When He Finally Loved Her, She Was Already Gone

"Come with me tomorrow to get the divorce papers signed."

Even though Hank Collins had just come down from a heated session, fingernail marks from a woman still fresh on his skin, it didn't stop him from tossing out those heartless words like nothing.

Chloe Hudson stared blankly at the fancy hotel ceiling, then let out a sudden laugh. His passion was still inside her, and yet here he was, showing her just how cold a man could be after it was all done.

But she couldn't cry. Crying would mean losing to that woman. So she draped an arm over her eyes, voice light and sarcastic, "Let me guess, Irene's finally feeling better and now she's in a rush to marry you?"

Hank paused mid-buttoning his shirt but didn't even glance at the woman who was technically his wife. His voice was cold as ice. "Ten a.m. sharp tomorrow. Don't be late. And don't try to pull anything."

Chloe curled her lips, tears welling up but not falling-somewhere between a smile and a sob. "We've been married a year... not even a shred of feeling?"

His fingers clenched into fists, the sound of bones cracking loud in the tense room. His voice cut like a blade. "Feelings? Chloe, you never deserved them. I kept my promise. Don't push your luck."

She let out a bitter chuckle full of scorn. "Greedy, huh? Mr. Collins, that's rich coming from you. But you sure you're not confusing me with your baby Irene?"

Hank spun around and stormed to the bed, one hand gripping her delicate neck. His face twisted with fury. "Enough! Say one more bad word about Irene and I swear—she's ten times the woman you'll ever be." He grabbed his jacket from the couch and stormed out without a backward glance.

As the door slammed shut, Chloe bit her lip and closed her eyes, laughing quietly until her pillow was soaked with tears.

When the laughter and crying finally drained from her, she threw off the blanket, climbed out of bed with bruises blooming on her skin, and felt something warm and sticky trail down her thighs. The freezing shower water hit her like icy needles, but she didn't flinch.

Then a wave of nausea hit, and she clutched her chest, gagging. She froze for a bit, then shakily pressed a hand against her lower stomach.

Her brain scrambled to count her missed periods—then panic flickered across her face. Slapping the water off, she grabbed a towel and wrapped it around herself.

Was she... pregnant?

Her heart pounded as she stood there, unsure whether to cry or laugh. Just a year ago, she'd traded her healthy heart for Hank's promise of marriage. And now? Now maybe fate had tossed her one more card—a baby.

Maybe she still had a shot. Maybe she had already won.

Chloe stood straight, smoothly blow-dried her hair, and got dressed. Her fingers brushed over her cosmetics bag, then decided against it. She zipped up her purse, walking out with her bare face held high.

"Check-out," she told the receptionist, placing the keycard down like a queen laying her final play.

In ten-inch high heels, she strutted out of the hotel with pride, while behind her, whispers still lingered.

"Seriously?'Mrs. Collins'? Please. Couples don't check into hotels like it's a weekly hobby. She's more like a side piece playing pretend."

"Right? What's she even feeling smug about? No wedding, no real entrance into the Collins family. Call that a marriage?"