her lip and answered, “Okay.” Jaxson turned his head to glance at her, as if surprised she’d agreed so easily. Chapter 2 He Came Home Early But he didn’t dig into it any further. Sloane followed up right away. “Tomorrow’s Monday. Do you have time in the afternoon? Why don’t we go to Civil Council early and get it handled? It shouldn’t matter if we do it two months ahead of time, right?” Even after signing, there was still a one-month cooling-off period. And it wouldn’t be long before she gave birth. Jaxson looked at her. She was too calm, too straightforward. Something like scrutiny flickered in his eyes before he pulled his gaze back. “Whenever I call, that’s the time.” Sloane lowered her eyes and didn’t speak again. The car arrived at the Cole Estate. Wren had called them back because of the baby in Sloane’s belly. The Cole family had more men than women. Wren had two sons. The eldest was Ethan Cole. The younger was Julian Cole. Ethan had two sons. The eldest, Felix Cole, had gotten married a few years ago and had a pair of twin boys. They were five this year. The younger, Miles Cole, was twenty-four and still unmarried. Julian only had one son—Jaxson. So when it turned out Sloane was carrying a girl, both Wren and Noah were overjoyed. “It really is good news. The moment our little sweetheart arrives, the old man’s illness is basically cured.” Seeing how much her mother-in-law valued the baby, Lyra quickly echoed her, then added a couple of nice words to Sloane. Sloane sat quietly to the side, hands folded, her posture obedient. Looking at her—plump, head bowed, meek as could be—Lyra found her hard to stomach. But with Wren right there, she kept it off her face. Wren, however, was in high spirits. She gifted Sloane an expensive emerald bracelet. Sloane blinked, flustered, and immediately tried to refuse, pushing it gently back. Lyra Cole, Jaxson’s mother, spoke up. “If Wren’s giving it to you, take it.” So small-town. So timid. Just like someone who’d never learned how to carry herself in public. Sloane stopped protesting and accepted the bracelet. “Thank you, Grandma.” “Take good care of that baby. Give us a healthy, chubby little one.” Sloane smiled and nodded. She knew Wren’s kindness had nothing to do with her. Originally, she and Jaxson were supposed to stay for dinner. Until Jaxson stepped out to take a call. Through the glass door, she saw something shift in his expression—a softness in his eyes, indulgent, almost tender. It sounded like they’d just gotten a pet. Jaxson murmured the pet’s name. Sweetie. If he married the woman he actually loved, she thought, he’d probably make a good father. “Mm. I’ll be right there.” He hung up. When Jaxson turned and walked back in from the balcony, he found Sloane standing just inside. She flinched, slow to react, lifting her gaze to meet his—only to be met with the cold, distant face of a stranger. Her chest tightened. She managed, “Grandma wants you in the study.” He said nothing. Just walked past her. Sloane stayed where she was, heart clenched in a grip she couldn’t loosen. She didn’t know how long she stood there before she finally came back to herself. Jaxson reached the study. Wren and Noah were both inside. “Jaxson,” Wren began, “Grandma knows you don’t have feelings for Sloane. But the baby’s almost here. And Sloane herself is accomplished—top university, well-educated, gentle. What this marriage needs right now is stability. She’s the most suitable partner for raising children and supporting her husband.” Jaxson said nothing. But the faint furrow in his brow—the tension there—spoke volumes. How could Wren not see it? Sloane really was plain. Standing next to her grandson, they just didn’t look right together. Noah cut in. “Right now, your marriage can’t afford any disruptions. If you truly don’t care for her, as long as she doesn’t do anything reckless, keep things steady for a year or two.” Wren added, “Exactly. Too many people are watching you, waiting for a story. Let her raise the child first. Divorce later—it won’t be too late.” Jaxson was quiet for a long moment. His handsome features revealed nothing. Finally, he said, “Grandpa, Grandma. I understand.” When Sloane saw Wren again later, Wren said simply, “Something came up at Jaxson’s office. He had to leave. I’ll have the driver take you home.” Sloane nodded. “Okay.” Before she left that day, Wren reminded her, “Even though you’re pregnant, you still need to exercise more and take care of yourself. Back when Lyra was pregnant, she still had to accompany her husband to events and manage the household. Some things are easy to get, but holding onto them isn’t easy.” Sloane understood instantly what Wren meant. Being a daughter-in-law in Cole family wasn’t easy. If she wanted to secure her position, she had to change herself. And in her current state, she would only embarrass Jaxson. She had thought about getting better—working out, doing yoga, trying to lose weight. But she lacked the drive to keep going. She grew exhausted in body and mind, and her weight only climbed. But Wren was right. She couldn’t keep sinking like this—though not to secure her place. For her future self. “Grandma, I understand.” Night. What surprised Sloane was that the man who’d brought up divorce that morning actually came home. “You…” “Make me a bowl of chicken soup and bring it to the study.” After that, Jaxson went upstairs to the study. Sloane snapped back to herself, went to the kitchen, cooked a bowl of chicken soup, and delivered it to the study. He was flipping through documents in his hand, his features hard and cold, his whole body giving off a distant, untouchable chill. She didn’t disturb him. She turned and left the study. Even if he came back, they still slept separately. He slept in the master bedroom on the second floor. She slept in the guest room on the first. The next day. Because Jaxson was home, the housekeeper prepared a lavish breakfast. He sat at the main seat and didn’t see Sloane. Usually, when he was home, Sloane not only ironed and prepared the clothes he’d wear the next day, she also made his breakfast herself. She really had been a dutiful, proper wife. But that morning, there were no freshly ironed clothes laid out. And breakfast had been made by the kitchen staff. “Where is she?” Jaxson asked, irritation creeping into his voice. Maren didn’t hesitate to unload her grievances. “I went to wake her first thing, and she just refuses to get out of bed. Every day we have to bring meals to her room. She acts like we don’t exist. Ask her what she wants to eat—she won’t say a word. We’re not mind readers. She’s just pregnant, that’s all. When Mrs. Cole was expecting you, Sir, she still serve Mr. Cole well. But this one? She acts like she’s checked into a resort.” Jaxson’s brow tightened. “Go wake her up.” “Yes, sir.” Sloane had actually been awake for a while. She was just waiting for Jaxson to leave. Then the door swung open, and Maren walked in without knocking. Spotting Sloane already seated on the sofa, she let out a sneer thick with contempt. “Oh, look at that. The Young Madam, waiting to be invited out of bed.” Sloane lifted her gaze, her voice cool. “I’m not. Are you?” For months, Sloane had kept her head down, never once talked back. Maren hadn’t expected that. “If you keep forgetting your place, don’t blame me if I tell Wren exactly how you’ve been carrying on.” She was getting divorced anyway. What did she have to lose? With two months left, why keep swallowing insults? Maren’s eyes went wide. “You—” Just yesterday, Lyra had called and told them to take good care of her. Even if it was a girl, this would be the only daughter of the Cole family’s third generation. Sloane was lucky—carrying a girl meant Wren had taken notice. Maren choked back her anger. “The Sir’s waiting for you in the dining room.” Sloane was surprised. She made her way to the dining room. Jaxson was already eating. He glanced up as she entered. She wore a white knit tunic, the fabric stretched out of shape by her swollen body. Her steps were unsteady, her pace slow, her belly so heavy she looked like she’d carried multiple children before. Sloane felt his eyes on her and consciously sat far from him. Then she heard his flat, cool voice. “Maren and the others have been with the Cole family for decades. You can’t expect them to cater to you in everything. You’re only pregnant. It’s not like you can’t move.” Only pregnant? Yeah. To him, this accidental child probably meant nothing at all. This sudden scolding of his had to be because Maren had been running her mouth to him. And it wasn’t the first time. Sloane stirred the porridge in her bowl, her voice even. “If they resent having to look after me, then send them back to the main house. I can manage on my own.” After all, she cooked for herself, washed her own clothes, cleaned her own room. The staff only bothered putting on a show when Jaxson was around. Jaxson’s brows drew together. Sloane recognized that expression—it was his tell. Displeasure. In work and in life, Jaxson was relentlessly controlling. He didn’t tolerate being contradicted. “I’m telling you. I’m not asking for your input.” Sloane lowered her head and fell silent. Jaxson looked at her—that flat, hollow expression—and his jaw tightened. He turned to Maren and the others and told them that from now on, she could handle her own affairs. They didn’t need to wait on her. Sloane’s fingers tightened around her fork. Breakfast ended. Jaxson left. Sloane went to Silverlake University. She arrived at Leo’s office. Behind the desk sat a young man in a tailored suit. His nose was sharp and straight, rimless glasses resting on its bridge, his bearing composed and deliberate. Leo was only twenty-nine—the youngest full professor in Silverlake University’s Finance Department, a near-legendary figure whose name carried weight throughout the financial world. Sloane raised her hand and knocked. Chapter 3 Not a Good Match When Leo looked up and saw the woman standing in the doorway, he froze for a beat. He didn’t recognize her at first—until she spoke. “Professor Grant.” Leo smoothed his expression without a trace and said, “You’re here.” Sloane took off her mask and walked into the office. “Professor Grant. Long time no see.” Leo smiled gently. “Long time no see. I almost didn’t recognize you.” Sloane hooked her lips in self-mockery. “With how I look now, I almost didn’t have the nerve to come see you.” Leo stood and came around from behind the desk. “It’s normal for your figure to change during pregnancy. Once you have the baby, it’ll get better.” “Sit.” Sloane sat on the sofa. Leo poured her a cup of warm water. “Warm up.” Sloane took it. “Thank you.” Leo glanced at her swollen belly. “How many months?” “Twenty-five weeks,” Sloane said. Leo said, “Then when school starts at the end of January next year, you’ll be right at your due date.” Sloane pleaded, “I want to ask you for help, Professor. Can I delay enrollment?” Having a baby was unavoidable, but she really didn’t want to miss this chance. Leo’s face turned serious. “Why do you want to go?” Sloane lowered her eyes. “After the baby is born, Jaxson is planning to divorce me. I don’t want to keep this twisted connection going either. I want to start over and live my own life.” Six months wasn’t long. It wasn’t short. But for her, it felt as long as an entire lifetime. Leo couldn’t help frowning. The sunny, lovable girl from back then had changed beyond recognition in such a short time. You could imagine what kind of torment—body and soul—she’d been through. “I’m relieved you’ve thought it through and decided to pull yourself together,” he said. “You and Jaxson really aren’t a good match. From now on, you’ll definitely meet someone who truly loves you.” Sloane kept her eyes lowered and nodded. Back then, Leo had opposed her going to Jaxson’s side as his assistant. But she insisted. In the end, she crashed headfirst until she was bleeding. She suddenly asked, “In your eyes, Professor Grant, what kind of person is Jaxson, really?” Leo fell silent for a moment, then said slowly, “Someone who will do anything to reach his goals. Profit above everything else. He probably won’t have love.” “Is that so?” Yet the tenderness he showed that girl couldn’t be fake. Maybe only someone who loved to the point of ruin would lower himself like that. Only a beautiful, stunning woman was worthy of him. Sloane didn’t ask anything else. “Since you’ve decided,” Leo said, “when the time comes, I can help you apply to delay enrollment.” “Thank you, Professor.” Leo had her fill out an