Never to Meet Again After My Death

Seraphina's POV

As a gift for our fifth wedding anniversary, Caspian gave me a luxury yacht named after me. In that moment, everyone said I was the luckiest woman in the world.

But when I finally conceived his child and was ready to share the news, his mistress sent me a photo—him cradling a baby another woman had given him, his eyes soft with a tenderness that shattered my heart.

Five years of waiting. Five years of infertility. It had all been an elaborate lie.

He once whispered in my ear: "Even if every man in the world breaks his vows, I never will. You're my lifeline. Without you, I can't survive."

I packed my bags in silence, leaving behind a pregnancy report and all the evidence, then drove away. Three hours later, he received a call: Mrs. Sterling's car had exploded in flames on the interstate. Nothing left but ashes.

From that day forward, the most powerful man in Valen City lost his mind completely.

A week before our fifth wedding anniversary, Caspian unveiled my gift at his private club—a yacht bearing my name. Everyone said I was the luckiest woman alive.

Five years ago, he'd severed ties with his entire family to marry me, built his empire from nothing, yet saved all his tenderness for me—oatmeal at three in the morning, my name engraved on the back of his watch, and that phrase he never failed to say whenever he returned: "I missed you."

But if Genevieve hadn't sent those photos and medical records, I might never have known: during those five years I blamed myself for not conceiving, he'd already given another woman a child.

The irony? After five years of waiting, five years of disappointment, countless tests and treatments—I was finally pregnant.

Caspian suddenly pulled me into his arms.

"Sera," his breath brushed against my ear, "you seem off today."

I closed my eyes, letting tears pool behind my lids.

His embrace was still warm, the scent of cedarwood cologne wrapping around me, nearly drowning me in this false comfort.

I almost convinced myself—we could start over, raise our child together.

I opened my mouth to say: "Caspian, I'm already—"

His phone rang.

"Sorry, Sera." He glanced at the screen, his brow furrowing slightly. "Business. I need to handle this."

He turned and left the private room.

I stood there, watching his back disappear through the door. Around me, friends still buzzed excitedly about the yacht. No one noticed that my smile had frozen on my face.

Half an hour later, my phone vibrated.

Genevieve had sent a photo.

In it, Caspian sat in an elegantly decorated nursery, holding a bundled infant. His head was bowed, his gaze melting like sugar—a tenderness I'd never seen before.

The caption read: "Caspian will be a wonderful father."

The phone slipped from my fingers, hitting the carpet with a muffled thud.

I heard myself laugh. Laughed until tears spilled down my cheeks.

When I was ten, my father cheated and abandoned my mother.

At fifteen, my mother died. With nowhere to go, I moved in with my father and stepmother, only to discover there was no place for me in that house.

So at eighteen, I cut ties with my father and started over alone.

When I met Caspian, I thought I'd finally found my home.

But once again, I was wrong.

Those gifts, those tender moments, those vows—they were nothing but scraps of charity from a man whose conscience hadn't completely died.

Caspian, you betrayed my trust.

This time, I won't forgive you.

When the party ended, I didn't call the driver. I didn't go home.

I hailed a cab and gave an address I'd never been to before—a used car dealership in Queens.

"I need an inconspicuous car," I told the owner. "I'll pick it up in two days."

The owner looked me over, asked nothing, and nodded.

When I returned to the estate, Caspian still wasn't home.

I stood at the foot of the stairs, my gaze sweeping across the oil paintings we'd chosen together in the living room, the crystal chandelier he'd commissioned for me in the dining room, the roses we'd planted with our own hands in the garden—every corner of this estate was carved with our memories.

I gently placed my hand on my abdomen. There, a small life was taking shape.

"I'm sorry, baby," I whispered. "Mommy can't let you grow up in a lie."

Two days.

I only needed to pretend for two more days, then I could leave this false fairy tale forever.