Chapter 3

When I called him by the name I used to whisper with love, I saw it immediately—his muscles loosened, his eyes flickered with smug satisfaction. Good. He thought the storm had passed. That I was still the gullible wife he could mold and manipulate.

He stepped closer, his voice soft, his cologne thick in the air—power and sin intertwined. He bent down, lips aiming for mine. I turned slightly, so he brushed my cheek instead.

“I’m tired,” I murmured, pulling the silk blanket up like a shield. “Too many family matters today.”

Oscar stiffened for a moment, then forced a smile. “Of course. Rest.”

But I caught the faint flicker of irritation he tried to hide.

Just then, his phone vibrated on the nightstand. The moment he saw the name on the screen, his entire demeanor changed. His lips curved into a genuine smile—the kind he never showed me anymore. His fingers flew across the keyboard.

Then, without hesitation, he leapt from the bed, buttoning his shirt, his movements brisk and eager.

“Something urgent came up. I have to handle it personally,” he said, not meeting my eyes. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Take your time,” I replied, calm as still water. “No rush.”

He paused, thrown off by my composure. I used to question him, accuse him, argue. Tonight, I was indifferent—and that scared him more than any accusation ever could.

But his phone buzzed again. He quickly straightened his tie, mumbled, “I love you,” and left.

“I hate you,” I whispered into the silence.

The next morning, I woke to an empty bed. Cold sheets. No surprise.

Today was the day of the appointment.

At the clinic, surrounded by the sterile scent of antiseptic, my chest felt tight enough to crack.

“Ms. Hanson, are you sure you want to proceed?” the doctor asked gently.

My lips parted. The word yes caught in my throat like a thorn. My hand moved to my stomach. Was there really something alive inside me already?

Then I thought of Rose—her laughter, her little hands clinging to mine, her soft “Mommy.” The memory sliced through my chest.

Tears welled up.

“I… changed my mind,” I whispered, voice trembling. “I’m keeping the baby.”

The doctor nodded, unsurprised. “Take your time. Rest if you need.”

Yes. This child deserved a chance to live. Whatever darkness I was drowning in, he was my last light—the proof that love and innocence could still exist.

I would protect him. No matter what it cost.

I stepped into the corridor, head down, lost in thought—until a sound cut through me like a knife.

Laughter.

I froze.

Oscar and Ava.

They emerged from the VIP maternity wing at the other end of the hall, walking side by side, glowing with a joy that made my stomach twist. Oscar’s arm was wrapped possessively around her waist, his lips brushing her ear.

My blood turned to ice.

Ava’s hand rested protectively over her slightly rounded belly.

My vision blurred.

She was pregnant.

Before I could turn and flee, Ava saw me. Her face drained of color.

“Gloria!” she called, rushing toward me, her voice shaking with fake concern. “This isn’t what it looks like—we just—Oscar was only—”

“No need to explain, Ava.”

Oscar stepped forward, tightening his hold on her. His voice was gentle, his tone protective. “You did nothing wrong.”

I smiled faintly—cold, razor-sharp. “He’s right, Ava. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

The wrong one was me—for ever believing there could be love or loyalty in a world built on blood.

I stood still, numb, watching them—watching him look at her with the same tenderness he once reserved for me.

He turned to me, cautious. “I’ll take Ava home first. We’ll talk later, Gloria.”

“Take your time,” I said evenly, stepping aside.

And as I walked past them, I didn’t look back.

Only when I reached the end of the hallway did I stop, my voice calm but laced with venom:

“Oh—and congratulations on the pregnancy, Ava.”

I didn’t need to turn around to know their faces had gone pale.