application form. Sloane finished filling it out. “After the baby is born, will you leave her with the Cole family?” Leo suddenly asked. Sloane tugged her lips helplessly. Even if she wanted to take the child, it would be impossible. She could only be the one who let this child down. “The Cole family should take good care of her.” Leo didn’t press further. “I happen to need an assistant. Just for a month. Want to try?” Sloane agreed without hesitation. “Okay.” Ever since she got pregnant, Jaxson’s side had transferred her to an insignificant position in the secretarial office. Overnight, she fell from CEO assistant to a nobody, and all her effort turned to foam. She really did need a new job to distract herself, to make her life move again. It would also be the perfect way to prepare in advance for further study later. And she’d taken the day off anyway. Sloane stayed on and began working as the professor's assistant. She had been Leo's student originally, and after those months of intense, high-pressure work at Jaxson's side—even though she'd spent the last few months in a fog—she still picked things up quickly. Handling the tasks came easily. For the first time in a while, Sloane felt a flicker of clarity, like she'd found herself again—found the real value of her own existence. Just like Leo always said, she was meant to thrive in a professional setting. Love was never supposed to be the only thing in life. That night. Jaxson didn't come home. Same as always—he only showed up once in a while. Only this time, she didn't care anymore. The next day. She drafted her resignation letter ahead of time. Jaxson oversaw the Cole Group's financial sector, including its banks and investment funds. In an industry soaked in betrayal and cutthroat ambition, where reputation and wealth were everything, the fact that he'd inherited the Cole family's core enterprises—and kept acquiring and expanding without pause—proved not only that he had an exceptional mind and ruthless instincts, but that he also possessed a cold, unyielding heart. Sloane arrived at the office and happened to see Jaxson stepping out of his car. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a sharp suit—devastatingly handsome, commanding. Wealth and status only sharpened his appeal, giving him a mature, almost magnetic presence. "Mr. Cole." Employees lowered their heads in respect as he passed. Sloane snapped out of it and quickly dipped her head too, stepping back a pace. The man walked past as if she weren't there and strode into the building. Sloane handed her resignation letter to Thea. Thea was Jaxson's secretary. She used to be Sloane's subordinate. Funny how things turned out. Now Sloane reported to her. When Sloane had been abruptly demoted, the whole department had been stunned. Right after college, she'd been made the CEO's assistant. That role demanded more than competence—appearance mattered too. And Sloane, whether in looks or figure, was unremarkable. Yet she'd still been chosen, which said something about her ability. The CEO, notoriously hard to please, had even praised her more than once. But Thea knew the real story. Sloane was just a frog dreaming of swan meat—trying to sleep her way up. No matter how capable, she still wasn't decent. That was exactly why. Mr. Cole despised her down to his bones. Thea glanced at the resignation letter, her eyes flicking over Sloane's pregnant belly. Her lips curled. "People should learn their place. Take a good look in the mirror. Don't think carrying a baby buys you a ticket up. Do you even know what kind of family the Coles are? What kind of standing you have?" The fact that she and Jaxson were already legally married—no one in the company knew. Chapter 4 I Don’t Want to Hear Your Excuses “Have the financial report analysis for Vegas Partners done before lunch break ends.” Sloane went back to her desk. Even though she’d been transferred to the secretary department as nothing more than a low-level clerk, Thea still dumped a pile of work on her—tasks that were never supposed to be hers. And Sloane accepted every single one. She stayed at the company like this, working herself to the bone, but it was just her own self-deception. Jaxson was never going to spare her a second glance. After finishing the report analysis, Sloane handed both the electronic file and the printed copy to Thea, then ordered delivery. The company had a cafeteria, but she always brought her own lunch. She didn’t want to go somewhere crowded. She didn’t want people’s eyes weighing her up and down. She didn’t want to socialize. She only wanted to be alone, quiet, and undisturbed. But she hadn’t prepared lunch this morning, so she made do with delivery. While she waited. A couple coworkers returned to the office after eating, walking in while chatting excitedly. “Mr. Cole’s girlfriend is so young—she’s still at college, right?” “Probably. She’s seriously gorgeous, like a doll.” “And the way the CEO looked at her—so soft it was practically dripping. Who knew someone as stern as him could be that devoted? It’s literally the real-life romantic novels!” The two of them talked as they came in, then noticed Sloane at her workstation, sitting there like a stone statue. Ever since she’d been transferred to the secretary office, she barely spoke to anyone outside of work. Lately she’d gotten more and more withdrawn, wearing a mask all day like she couldn’t show her face. It was hard to imagine that just over half a year ago, she’d been the CEO’s glorious, untouchable assistant. After getting the delivery driver’s call, Sloane stood up. When she went downstairs to pick up her food. She happened to run into two hotel staff carrying boxed dishes, asking the front desk for directions. The receptionist swiped a card for the CEO’s private elevator. Sloane saw the bottle of red wine in one staff member’s hand. Just that single bottle cost around two million dollars. Two million—pocket change to Jaxson, money he could earn in less than a minute. She carried her delivered braised pork rice back upstairs. At two in the afternoon. Thea came to her and said, “Mr. Cole wants to see you.” Sloane’s heart jumped. A vague, terrible premonition rose in her chest. And sure enough. The moment Sloane stepped into the CEO's office, the weight of the room pressed down on her like a physical force. She walked to the desk and said, "Mr. Cole." When Jaxson looked up, his handsome face was cold and hard. Without a word, he hurled a file folder at her. It struck her square in the face. The sharp edge of the paper sliced across her cheek. A sting flared instantly. She stared at the documents scattered at her feet—her report from this morning. One hand braced against her stomach as she bent down awkwardly to gather them. The man's dark eyes tracked the way she held her belly, the slow, careful way she crouched. Sloane scanned the report in her hands and spotted several incorrect figures immediately. She said, "Mr. Cole, this isn't the report I wrote." "Enough. I don't want to hear excuses." Sloane's grip tightened on the papers until her knuckles went white. Jaxson knew her capabilities. He wasn't refusing to listen—he was choosing to believe she'd failed. To be hated this much by the man she loved... she was pathetic. A joke. She drew a slow breath, closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them and forced the words out. "I kept a backup. I can send it to you now. After you've seen it, you can tear into me then. It won't be too late." Jaxson's eyes narrowed. Displeasure flickered openly across his face. Sloane's nerves pulled taut. Deep down, she was afraid of Jaxson—the kind of fear you have for someone with power, especially when his expression went cold. She almost never dared to contradict him. But now she forced herself to stay steady. They were getting divorced anyway. She'd give him what he wanted. After this, she'd never set foot here again. She'd stopped hoping for anything from him. So what was there to be afraid of? "You think you've been wronged?" His voice was ice, edged with mockery. Sloane met those sharp, black eyes. Her nails pressed into her palms as her voice came out heavier. "You didn't even ask what happened before you blamed me. Don't I deserve to defend myself?" Jaxson's expression turned arctic. "Then that's something you deserve." A violent pain ripped through Sloane's chest. The color drained from her face. Then. The lounge door opened. A young girl stepped out in a pink satin slip dress. Her long black hair gleamed, her skin almost luminous, her features so delicate they were impossible to look away from. “Jaxson!” Her voice was like a gentle spring rain—soft, warm, and tender. Sloane finally saw the girl’s face clearly. She really was stunning enough to make anyone feel inferior. Sloane only looked once before the man barked harshly, “Get out!” Sloane pulled her gaze back, swallowed the surge of emotion, turned around, and walked out. The moment she left the office. She heard the girl soothing him gently, and the man quickly calmed down. Sloane lifted her chin, forcing the tears in her eyes back down. She went to the deserted stairwell corner. One hand held the railing. Her emotions finally snapped, and tears fell in a steady stream. The pain in her heart twisted so hard her stomach churned. To rip an eight-year love out of her heart completely was no different from carving bone and stripping flesh. But it was fine. Everything would get better. She would forget him completely. She didn’t know how long passed. When she finally calmed down and went back upstairs toward her workstation, she ran into the girl walking toward her. The girl was dressed head to toe in custom designer brands, exquisite from hair to heels—clearly someone raised in luxury and spoiled with love. Adrian escorted her personally. He was Jaxson’s special assistant. Seeing Sloane, the girl smiled and walked over, stopping in front of her. In a gentle voice, she said, “It’s okay now. Jaxson won’t blame you anymore.” As she spoke. She reached into her bag, took out a pearl, then took Sloane’s hand and placed it in her palm. “This is for you. Don’t be sad. And remember to treat the cut on your face. It won’t look good if a girl has a scar on her face.” What a beautiful, kind girl. Compared to someone glowing with youth like her, Sloane felt like a clown living in a dark world. When Sloane didn’t respond at all. Adrian frowned and reminded her coldly, “Aren’t you going to thank Miss Reed?” So her last name was Reed. Liora Reed withdrew her hand. “It’s fine. Let’s go.” The two of them left. Sloane stood where she was, staring at the silver-blue Australian white pearl in her palm—flawless, as pure as that girl. She just didn’t know whether Miss Reed understood the fact that Jaxson was already married. Back at her desk. She printed the original document again and delivered it to Thea. When Thea saw her, there wasn’t a trace of shame on her face—only smug satisfaction. “Did you see it clearly? That’s what a girl who’s worthy of the CEO looks like.” Sloane slammed the materials down in front of her. “So I’m not worthy—and you’re not either. You can only pull trashy little tricks like this. You’ll never have a future in your life. You’re already in your thirties—hurry up and find someone to marry. Stop day dreaming.” Chapter 5 Look Similar Thea’s face changed in an instant. She slammed her palm on the desk and shot to her feet. “Sloane!” Sloane couldn’t be bothered to respond. She turned and walked away. Back at her workstation. Sloane pulled out a small mirror and looked at the faint blood mark on one side of her cheek. It wasn’t deep. She wiped it once with a damp tissue. No need to do anything else. With a face like hers now, what did one more scar matter? And then she thought of that girl again. Somehow, she looked familiar. Near the end of the workday. Sloane got a call from her dad. Ezra was back, and he wanted her home for dinner. Sloane brightened. “Ezra is back? Didn’t you say he’d be home on the fifteenth?” Her father said, “He wrapped up work and came back early.” “Okay. I’ll come home as soon as I get off.” Sloane drove back to the Powell family house. Their place was in a mid-range complex in the west side of the city, a spacious secondhand condo they’d bought earlier this year. Her father ran a mid-sized real estate company. They weren’t some elite dynasty, but they’d always lived comfortably, so Sloane had grown up in a well-off life. But the market had turned cold. More than half a year ago, a failed investment blew a hole through the company’s finances, pushing it to the edge of bankruptcy. When her father found out she was pregnant with Jaxson’s child, he hadn’t forced her to march up to the Cole family and demand an answer. Watching her father grow older and more worn by the day—so desperate he was already selling off assets just to pay debts—Sloane finally made her choice and went to the Cole family. Back then, she’d had her own selfish reasons. It wasn’t only for her father. It was for herself, too. She did get what she wanted. The Powell family cleared the debt because of a huge bride price from the Cole family. But she’d paid the price she was supposed to pay. So the pain she suffered now… it was all her own doing. She couldn’t blame anyone else. Back at the Powell House. Nora came out of the kitchen. “Sloane, you’re back.” When Sloane was nine, her mother divorced her father. Her mother took her brother and left Sloane behind. Later, Nora met her father, but the two of them never got a marriage license. They lived together like partners. At first, Sloane didn’t accept her—she even hated her. But little by little, she felt Nora’s kindness. And Ezra treated her so well. After losing her brother, she’d gained a new one. “Aunt Nora, where are my dad and them?” “They should be on the way. They’ll be back soon. Go rest for a bit first.” “Okay.” Sloane went back to her room. Even though she was married, her father had always kept a bedroom for her, renovated in the style she liked. Back in a place that belonged to her, all the exhaustion and bitterness inside her vanished in a single breath. She sat on the edge of the bed and saw the photo album on the nightstand. She reached for it and opened it. The very first photo was a torn family portrait. The picture was old. She had been eight that year. Her young, handsome father held her in his arms. Beside him stood her brother—he’d been fourteen. On the other side was her mother. She was the one who had ripped the photo. Because she’d hated her mother for taking her brother and abandoning her and her dad. Time had passed, and now that ripping, splitting pain no longer existed the way it used to. She turned to the next page. In the photo, a teenage girl looked bright and beautiful. She wore a long white dress and a light-brown woven little square cap, standing beneath golden ginkgo trees. The sunlight fell perfectly over the girl’s radiant smile. Long black hair. A small oval face. Features that were vivid and striking, moonlit and mesmerizing. Especially those eyes—sparkling like stars in the sky. But later, she’d gotten seriously ill and had to take steroid medication. Her body slowly gained weight. No matter how she tried to lose it, nothing worked. She could only rely on starvation and exercise to keep herself from getting even bigger. All at once, Sloane thought of the girl from today. Her features looked somewhat like the girl in this photo—especially those eyes. Chapter 6 Far Out of Her League Knock, knock, knock. "Sloane, your dad and brother are back," Nora called through the door after knocking. Sloane didn't think much of it. She set the photo album down, got up, and walked out. The moment she saw the two men coming in, her face lit up. "Dad, Ezra." Ezra and Silas Powell both looked at her. "Sloane, I brought you something. Come see if you like it," Ezra said, motioning her over. Sloane hurried toward him, delighted. "What is it?" Ezra carried in several bags and set them on the coffee table. Then he pulled out a designer jewelry box and handed it to her. "Open it." Sloane took it happily. Inside lay a beautifully crafted gold bracelet. "Thank you, Ezra. I love it." "Glad you like it." Ezra reached out and ruffled Sloane's hair with easy affection. He'd also bought Nora a different gold bracelet that suited her, along with skincare sets for both women. For Silas, he brought tea and liquor, plus local specialties. The atmosphere was warm, easy—the way home should feel. Only here did Sloane feel like she could finally breathe. "Sloane, when are you due?" Ezra asked, concern creeping into his voice. Her belly really did look like someone else's late-term pregnancy. "Two more months," Sloane answered. "Sloane must be carrying a girl," Nora said with a smile. Sloane nodded. "It is a girl." "You checked?" Silas asked. Nora seemed to catch something and tensed up alongside him. "Yeah. But Wren cares a lot about this baby," Sloane said. Silas finally let out a breath. "Good. As long as there's a child, you and Jaxson will slowly work things out down the road." Sloane lowered her eyes. Her chest tightened, heavy and aching, and for a moment she didn't know how to respond. Jaxson had already brought up divorce. But she couldn't hide it forever. And she'd already decided to move out of Emerald Bay Mansion and come home. Forget it. She'd tell them after dinner. Nora prepared an elaborate meal. Ezra had partnered with a friend to start a tech company. Two years ago, when the business was just getting off the ground, Silas hadn't hesitated—he'd given Ezra startup capital. The company was doing extremely well now, focusing mainly on AI. This trip had been for a partnership deal, and it had gone smoothly. Silas, meanwhile, was in the process of selling off his own company. Before, thanks to the bride price from the Cole family, the company had managed to stay afloat. But the economy was struggling now, and pivoting had proven nearly impossible. The business simply couldn't survive. He was getting older, with far less energy than before. He believed strongly in Ezra's company. Ezra's company would enter its financing stage by the end of the year, so it was the perfect time to sell his own business and invest everything into Ezra's. Then he shared another piece of good news: Silas was going to officially get the marriage license with Nora. Nora's eyes immediately welled up. Years of standing by his side had finally led to this. Sloane had no objections. She knew her father had held back all these years because, deep down, he still missed her mother. She'd never understood why her mother had divorced and left a man as good as him. But now it didn't matter. On a day like this— She couldn't bear to ruin the mood. But in the end, she still said it. “Dad. Aunt Nora. Ezra.” She forced the words out. “Jaxson is planning to divorce me.” The moment it left her mouth, the dining room went dead silent. Everyone’s expression turned heavy, especially Silas. He lowered his head, his face tight. The result wasn’t exactly a shock. Only the speed of it was. The Powell family and the Cole family had become in-laws, but there had been no wedding—just a marriage certificate. In the past six months, the two families had had no contact at all. Jaxson had never once stepped into the Powell family home. No matter the holidays, the Cole side never sent gifts. Every time Sloane came home alone, Silas and Nora would prepare holiday gifts and have her deliver them to the Cole family. When she brought them over, Wren would accept them politely, but Sloane knew she handed them straight to the staff at Cole Estate. Lyra, on the other hand, had a servant throw them directly into the trash right in front of Sloane, telling her not to let her family send that kind of low-class junk again. Jaxson only reminded her not to do something so pointless. In a marriage that unequal, going their separate ways had always been a matter of time. Sloane pressed her lips together and continued, “But we’ll wait until after the baby is born. And I already agreed to Professor Grant—I’m going to Stanford University for advanced study next February.” Ezra was the first to break the suffocating silence. “Going for advanced study is good. Sloane, you’re so outstanding. You shouldn’t be trapped in a marriage. No matter what you decide, I’m backing you.” Sloane smiled and nodded. “Thanks, Ezra.” Silas sighed—a sigh full of endless helplessness and guilt. “Then divorce. It’s all Dad’s fault. People like us… ordinary folks… we really can’t reach a family like the Coles.” Sloane’s eyes burned red. All the pain she’d endured lately suddenly felt small compared to this. She had her family. They were her shield, her support. With them behind her, there was no hurdle she couldn’t get over. Seeing her like that, Nora quickly grabbed a tissue and wiped at Sloane’s reddened eyes, soothing her. In the end, the family still finished this dinner with smiles. At the same time. In the southern suburbs, at Cloud Peak One—an area that had existed for over twenty years, an old-money neighborhood with aging infrastructure. A Bentley slowly stopped at the gate of Villa 12. This villa was the one the Powell family had sold. The car window slid down, revealing a handsome, flawless profile. He looked into the villa. Inside, the lights were blazing. Warm yellow streetlight fell into his eyes, unable to hide the complexity and loneliness there. He pulled his gaze back and lit a cigarette. Then his phone vibrated. He picked up and answered, his voice gentle. “What’s wrong, Liora?” Liora’s sweetly complaining voice came through. “Declan, when are you getting here? I’m starving. And Jaxson won’t even let me eat first.” Right after that, a low, indulgent male voice sounded on the other end. “Who was it that told me to remind her to watch her mouth? Now she’s blaming me?” Liora huffed. “If you’re hungry, eat first. I’ll be there soon,” he said. He hung up. Declan stubbed out the cigarette. Then, one last time, he looked out the window. He raised the window and drove away from the villa.

Chapter 1 Isabella’s POV The day I buried my father, my husband didn’t show up for the funeral. My phone buzzed. It was a message from Bianca — my stepsister, who also hadn’t come. I opened it. The screen showed a photo of Marcus, my husband, kissing her stomach tenderly. It was tagged: Guess who’s finally going to be a father. My hands shook. No. It couldn’t be real. My vision blurred with tears as I stared hard at the picture, praying with everything in me that it was fake, that it was some sort of sick joke. But it wasn't. The next picture she sent was enough to shatter my world. It was a picture of Bianca taking a mirror selfie in the master's bedroom I shared with Marcus. She was wearing my robe, while Marcus was asleep in the background on the master's bed. I couldn’t breathe. So it was true. My husband had impregnated my stepsister. Tears ran down my face as I sobbed. My chest hurt from the pain of the betrayal. My husband. My stepsister. My knees gave out, and I collapsed in front of my father’s grave. The dirt was still fresh. My tears soaked into it as I broke down completely. It felt like my heart was being torn from my chest as I sobbed hard. I should have known, I had seen how close they had been getting, the secret glances and conversations, but I had refused to believe that I could ever be betrayed by the two people I trusted the most. I felt so betrayed and humiliated. Then my phone buzzed again. It was Marcus this time -I'm sorry I couldn't make it to the funeral. A very important issue came up. We need to talk.- I stared at the screen, the tears flowing freely now. I already knew what he wanted. That night, Marcus arrived with Bianca and her bags. “Bianca needs a place to stay,” he said softly, as if gentleness could erase what he had done. “With her pregnancy, it’s not safe for her to be alone.” Bianca smiled a saccharine, mocking smile. “I’m sorry, Isabella. I begged Marcus to wait… but the baby’s health comes first. I hope you understand, I’m sorry for intruding on the day of our father’s funeral” I didn't say anything, I just stared blankly at the floor as I listened to the both of them. Marcus pressed on, “Bianca is your sister, Isabella, your own flesh and blood. You wouldn’t want anything to happen to her, would you?” I ignored him, fighting back my tears. I wanted to scream, to throw something, to make him hurt the way I was hurting. But I just stared at the floor, numb and broken. He sighed. “Look, I’m sorry for what happened between us. But I love you. Only you.” His words cut deeper than any knife. “What happened with Bianca was a mistake. It won’t happen again.” I stared. “She’s pregnant. And you say this is a mistake?” He nodded. “Yes. And the best part is that we made an agreement. When she gives birth, the baby will be yours. Since you can’t have children, Bella.” Those words stabbed me: You can’t have children. “You always wanted a baby,” he said, trying to soften it. “This is the universe fixing things for us.” I glared at him with disbelief as fury burned with me. “Are you serious? You slept with my step sister and you expect me to just accept this?” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t be dramatic. I know it was wrong. But now, we can finally have a child. I can be a father.” Bianca began to fake sob, “Oh no, Marcus. Look at what I’ve done. I’m causing trouble between you two.” “Oh, stop your act!” I snapped. She flinched, sobbing harder. “I should go.” Marcus turned to me, his eyes flashed with anger. “Look at what you’re causing. I don’t want Bianca stressed during her pregnancy. Why do you have to be so bitter? No wonder you’re barren!” His cruel words hit me hard. I could barely breathe. He caught the hurt on my face and tried to soften it, “I didn’t mean it like that. I just don’t want the baby to be harmed.” I rose slowly, my voice shook, but it was firm. “Marcus, I want a divorce.” His face turned pale. “What?” Bianca smirked behind him, but I didn’t care. “I said, I want a divorce.” “Isabella, no. We’re family,” Bianca said, voice dripping with fake sympathy. Marcus stared at me, disbelief clear. “You don’t mean it.” “I do.” He scoffed. “Because of this? Because I made a mistake?” “A mistake?” I laughed bitterly. “You call cheating on me with my step sister a mistake?” He stepped closer, cold now. “You always overreact. That’s why I stopped talking to you. Everything turns into drama.” I clenched my fists, rage burning. “You got her pregnant, moved her into our house on the day my father died, and I’m overreacting?” Marcus scoffed at me. “You’re lucky anyone would want you, considering you’re barren.” Bianca sobbed fake tears. “Please, Marcus. Don’t fight because of me.” “Then leave,” I snapped at her. Marcus growled, pointing at me. “Watch your mouth. She’s pregnant. You have no right to stress her.” “She has no right to be here,” I said coldly. His eyes narrowed, venom sharp. “I see why you can’t have a child. Your heart’s dark and evil.” My heart shattered, but I refused to break. “I’m done with you, Marcus. Goodbye.” “Oh, please,” he sneered. “You think you can walk away? You have nothing. No money, no children, no one.” His words stabbed, but I kept moving toward the stairs. “Where do you think you’re going?” he barked. “To pack.” “You’re not leaving. You’re still my wife.” “Not for long. I’ll send divorce papers.” He stepped forward, voice calm but deadly. “I am Marcus Pierce. The day you signed those papers, you belonged to me. If you walk out, I’ll find you. I’ll drag you back. I’ll burn your precious orphanage to the ground.” My lips trembled. The orphanage was the last tie to my father. It was everything I had left. “Why are you doing this?” I whispered through tears. “You brought this on yourself,” Marcus said, jaw clenched. I broke down again. “You won’t even let me grieve for my father. You humiliate me, bring her here, and now you won’t let me go? What more do you want?” His eyes softened, voice almost gentle. “Isabella, Bianca’s baby will be ours. Why can’t you be happy?” Something inside me shifted. I wiped my tears. Bianca’s eyes gleamed with triumph. That was the nail that sealed the coffin shut. Marcus wanted to ruin me, but I would ruin him first. “I overreacted,” I said quietly. “I’ll stay… for now. Give me time.” He smiled and kissed my forehead. That night, I cried my heart out. I lay curled on the cold floor of the guest room sobbing quietly, while Marcus tended to my stepsister in the master bedroom. My chest ached. The tears kept falling. I grieved for my father, I grieved for my ruined marriage, and I grieved for myself. And when there were no more tears left to cry, I picked up the phone, and I called the one person who hated Marcus more than I did. The one person that Marcus feared the most. His older brother, Alexander Pierce. Chapter 2 Isabella’s POV Alexander picked almost immediately. “Bella,” he drawled coldly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” A chill ran down my spine at the intensity in that voice, and I tightened my grip on the phone slightly. “I want to ruin Marcus, and I need your help.” There was a pause, then he released a low, dark chuckle. “Finally. I thought you would never ask.” Alexander didn’t waste time. “Tell me everything.” I spilled the truth, from Marcus’s betrayal, to Bianca moving in, to his cruel threats. He listened silently, and when I was done, he asked. “When do you want him to fall?” he asked. “Yesterday.” I replied seriously. He laughed. “Perfect. Marcus won’t know what hit him.” Hope rose up within me for the first time since the funeral. “We’ll keep in touch, and I’ll let you know when things are in order,” Alexander promised, then he paused. “But I have one condition.” He said. My heart pounded in my chest. I was already dreading whatever it was. “What is it?” I asked. “Marry me,” he replied My heart skipped a beat. ~ I didn’t sleep that night. Alexander’s proposal echoed in my head over and over. He had asked me to think about it, and get back with a response. He swore that immediately I gave him a response, he would come for me. I wasn’t ready to answer him, because I was so confused. Alexander was offering protection from Marcus, and lots of power, but what was the cost? And then, this morning, suddenly everything changed. My hands shook as I stared at the pregnancy report before me. It was positive. I was pregnant. I laughed bitterly as tears welled up in my eyes. I had given up hope a long time ago, and I had accepted the insults thrown to me—that I was barren, useless, unworthy. And now, I was pregnant. And it was too late because Marcus had already cheated on me and had shown me who he really was. My heart pounded as I clutched the report tighter. My phone buzzed. It was a message from Alexander: “Everything is set. You have three days to decide.” My heart raced as I stared at the message. I couldn't bring a child into a callous world of lies, betrayal and bitterness. It would be cruel of me. Tears blurred my vision as I shakily picked up my phone. My fingers trembled as I dialed the number of the hospital. The line clicked, and a calm voice answered, “Good afternoon, Preston Hospital. How may I assist you?” “I... I need to schedule an abortion,” I said, my voice shook as I spoke. There was a pause, then the voice replied calmly, “Can you make it to the clinic tomorrow?” My heart clenched. The sooner the better. “Yes, I can.” I whispered, my voice broke as the tears ran down my face. As I hung up, a cold numbness settled within me. I was going to get rid of a part of myself, a part that I had prayed and begged for. My mind flashed back to the accident that had rendered me barren six years ago. Marcus had been upset about a business deal that didn't go well. He was drunk, and he insisted on driving, no matter how much I begged him. I remembered the way the second car had come out of nowhere. The screeching tires. The loud crash, lots of blood, and then darkness. I woke up two days later in a hospital bed in severe pain to receive the news that the damage from the accident was too much, so I wouldn't be able to conceive again. I cried for days until my throat and eyes hurt. Through it all, Marcus had been there, stroking my hair, kissing my forehead, whispering, “I’m so sorry, baby. I swear, I’ll make this right. I’ll never leave you.” He had held me like I was a fragile gem, like I was the most precious thing in his world. And I had believed him, I had forgiven him, because love made me stupid. A bitter smile crossed my lips. Now, I was paying the price. “Well, well. Look who it is!” an annoyingly familiar voice drawled. I clenched my jaw. “I’m not in the mood, Bianca.” Bianca walked into the living room like she owned the place. She looked at me, wrinkling her nose. “Ugh. You look like hell,” she said with a mocking smirk as she sat on the chair opposite me. “Rough day?” I said nothing, but my fingers gripped the edge of the table tightly. “You look like someone going through a lot of shit right now.” She continued, her eyes shone with mockery. I forced myself to stay calm, breathing deeply. “Is there a reason you’re here, Bianca?” She smirked, “What? Can't I cheer my sister up?” My heart pounded in my chest, and I glared at her. “After sleeping with your sister’s husband, no, you cannot.” “Oh, please,” Bianca giggled, waving her hand. “You were always too boring for Marcus. He needed someone who could keep up. You should see the kind of things I did to him in the room.” I gritted my teeth as rage burned within me, but I didn't let it show. I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of giving her a reaction. Her smirk faltered slightly when she didn't get a reaction from me. The sound of a car pulling into the driveway let me know that Marcus was home. I didn't want to talk or see him, so I stood up to leave. “No, no, where are you going? Won't you welcome your husband, sister?” Bianca taunted. I ignored her, making my way to the guest room to lock myself there. My hands trembled, my chest ached, and my eyes burned from holding in the tears. I laid down releasing a shaky breath as I closed my eyes. I just needed to bear all these for three days more, and I would be free. Suddenly, the door burst open with a loud crash. My eyes flew open, and I jumped to my feet in shock. Marcus stormed into the room with his eyes blazing in fury. I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion. “What the hell are you—?” Before I could say a word, he slapped me hard across the face. Chapter 3 Isabella's POV The force of his slap threw me to the floor, and I released a cry of pain and shock as my vision turned black for a moment. Pain exploded through my face as I hit the floor. I lay there frozen, too shocked to even move. What just happened? Why? My mind scrambled for answers, but nothing made sense. Why had Marcus hit me? He had never done that before. I blinked rapidly, trying to clear the dizziness. My hands trembled as I pushed myself up from the floor. I noticed Bianca standing behind the furious Marcus, with her arms folded across her chest, and tears running down her face. “What the hell is going on?” I croaked, my voice shook as tears welled up in my eyes. Marcus towered over me, breathing heavily in anger. “You hit her, Isabella? You hit the woman carrying my child? Is that how bitter you have become?” “What?” I whispered, still struggling to process his words. “I—what are you talking about?” “She came to talk to you, and you attacked her? Your infertility is causing you to become deranged!” he yelled, his eyes blazed with fury. Bianca sobbed as she stepped forward. “I... I just wanted to check on her. I brought her some tea,” she said softly. “She started screaming. I tried to calm her down, but she... she started hitting me. She said I was ruining her life, that I deserved to die.” Her voice broke, then she continued while I gaped at her. “I didn’t want to tell you, Marcus, but she really scared me. I thought she would kill me.” My heart nearly stopped. She was lying boldly and shamelessly. I shook my head slowly, still on the floor. “You lying snake,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I never touched you.” Bianca’s lips shook, and she looked away, looking like the perfect victim. Marcus didn’t even hesitate. “Get out,” he growled at me. “Get out of my sight before I do something worse to you.” I stared up at him with tears burning in my eyes, not just from pain, but from disbelief that he had really done this because of her. “You believe her?” I whispered. “Do you think I would ever do such a thing?” His eyes wavered for a moment, before they hardened. “You’re unstable, Isabella. I don’t even know who you are anymore. Jealousy is turning you into something else.” A bitter laugh escaped my mouth. “I have nothing to be jealous of.” I spat. I could taste blood on my lips. The force of his slap had split my lip. I wiped it with the back of my hand, ignoring the sting. For a brief second, Marcus’s gaze dropped to my bleeding lip, and he clenched his jaw. His expression softened, and he stepped forward. “Isa—” But before he could finish, Bianca whimpered from behind him. “My head hurts, Marcus,” she said, her voice soft and fragile. “She hit me so hard. I just… I didn’t expect her to snap like that.” Marcus turned to her instantly, forgetting all about me, like I never existed. He wrapped a protective arm around Bianca, who leaned into him like she was a fragile glass doll. Tears stung my eyes, but I refused to let them drop. I was done shedding tears because of them. Bianca glanced back at me with a mocking smirk on her lips, and triumph gleaming in her eyes, but I brushed it off. Three more days. Just three more days, and I would be gone. ~ The next morning, I left the house early to go to the clinic for the abortion. My chest tightened, and my heart ached as I waited to be attended to. My hands shook as I slowly placed a hand on my stomach. It was flat. There were no changes, but something precious was within. Something I had once thought I could never have. A baby. Tears welled in my eyes again, but I blinked them away. I had made a logical decision. It was a necessary one. A nurse called my name, and I rose to my feet slowly as my heart pounded in my chest. I was led into a private room where the doctor turned to face me. The moment he saw me, his brows lifted in surprise. “Mrs. Pierce?” he said in obvious surprise. He had been the doctor who had declared me barren after the accident six years ago. I gave him a weak smile. He glanced down at the file in his hand, then back up at me. “Are you… sure about this?” I didn’t respond. My throat had closed up. He sighed softly and walked over, his voice gentle. “Mrs. Pierce, I need you to understand how rare, and miraculous this pregnancy is.” he paused. “If you go through with this, you will never get another chance. Ever.” Chapter 4 Isabella’s POV His words struck something deep in me, and my heart pounded faster in my chest. I placed my hand on my stomach again. I thought about the long, lonely nights that I had cried, praying for a miracle. I remembered the ache every time someone announced a pregnancy. And now, that my prayers were finally answered, I was about to throw it away because of Marcus, and his betrayal. This time, I couldn’t control myself, I burst into tears, closing my eyes. The thought of getting rid of my little miracle caused my heart to ache. “No,” I whispered, shaking my head frantically. “I… I can’t do this.” The doctor blinked. “You mean—?” “I’m keeping the baby.” My voice broke, but it sounded firm. “I don’t care if I have to raise this child alone. This child is mine. They’re a blessing, not a mistake.” The doctor gave me a relieved smile, nodding in encouragement. “I think that’s the right decision.” As I stepped out of the hospital, the weight in my chest was lifted, and I was filled with hope, because in three days, I would be starting a new life, with my child. “Isabella!” A familiar voice yelled from behind me. It was Marcus. I tensed, reluctantly turning to face him. Before I could say anything, he gripped my arm tightly with a frantic look in his eyes. “Thank goodness I saw you here!” He exclaimed, tightening his grip on my arm. I furrowed my eyebrows in surprise and confusion. “What… what’s going on?” I asked. “It’s Bianca,” he said, “She’s in the hospital. She had a high fever all night from the crying and from the beating you gave her,” he added sharply, glaring at me. “You did this, Isabella.” I glared back at him. “I told you that I didn’t touch her, Marcus!” But he wasn’t listening. “She passed out this morning, Isabella,” he continued, ignoring my words. “Her fever got worse. She’s weak. Now, the doctors say she needs a blood transfusion.” My heart sank. “What does that have to do with me?” Marcus stared at me, clenching his jaw. “You’re a universal donor, Isabella. Bianca’s blood type is rare, and you’re the only match available right now.” My breath caught. “Wait,” I said slowly, blinking up at him. “You want me to donate my blood to her? After everything?” “I don’t have time for this,” he snapped. “This is about saving two lives. You can be bitter and selfish later. Right now, you’re going to do the right thing.” He started dragging me away. I dug my heels into the floor to resist as he dragged me forward. “You can’t do this! There are other people you can get blood from. You can get blood from a blood bank. Why me?” I protested. He stopped walking, and turned to me, his voice cold. “Because this is all your fault.” I stared at him in disbelief. “I didn’t touch her!” I exclaimed, willing him to believe me. “She lied to you!” He didn’t listen to me. He kept dragging me. Something in me broke as I realized that he would never believe me over Bianca. I was too tired to argue, and too exhausted to keep screaming into deaf ears. “I’m pregnant,” I whispered as a last resort. I never wanted to tell him, but I had no choice. Marco turned slowly with his eyebrows lifted in disbelief. “What did you say?” “I’m pregnant,” I repeated, louder this time with my voice shaking. “The doctor said that it was a miracle that I had gotten pregnant. This pregnancy is a high risk pregnancy. If you do this, you’ll kill it, Marco. You’ll kill our child.” There was a long, heavy pause. Then Marco laughed. It was a cruel and mocking laugh that hurt my ears. “Really? Really, Isabella?” he sneered. “You are that despicable? You would lie about something like this just to escape your responsibility?” My lips parted in shock, and my eyes widened in disbelief. “I know you’re desperate, but faking a pregnancy?” He shook his head like I disgusted him. “That’s a new low, even for you.” “But…but it’s the truth,” I hissed, my eyes watering with tears. He scoffed, glaring down at me. “The truth? You’re a lying bitch that can never tell the truth. You will give the blood, and that’s final.” He said with finality in his voice. Rage, betrayal and disbelief burned within me. I yanked my arm away from his. “I won’t do it,” I hissed, “I won’t risk my baby’s life for Bianca.” “You selfish bitch,” he spat. “You would let someone die!” “No,” I snapped. “But I won’t let my baby die either.” Marcus’ eyes blazed with rage. “If you don't do this, I will raze down that orphanage personally, and make you watch.” He gritted through clenched teeth. Chapter 5 Isabella's POV My blood ran cold. He was threatening the orphanage again. He knew how much it meant to me. My father had started that orphanage. It was all I had of him. The children in the orphanage were like family to me. “You wouldn’t,” I whispered, my voice trembling. Marcus stepped closer, his face was twisted into a snarl. “Try me.” I stared up at him, breathing heavily as my heart shattered. How could someone I once loved, someone I once trusted, become my worst enemy? My hand moved over to my stomach again, and tears ran down my face silently. When Marcus dragged me again, I didn't resist. I quietly followed him, crying silently. We stepped into the VIP room Marcus had gotten for Bianca. She was lying on the bed, connected to monitors and IV fluids, looking weak and pale. Her eyes were red, and she kept whimpering like she was in pain. Marcus rushed to her side instantly. “Bianca, I’m here,” he said, grabbing her hand gently. “Don’t worry, I brought Isabella. You’ll be okay now.” Bianca barely moved. Her voice came out in a shaky whisper. “It hurts, Marcus... I feel so much pain...” I stood there, silent, watching as my husband whispered softly to Bianca. My stomach twisted as he brushed a strand of hair away from her face with so much gentleness. However, when Marcus turned to call a doctor, Bianca suddenly opened one eye and winked at me with a mischievous smirk on her lips. My body tensed. Did she seriously just do that? Was everything just a pretense? I was risking the life of my baby for a charade. I clenched my fists in rage, gritting my teeth. How dare she? I stepped forward, ready to speak, but Marcus turned around and grabbed my hand tightly. His fingers dug into my skin, and I winced. His eyes stared into mine with a fierce glare, and I instantly understood his message. He was warning me. A shiver ran down my spine as I remembered his threat concerning the orphanage. The door opened again, and a doctor walked in. Marcus turned to her like she was his last hope. “She’s getting worse,” he said quickly. “We need the transfusion now.” The doctor nodded calmly. “She’s stable for now. We can hold off on the transfusion for now, until—” Bianca whimpered. “No!” Marcus snapped. “The donor is right here,” He pointed to me like I was a stranger that he had nothing to do with. The doctor gave me a brief look, then nodded and instructed the nurses to start setting up. A cold sweat ran down my spine as I stared at the needle in the doctor’s hands. I had a phobia for needles, and Marcus knew that. Normally, he would hold my hand, and whisper soothing words to calm me. Marcus stared at me and for a second, he reached out like he remembered, but when Bianca whimpered, he dropped my hand quickly and rushed to her side, forgetting me completely. My heart clenched, and I swallowed hard. I turned my head away when the doctor approached me with the needle. My stomach turned with fear and pain. I squeezed my eyes shut. Please… please stop this… please, someone… I pleaded within me. Just as he was about to insert it, the door burst open, and another doctor rushed in. “Wait!” he called out, hurrying in with a file in his hands and panic in his voice. “Stop right now!” Everyone turned to him. “Mrs. Pierce is pregnant,” the doctor said breathlessly. The doctor holding the needle stepped back. Marcus spluttered in disbelief. “W-What? That's not possible. H-How?” The doctor hurried forward with the file in his hands. “She was scheduled for an abortion this morning, but she cancelled it. Here.” He said, handing the file to Marcus. I released a deep breath of relief. For the first time in days, I felt like I could finally breathe. The doctor had confirmed it, he had proved that I was telling the truth. But before the relief could settle, Marco spoke up with a cold and merciless voice. “Take the blood.” My eyes widened. “What?” Chapter 6 Isabella’s POV The doctors and nurses present were stunned. “Mr. Pierce… your wife cannot donate blood. Didn’t you hear what the doctor said?” One of the nurses spluttered in disbelief. “Mrs. Pierce is pregnant, and her pregnancy is a high-risk pregnancy. Any slight issues could cause her to lose the child.” Marcus’ eyes were blank and merciless as he stepped forward. “I heard,” he said coldly. “And I said take the blood.” The doctor glanced at him and me, looking helplessly. “Sir, we could lose both the mother and the baby. This is against medical protocol—” “I don’t care about your protocol,” Marcus cut in sharply. “I’m paying a lot of money, so do your job.” I could barely breathe. My heart pounded in my chest as I stared at the man in front of me. The man I married. The man I once loved, but he wasn’t the same person anymore. Marcus gritted his teeth, glaring at them. “I am Marcus Pierce. If you don’t do as I say, I will shut down this hospital, and make you all miserable!” He barked. Their eyes widened in horror at his words. He was threatening them, just like he was threatening me, all for Bianca. The nurse hesitated, then turned to me. “Mrs. Pierce… we need your consent.” I just sat there, gaping in shock as I stared at Marcus. “Marcus, you claimed that you have always wanted a child, and now that you have it, you want to throw it away because of Bianca’s fake fever?” I asked in disbelief. Marcus scowled. “What difference does it make? You were about to abort it anyways.” I gave him an incredulous look. “But you just heard that I cancelled it!” I retorted. Marcus sighed, shaking his head. “Look Isabella, Bianca’s pregnancy is far more stable than yours,” he said softly. “The doctors said your pregnancy is high-risk. There’s a huge chance you will lose it anyway. But Bianca… she has a chance.” My stomach dropped, and I blinked. “So you’re willing to kill my child… for hers?” “It’s not like that,” he said quickly, stepping forward. “This is a medical decision. Bianca’s vitals are crashing. She needs the transfusion. Your pregnancy is uncertain. You might not even make it to the second month.” I stared at him in shock and horror. No, this wasn’t about making a medical decision. Marcus wasn’t just saving a child, he was choosing a woman. And it wasn’t me. My hands trembled as I looked at him. If I had tears left, I would have started crying now. “You’ve already chosen her,” I whispered. “Haven’t you?” His eyes flickered with an unreadable expression. He opened his mouth to speak, but Bianca coughed dramatically from the bed, and that was all it took. Marcus turned his back on me again and rushed to her side. A chill ran down my spine as the truth dawned on me. There was no use screaming or fighting. I wanted to beg the nurses not to take my blood, but what was the point? Their hands were tied—he had threatened them. The nurse gently touched my arm with pity in her eyes. “Mrs. Pierce… do we have your consent?” My lips trembled, and for a second I couldn’t speak. I looked one last time at Marcus. He didn’t even look back. I swallowed hard. “Do what you have to,” I said quietly. I was resigned to my fate, whatever would happen, would happen. The doctor inserted the needle into my arm, and I didn’t even wince. The needle pierced my skin, and blood began to flow. I had no tears left to cry, so all I could do was stare at the floor blankly, trying to breathe, and stay calm. My chest tightened and a wave of dizziness crashed over me. Something was wrong. I gasped, trying to lift my head, but my vision blurred. My heart began to pound so fast that it hurt. The nurse closest to me glanced at the monitor and immediately panicked. “Something’s wrong, her vitals are dropping!” “Stop the transfusion,” the doctor barked, rushing toward me. “She’s crashing!” Bianca whimpered pitifully, causing Marcus to panic. “No!” Marcus shoved the doctor away so hard that he stumbled backward. “Don’t stop it! Bianca needs the blood! She’s crashing too!” “She’s not crashing,” the nurse shouted back. “Her vitals are stable!” “You don’t know anything!” Marcus roared. “Look at her. She’s pale and she’s in pain. She’s not okay! Don’t stop it, damn it!” I released a cry as a sharp wave of pain pierced through me, but Marcus barely glanced at me. His whole attention was on Bianca, and her fake act. My whole body trembled. I was barely conscious, barely hanging on. The world was spinning so fast, and I could taste blood in my mouth. This was it. I was dying. Regret washed over me as my mind flashed back to Alexander. The way he had said ‘finally’. Like he had always been waiting for me, and like a fool, I had asked him to wait. I hadn’t said yes. I could see the doctors and nurses begging with Marcus to reconsider as they watched me with wide fearful fears, but he remained unbothered, looking at Bianca like she was his everything. My lips moved, and I whispered the only thing I could. “God… please… save my baby…” And then the world turned black. Chapter 7 Isabella’s POV When I opened my eyes next, I wished that I was dead. All my body throbbed with pain, and a strange sense of emptiness settled within me. “Oh, Mrs. Pierce. We are so glad that you’re finally awake. We were worried that we would lose you.” A female doctor said from beside me. My throat burned. My body felt heavy and bruised, like I had been dragged through hell twice I groaned weakly, blinking at the piercing hospital lights. For a moment, I was confused and disoriented. Why was I here? Why did everything hurt? Then everything came flooding back. The abortion, Marcus, Bianca, the transfusion, the intense pain, the chaos, and the fear. My eyes widened as realization struck me, and I turned my head slowly toward the doctor with fear pounding in my chest. There was something on her face, like a sorrowful expression. A chill ran down my spine as dread spread throughout my bones. I was scared to ask, but I had to. “My baby…” I croaked, my voice hoarse. “What about my baby?” The doctor hesitated, and that hesitation was all I needed. My heart sank, and my blood ran cold. Her lips parted, and she shook her head slowly and gently. “I’m so sorry,” she said softly. “We did everything we could… but the baby didn’t make it.” Everything paused for a moment, and I gasped. My heart pounded painfully against my ribs. I felt like I had been punched in the chest hard, and my lungs refused to work. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I thought I had no tears left. I thought I was numb, but I was wrong. I released an inhuman cry that tore at my aching throat. My shoulders shook as I sobbed, harder than I ever had in my life. I cried for the life I never got to meet, I cried for the tiny heartbeat that had been in me, I cried because Marcus had stolen this from me, something I could never get back. At that moment, I wished that I had aborted the child earlier, because I had become attached so fast that losing it now was ripping me to pieces. The doctor stayed silent, giving me space to cry my heart out. After what felt like forever, I wiped at my teary face with trembling fingers. My mind flashed back to Alexander’s offer, and I swallowed. “What day is it?” I croaked, my voice trembling. The doctor gave me a sad smile. “It’s Thursday. You’ve been unconscious for two days.” My eyes widened, and I began calculating the days that Alexander had given me to think of his offer. “I need my phone!” I cried, frantically looking around for it. “Calm down, Mrs. Pierce, it’s in the drawer of the table beside you.” She said calmly, trying to soothe me. My hands shook as I typed a message to Alexander. — I accept your offer, meet me at the orphanage in three hours. — His reply came immediately. —Finally, I was beginning to think that you had changed your mind.— I replied. — Never — “Do you need anything else, Mrs. Pierce?” The doctor asked softly. I gave her a bitter smile as I asked her a question that I already knew the answer to. “Did anyone come to see me?” I asked. From her facial expression, I already knew the answer. She shook her head, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Pierce, but no.” I didn’t feel anything. No pain, no sadness, nothing. All I felt was a hollow ache, like something had been taken out of me, and could never be filled again I turned away from the doctor silently, and stared blankly at the wall for a long time. I didn’t even notice when the doctor left the room. Slowly, I pushed the blanket off me. Moving was very painful, but I ignored the pain. “Mrs. Pierce?” the nurse who just walked in, called softly when she saw me shift. “Please, you need to rest, your body is still in recovery. You lost a lot of blood, and your stitches—” “I’m leaving,” I said flatly, my voice was cold and emotionless. “I don’t need rest. I’m taking my life into my hands right now.” She stepped closer, trying to stop me. “You’re not stable enough to be discharged. We haven’t even—” “I wasn’t asking,” I snapped, my eyes flashing to hers. “Just give me whatever I need to sign.” Her lips parted, and she hesitated again. However, she must have seen something in me that told her not to argue. She nodded and walked out, and within a few minutes, she came back with the discharge forms. Every step I took out of that bed was torture. My legs trembled, and my back ached, but like always, I ignored them. I grabbed my phone and all my belongings and walked out of the room. As I walked down the hallway, something made me pause for a moment. I caught a glimpse of Marcus and Bianca in another room, smiling and completely unbothered. Chapter 8 Isabella’s POV Marcus was feeding her gently with soup, smiling at her with so much love. Watching them before would have caused my heart to ache, but now, I felt nothing. I turned to leave to avoid them seeing me, but like always, I had terrible luck. “Isabella?” Marcus’s voice reached my ears, and I tensed, gritting my teeth in annoyance. I turned slowly keeping my face blank and emotionless as I stared at him. His expression faltered the moment our eyes met. I could see the guilt burning in his eyes, as if he had just realized that I existed. “I… I didn’t know you were awake,” he stammered, standing up from beside Bianca. “How… how are you feeling?” I didn’t answer. I didn’t even blink. I just stared. My silence spoke louder than anything I would have said. He looked down with shame on his face. “Your sacrifice… it wasn’t in vain,” he said gently, lifting his eyes to look at me. “Look, Bianca is fine. The baby is very healthy and strong. You saved them both.” I couldn’t help it, I laughed bitterly and humorlessly, and Marcus flinched at the harsh sound. Bianca rested a hand on her belly, smiling sweetly, but her eyes shone with glee. “Marcus has been taking such good care of me. He never left my side for once.” I wasn’t interested in hearing any more, so I turned without saying anything, ready to walk away, but Marcus jumped up, reaching out to me. “Wait please, Isabella, just wait.” I paused, not because I wanted to, but because I wanted to hear the nonsense he would say. “I’m throwing a party this evening,” he said quickly. “To celebrate your recovery… and Bianca’s safe return home. We all went through a lot, and I just want to bring everyone together. My father will be there, he really wants to see you.” Still, I didn’t say a word. He stepped closer, trying to soften his voice. “Let me give you a ride home. We’re all going the same way anyway.” “I’m not going home,” I said flatly. “I’m going to the orphanage.” Alexander had promised to protect the orphanage when I agreed to his proposal, so I just wanted to make sure everything was in place. I wanted to make sure no one could ever use it against me again, and that Marcus could never touch the only piece of my father I had left. Marcus blinked in confusion. “The orphanage? Why?” I tilted my head, expression still blank. “Because I have business to handle. Don’t bother yourself about it.” Bianca perked up. “Oh! That’s perfect. I’ve been meaning to visit anyway. It is our father’s orphanage, after all.” I lifted an eyebrow at her in surprise. She had always wanted nothing to do with the orphanage. Marcus nodded immediately. “Then we’ll come with you. That sounds great.” I stared at him, stunned for a moment by the speed of his agreement. This was the same Marcus who always rolled his eyes at the mention of the orphanage. The same Marcus who said it was a burden, a waste of money, an unnecessary sentiment. But now that Bianca mentioned it, he quickly agreed. I scoffed under my breath, watching them with a sneer on my face. “Fine,” I said coolly. “You can come with me. But I need one last thing from you.” Marcus straightened slightly, looking hopeful. “Anything.” I reached into my bag, and pulled out the document that I had been carrying since he brought Bianca home. “Sign this.” He blinked at me, furrowing his eyebrows as he took the papers from me. “What is it?” “My discharge form,” I replied with a blank expression. He hesitated for a second. Marcus had always been very careful with whatever he signed. He made sure he read it carefully, no matter what it was. However, immediately he glanced at Bianca, and she smiled coyly at him, batting her lashes, he forgot all about his carefulness. “I’m getting tired, Marcus,” she said sweetly. “Let’s go home fast..” He nodded, barely glancing at the document before signing the document. The moment he finished signing, a small satisfied smirk crossed my lips. “Thank you,” I said, placing the document back in my bag. “Now I’m free.” He didn’t understand the double meaning in my words as he kept fussing over Bianca. Chapter 9 Isabella’s POV When we reached the car, Bianca rushed to open the front passenger door for herself, but to my surprise, Marcus held her back. “Hold on, Bianca,” he said, then he turned to me. “Isabella… maybe you should sit in the front,” he said, giving me a small hopeful smile. “Bianca can stay in the back..” He added. “No,” Bianca protested, pouting like a drama queen. “I’ll get nauseous if I sit in the back. The baby’s been making me so dizzy lately, Marcus” I rolled my eyes. Marcus looked conflicted as he tried to think of how to please us both. “It’s fine,” I said coldly.. “Let her sit in the front.” Marcus tried to protest. “But—” “I said it’s fine,” I repeated, my voice was sharper this time. “Let her sit in the front, Marcus. I don’t care.” There was silence for a moment. Bianca smiled in triumph. Marcus frowned, but he didn’t argue again. I climbed into the backseat silently, wincing quietly as my body ached furiously. As I sat in the backseat, the ache in my body increased slightly, but I clenched my jaw and said nothing. I leaned my head against the window and stared outside, pretending I wasn’t here. After five minutes, Bianca began her little games, hoping to get a reaction from me. She placed her hand on Marcus’s thigh, and her fingers trailed up in slow circles. I didn’t bother looking, but from the corner of my eye, I could see her giving me a mocking side glance. Marcus stiffened immediately. “Bianca,” he warned, murmuring under his breath, moving her hand off. She blinked innocently. “What?” When he didn’t say anything, she returned her hand, and continued, moving her fingers higher this time. “I said stop it,” Marcus snapped, more firmly now. She flinched, and her eyes welled up with tears instantly as she turned away and began to cry softly into her palms. “Why are you yelling at me?” she whimpered, her voice trembling. “I’m pregnant, Marcus… and you’re yelling…” He exhaled heavily, his expression softening. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to yell. Just… stop doing that when…when…. she’s here.” He didn’t mention my name, as if I were a ghost in the backseat, an intruder to their private time. Bianca sniffed, then she leaned forward, and began searching through the compartment. “I’m just looking for tissues,” she muttered. What she pulled out was definitely not tissue. She held up a tiny piece of lace fabric. They were red panties, and she laughed in delight. “Oh my god, Marcus,” she giggled. “Remember this? When we couldn’t make it to the hotel? You pulled me to your lap right in this car and—” “That’s enough,” Marcus said tightly, not looking at her. “Oh, relax,” Bianca said with a roll of her eyes. “Isabella understands that it’s just the hormones. Hormones make one very horny, thankfully… I have you for that.” She murmured softly, placing her hand on Marcus’s thigh again. This time he didn’t say anything. Marcus glanced at me through the rearview mirror, and for a moment, our eyes met, but I looked away before he could see anything in my eyes. . Immediately I got to the orphanage, I stepped out of the car without saying a word, leaving Marcus and Bianca behind. I walked through the familiar gates and into the building that had been my father’s life’s work. My chest tightened with the memory, but I pushed it aside, I had work to do. The administrator, Mr. Jackson, looked up as I entered his office. His eyes widened in surprise as he saw me, and then he smiled warmly. “Miss Isabella,” he said, standing quickly. “You’re back.” “I need to talk to you,” I said, wasting no time in getting to business. Just as we were concluding our discussion, a loud, piercing cry echoed through the halls. My heart skipped a beat. Something was wrong. I turned and ran out of the room, Mr. Jackson followed behind me. The stench of smoke hit me immediately I stepped out. I could hear screams coming from the west wing. I rushed forward, and froze in place as I stared in horror at the scene before me. Chapter 10 Isabella's POV The west wing of the orphanage was on fire. The flames burned furiously, consuming everything in their path, and the thick black smoke pierced through my lungs. Children were sobbing. Some were already outside, others were trapped, and the staff tried desperately to evacuate them. “What the hell happened here? How did this happen?” I asked frantically. One of the staff replied, crying hard. “It's your step sister, she started the fire. She kept messing with the gas cookers in the kitchen.” Rage surged through me, but there was no time to confront her. “Get these children out, let me check for more!” I shouted to the staff, then I rushed into the thick smoke. I rushed into different rooms, pulling children out. My lungs burned. My arms trembled. I couldn’t stop. My baby didn’t get the chance to live, so I would make sure these children got a chance, even if it killed me. My legs ached and my vision blurred as I ran through the flames. The fire was spreading faster. One by one, I helped them out. After checking all the rooms, and making sure everyone was safe, I began making my way out, coughing as it was getting harder to breathe. I blindly felt my way back as the smoke was too thick making it hard for me to see. Suddenly, something slammed into me, and I stumbled back, almost falling. “Bianca?” I choked out. She looked disoriented, and panicked, but her eyes widened when she saw me. “I—I didn’t mean for it to get this bad,” she coughed, trying to wave away the smoke around her. “I just wanted to scare you… I didn’t know it would spread this fast!” “Are you insane?!” I screamed. “You set a fire in an orphanage! With children inside!” She shook her head. “I just wanted to piss you off, because I knew how much you cared about this place.” Before I could respond, the ceiling began to fall. “Move!” I yelled, grabbing her arm and pushing her out of the way. The ceiling fell before us, blocking us from the exit. We were trapped. Panic surged in my chest. Bianca whimpered, stumbling back. “I don’t want to die,” she cried. “Marcus… Marcus, help!” Suddenly, a voice yelled from outside. Marcus’s voice. “Isabella!” he shouted from outside. “Isabella’s still inside!” Seconds later, he burst through the smoke, with terror on his face. His eyes landed on me instantly. “Isabella!” he shouted, running toward me, holding two gas masks in his hands. They were from the first aid in our car. For a second, just one second, I thought he came for me. I thought I mattered. Until Bianca whimpered softly. “Marcus…” she called faintly, her voice was frail, scared, and pitiful. He froze, his eyes widened. He hadn't known that Bianca was also inside. “Marcus, the baby… I—I can’t breathe—” He immediately turned away from me to rush to Bianca. “No,” I croaked, reaching for one of the gas masks in his hands. He yanked them away from my reach. “Bianca will need them, Isabella! What if one is faulty?!” He barked at me, his eyes blazed wildly. I watched as he quickly placed one of the gas masks on her face, and carried her gently, holding the second gas mask uselessly in his hand. I felt numb at that very moment. I knew he had chosen her already, but being left to die was like a slap. His eyes met mine one last time, and I stared back into his eyes, but I felt nothing. No sorrow, no rage, just acceptance. He swallowed, an unreadable expression crossed his face, then he turned away, disappearing with Bianca in his arms. The flames drew closer. I slumped to the floor, accepting my death. The heat was unbearable, and everything hurt, but I didn't move. A sound reached my ears, but I was too weak to move. I was already losing consciousness. Then I felt strong, gentle arms wrap around me firmly. A deep familiar voice murmured near my ear. “I’ve got you, Isabella. Stay with me.” I tried to look up, but I couldn’t. “I’ve got you now… it’s alright… I’ve got you.” I didn’t know who it was, but I let myself relax into those warm comforting arms as he whispered soothing words over and over till I finally lost consciousness. That day, Isabella Pierce died, and a new person was born. Marcus，One day I will make you pay for what you did to me! 🚨 Plot twist alert! You won't believe what happens next…

💕💕❤️❤️💖💖😍😍😘😘🥰🥰💕💕❤️❤️💖💖 Our story starts off at an annual neighborhood barbecue to kick off the warm weather. A pretty nice one too. You might think Jim's backyard looks like a landscaping company had been given a dangerous amount of money. But that would be a bad guess. The man actually spends an inordinate amount of time working in his backyard. The grass is clipped short enough to shame every other lawn on the street, even my own. There are raised planters along the fence, featuring herbs and little vegetables growing in tidy rows. A small gazebo sits near the back corner of the yard, strung with warm little lights even though the sun is still out. The whole place smells like charcoal, beer, sunscreen, and summer arriving in Scarsdale. I'm standing near the side of the deck with the boys, holding a paper plate in one hand and a beer in the other, listening to Ron explain why the Spurs are the most frightening young team in the league, as if he had been personally hired as hypeman by their front office. "You don't understand," Ron says, pushing his glasses up his nose. "That team is going to be a problem. A bunch of young guys with veteran pedigree." Ron has been my best friend since we were kids. Always been a big Black dude. Soft around the middle now, but still the same guy who once broke his wrist in a scuffle with some asshole who never gave up a chance to hurl insults at our crew. "I'm just saying," Theo says, leaning against the deck railing, "the Thunder have the MVP." "I'd take the alien any day of the week," Jim adds. "You guys know the Knicks are in the playoff this year too, right?" I ask. Theo lives in New York City now. Managed to end up a big-shot writer. Some actual books, interviews and literature festival shit. Still somehow finds time to come back and hang with us degenerates every summer. So proud of the guy. Jim is our host. Tall, white, and someone we have not known since high school. Doesn't matter though, would still put him down as my emergency contact. Mr. Reliable since the day we met. Honestly, I'm having a damn good time. Feels like one of those moments you don't appreciate enough while you're living it. Then we hear the lovebirds. "You should have told me!" Every guy in the circle looks toward the side gate. Charlie comes in first. Full head of steam. Kate follows right behind him. "You don't just buy a car without talking to your fucking wife first, Charlie!" Charlie turns halfway around, already red-faced. "You wanna do this here?" "No, actually, this would've been a fantastic thing to discuss before you actually bought the damn thing!'" Theo slowly lowers his beer. Ron whispers to me, "Uh oh." Charlie's alleged purchase, which he had been musing about non-stop for the past week, is probably that Nissan Altima he'd been obsessing over. Exactly the kind of car a man buys to announce to the world that his knees still technically work. "We'll talk later," Kate snaps. Charlie walks right into the group circle as if he didn't just stroll into the yard guns blazing. "Hey boys! What'd I miss?" There's a pathetic response of head nods around the group. Charlie has the confidence of a guy who looks like Chris Hemsworth, despite frankly looking like quite the opposite. Biggest gut in the neighborhood. Balding more aggressively than the rest of us thirty-year-olds. Not what you'd call attractive by any stretch of the imagination. "Women," Charlie says, snatching a beer Jim had set down a few minutes ago. "Am I right?" Did he genuinely expect us to back him on that? "Everything okay, man?" I ask. Charlie waves me off. "Yeah, yeah. She's pissed because I made a call without consulting the board apparently." "Marriage tends to involve that kind of communication," Theo mutters. Charlie ignores him. "End of the day," he continues, "I'm the man of the house bringing in the big bucks." Ron blinks. "Brother, you're a trucker who hasn't had a gig in months." Conveniently, it's at this point that Charlie takes a long, long swig from his bottle. Without warning, Lana appears to my left. And the entire atmosphere changes. She has a platter of hot dogs in her hands and this ridiculous apron tied over her clothes. One of Jim's many gag aprons, and this one was designed to look like a shredded female bodybuilder wearing a bikini. The problem was it's probably mean to be worn by a guy, and definitely has a... different effect when worn by my beautiful wife. "Fresh off the grill, boys," she announces. Then she steps a bit closer and wraps an arm around my back. Four years of marriage. She still bumps my heart rate every. Single Time. Lana is objectively gorgeous. Like that real-life, no-filter gorgeous. The kind that catches men mid-sentence, leaving them wondering where they were going with a thought. Her long brown hair spills over her shoulders. She glances up at me with big brown eyes that have this soft, innocent warmth to them that makes people trust her almost immediately. That made me fall in love with her almost immediately. She's got thick thighs from years of beach volleyball and jogging around the neighborhood, paired with a soft little waist. And her ass... Lord Almighty. Lana had the kind of ass that yoga pants were invented for. Full, round, and ridiculous in the most perfect way. Which is a long way of saying that Lana has the kind of body that looked incredible in absolutely anything, and positively insane in one of Jim's stupid sexy aprons. Her outfit underneath wasn't helping either. White t-shirt, little shorts, showcasing just enough of her sun-kissed skin. Normally, she'd be covered up a bit more, but the sun had different plans today. Charlie whistles. This guy. At least every other dude has the decency to steal a quick glance at the goods before grabbing a hot dog. "Damn Lana," he says. "I wouldn't be surprised if that's how you actually looked under there! Feel like taking a trip to a nude beach this year?" Lana's smile tightens. Jim and Theo looked mortified on behalf of all half-decent men. I'm thinking about how many years it's been since I've had a chance to try my left hook. Something... weird also stirs inside me, but I swallow that. "What?" Charlie asks defensively. "I'm joking. Wow. Can nobody take a joke around here anymore?" I should've said something. I know that. But the ugly truth? Some small part of me understands the reaction. Lana and I do get it everywhere. Maybe not as... crass as Charlie, but Lana just elicits reactions. Lana rolls her eyes. "I've already got a man Charlie, and he's the only one allowed to take a peek under the hood." That gets a couple barks of laughter out of the guys, mostly because nobody expected her to fire back like that. And honestly? I don't think she did either. I can tell immediately, spotting the emerging pinks in her cheeks. Lana's always been adorable like that. Gorgeous enough to make every head turn whenever she strolls into a room, but still somehow painfully innocent whenever anyone actually flirts with her. I've seen her actually duck her head more than a few times, laughs awkwardly, and escape the situation as fast as humanly possible. Lucky for me, she usually finds refuge in my arms. But this is Charlie. We've known Charlie for years, same with almost everyone here today. And I'm standing right beside her. So instead of retreating, Lana just keeps blushing while swinging the platter around to hand out the remaining hot dogs. Theo grabs one with this deeply impressed look on his face. "That was cold, Lana." Ron nearly snorts beer through his nose laughing. Meanwhile Charlie blows a raspberry, raises his hands in defeat, and walks toward the screen door of Jim's home. Before he leaves, I spy Lana shooting him a sharp side-eye. She gives me a nervous kiss on the cheek before heading back toward the gazebo where the wives are gathered. Becky is there already. Loud, blond, infectious energy condensed into human form. Been the same way since she was fourteen. Jim's wife and the real estate agent who landed Lana and me into the neighborhood. I am honestly forever grateful. Ron's girlfriend of two months, Maya is sitting beside her. Gorgeous, Black, and curvy in all the ways Ron described his perfect woman way back in Mr. Ventura's Math class. It was his favorite time to do so, because numbers and equations never really caught his eye in the same way a woman could. Theo's girlfriend Jackie wasn't around today, but honestly, the one time Lana and I met her, we both thought she could very well be a runway model. Kate's standing with the women now too, maintaining a death glare in Charlie's direction, even as he enters the back door of Jim and Becky's home. Honestly? Kate was pretty too, a girl-next-door type brunette with a cute face. But she had one of those shrill voices that made every sentence sound like the beginning of an argument. Or maybe living with someone like Charlie changes a woman into that. The party recovered a little bit after Charlie went to the washroom. Music none of the Gen Z's would recognize blaring over the speakers, beer magically disappearing, and Charlie talking about the new Altima way too much. You'd think he was stepping out on Kate and sticking his dick in the car muffler. "Alright everyone," Jim announces. "Game's starting." He looks toward the women. "You ladies good out here?" Becky waved him off immediately. "We're not watching sweaty dudes fight over balls for three hours." "That is a gross reductive take on the game of basketball, honey," Jim responds. "Love you!" Becky replies. The guys started heading inside. I glanced back once before stepping through the sliding door. Lana is laughing at something Maya is recounting. The backyard lights just turned on. Her skin looks golden, and her? Beautiful and happy. And somehow, mine. It's cliché, but many days I really do feel the luckiest guy alive. --- By the time we leave Becky's, the whole neighborhood smells like smoke and barbecue. It's a pretty pleasant smell. I'm holding Wayne's hand. He's been musing about basketball since we stepped onto the street. I understand maybe twelve percent of it. "So who do they play next?" I ask. "Probably the Pistons. But who knows, Cleveland's got a pretty explosive backcourt." That's a little confusing. "They... have bad gas?" Wayne laughs. "Thank you for pretending to care, baby." "I do care." "You care about me caring." "Exactly!" I stare up at Wayne and smile. My handsome guy. He isn't the type most women immediately notice. But that's part of why I fell for him. Tousled dark hair. Glasses, and a sweet smile. Pretty athletic for someone that sits behind a desk all day, thanks to his gym membership and history on various sports teams back in high school and college. He's someone people accidentally underestimate before they get to talking to him. We met in high school. We were each other's first loves. First everything, now that I think about it. I heard horror stories earlier from Maya about the modern dating scene, and every single one made me want to kiss Wayne right on the mouth for not being a raging psychopath. Pretty low bar to be honest, but he clears it pretty easily. After a minute, we're at our front door, and he's still talking about defensive matchups as I get the key in the door. I've mostly been watching his adorable face while he talks. He seems to notice now. "What?" he asks, tilting his head. "You're cute when you ramble." "I thought I was always cute." I giggle a little. When we step inside, he stretches and groans. "I need a shower. I smell like something fierce." I step closer. "Maybe I could... join you?" I place a hand on his chest. "You know I love the way you smell after a long day." That gets me the smile. A very real one. "Gross! You still like my musk?" "Always." We kiss. It's slow, warm, comfortable. "Alright, Lana, I'll meet you in the shower." He plants another gentle kiss on my forehead. "Oh, and can you grab towels from my office? I folded all the laundry yesterday after I got home. You left the basket in the hallway." I stare at him. "Marry me again." "No." "But why?" I look up at him and pout. "That shit was expensive, babe." I laugh and head toward his office, as I hear him sprint up the stairs. Wayne's office is... chaos. There are open books strewn everywhere, papers and important-looking documents covering most of the hardwood, and used coffee mugs lining his desk. I tiptoe around a stack of... everything towards the laundry basket near his desk and grab a folded towel. Then I notice the glow. His laptop is half-open. I should close it. But a part of me is curious. All these years and I always go out of my way not to even peek at his screen or his phone. Well, Wayne's not around now and I'm feeling a little naughty. I lift the lid. Just enough to read the title of the paused video: Cuckolding Wife drenches her Bull's Cock in front of hubby I stare. Then stare harder. I know it's porn. Honestly? The fact that Wayne watches porn doesn't shock me. Men watch porn. I don't, but I always assumed he did. But I've never heard these terms before. The paused video shows this gorgeous, fit blond riding a gigantic... thing while the cameraman is off to the side. That thing is... huge. Huge like I don't even know how she's fitting that inside of her. I feel something weird twist in my stomach. But I keep staring at the screen for another few seconds. The more I look, the more my stomach twists itself into nervous little knots. Maybe I'm misunderstanding something. Maybe it's one of those weird internet titles that doesn't actually mean what it sounds like. Maybe this is some bizarre ad that came up by accident while Wayne was browsing his actual porn? Honestly, that has to be it. Because the alternative makes absolutely no sense. Wayne loves me. When we're both home he practically follows me around the house like an affectionate golden retriever. There's no world where my husband secretly gets off on the thought of me sleeping with another guy. Right? I shut the laptop back to halfway. Then immediately open it again. My brain refuses to let it go. I don't know if I'm angry, or something I just don't understand yet. Wayne and I tell each other everything. Or... at least I thought we did. Sure, we don't sit around discussing his porn preferences over breakfast, but still. My chest tightens. Then another thought hits me. Oh no. Oh no, oh no. Is he unhappy? The idea lands so hard it physically hurts. I look down at myself. My body, my arms, my thighs. I'm pretty fit too, but the woman in the video looks nothing like me. Blond. Huge, enormous knockers. She also looks like she goes to the gym twice a day. I suddenly feel embarrassed standing alone in Wayne's office for reasons I can't fully explain. No. No, stop. This is Wayne. My Wayne. The man who still grabs my ass in the kitchen every time he walks by, like a kid in a candy store. The man who still gets flustered if I change in front of him too slowly. So what the fuck is this? I pick up the laptop. My heart is pounding now. I head upstairs at a brisk pace, anxiety creeping higher with every step. The second-floor hallway is dim except for the bathroom light spilling across the floor. Steam curls lazily through the cracked door. Wayne's inside humming to himself horribly off-key. For one stupid second, I almost turn around. Maybe I should just close it back up? Pretend I never saw it. But then another image flashes into my head. My husband is watching me. I'm on the bed with... that enormous thing from the video. What. The. Fuck. I push the door, striding in the bathroom with purpose. "Hey beautiful," Wayne calls from behind the shower curtain. "You ready to join me for some-" I cough, loudly. Then the curtain shifts. Wayne peeks out with wet hair hanging into his eyes and the easiest smile in the world. Until he sees the laptop. The smile dies. His eyes widen. Which tells me that whatever this is? It's his. He knows I've seen his porn. A horrible little pit forms in my stomach. I hold the laptop up slightly. My voice comes out calmer than I actually feel. "Wayne," I start. "What's a cuckold?" --- She caught me with my pants down. And everything else too, actually. That is the first dumb thought I manage after Lana leaves the bathroom with me standing in the shower, and her question hanging ominously in the rising steam. What's a cuckold? There are things I'd much rather be caught by my wife for. A bank robbery, maybe. A small-scale fraud scheme involving Canadian maple syrup. But not porn. And I don't mean regular porn either. Like the boring, forgivable stuff a man could shrug away. No. I think this morning I decided to dive into a more hardcore category to get a quick one off before heading over to barbecue. But I swear to God I at least closed the lid on that thing!? I turn the shower off and stand there for a few seconds, dripping onto the tile, listening to the house. Nothing. No slamming doors. No drawers being opened with violent purpose. Even after seeing my worst shit, Lana is still being the angel she is. I towel off with my old clothes and put on clean boxers and an old t-shirt I had grabbed before starting the shower. My brain keeps spiraling into catastrophe after catastrophe, each one somehow worse than the last. One minute I'm imagining Lana crying in our kitchen, the next I'm picturing lawyers dividing up furniture while I try explaining to Ron that yes, technically porn did end my marriage. The bedroom light is off when I step inside. Lana is in bed, lying on her side, facing away from me. The blinds are open just enough to let in the streetlights from outside. Thin orange bars cut across the wall and the dresser. Normally, our bedroom feels safe and warm. A little messy, of course. A little lived in. Tonight, it feels like a sterile, hospital waiting room. I stand near the doorway for far too long. Lana does not turn around. "Lana?" My voice comes out carefully. "I'm thinking, Wayne." Okay, right. I am in trouble. I get into bed as gently as possible, which is ridiculously futile because the creaky IKEA frame shifts noisily under me, and I knew it would do that. Lana's shoulders tense. I stare at the ceiling. A few minutes pass, and I hear a car drive by outside. Then another. Somewhere down the block, a dog barks once, settles his affairs, and stops. I fold my hands over my stomach. Unfold them. Fold them again. "Do you want a divorce?" she asks. The question punches the air right out of my lungs. "What? Absolutely not!" She still doesn't turn around. "Do you want to see other people?" "No, babe. I don't." "Sleep with other women?" "No. Lana, no." My voice cracks on her name. That finally makes her move. She rolls onto her back and stares up at the ceiling as well. Her face is in profile, mostly shadow, but I can see wetness in her eyes.