Chapter 2

I woke up in an empty hospital room.

The fluorescent light buzzed above me like a dying insect. My abdomen ached with a hollow, devastating emptiness.

The baby was gone.

I already knew before the doctor confirmed it. I had felt the exact moment the tiny heartbeat inside me went silent.

A nurse walked in and checked my vitals. She avoided eye contact.

"Mrs. Ashford, your surgery was successful. You need to rest."

"Where is my husband?"

She hesitated. Then, very carefully, she said, "Mr. Ashford is in Room 312. Down the hall."

Room 312. Twenty steps from where I lay bleeding and broken.

I pulled out the IV, ignored the nurse's protests, and dragged myself out of bed.

Each step sent a searing pain through my body. I held on to the wall, leaving bloody fingerprints on the white surface.

When I reached Room 312, the door was slightly open.

Inside, Dominic sat at Seraphina's bedside, holding her hand. His tie was loosened, and his eyes — those cold, unreachable eyes — were filled with a tenderness I had never seen.

"You scared me tonight," he murmured, stroking her hair. "Don't ever do that again."

Seraphina's lashes fluttered. She looked perfectly fine — rosy cheeks, styled hair, a silk robe draped elegantly over her shoulders.

"Dominic, I'm sorry I caused trouble. Is your wife okay? I feel so guilty—"

Her voice was sweet and fragile, like spun sugar.

He cut her off. "Don't worry about her. She's tough. She'll be fine."

She's tough. She'll be fine.

I had just lost our child. I almost died on an operating table. And his assessment was — she's tough.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to tear the door off its hinges.

Instead, I laughed.

It was a quiet, broken laugh that made Dominic's head snap toward the door.

When he saw me standing there — pale, bleeding through my hospital gown, barely upright — something flickered in his eyes.

Guilt? Surprise? Annoyance?

It didn't matter anymore.

"Elara, what are you doing out of bed?" His voice was sharp, not concerned.

"I came to tell you that your baby is dead."

The room went silent.

Seraphina gasped and covered her mouth. "Oh my God, Elara, I'm so—"

"Don't." I held up my hand. My voice was eerily calm. "Don't say you're sorry. You're not."

I turned to Dominic. He had stood up, his face unreadable.

"You told the nurse to 'handle it.' Your child was dying, and you told them to handle it like it was a business call."

His jaw tightened. "Elara, I didn't know it was that serious—"

"I was five months pregnant, Dominic. I collapsed in a pool of blood at your event, and you carried another woman to the hospital."

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

For the first time in three years, Dominic Ashford had no cold remark, no dismissive excuse.

I stared at him and felt the last thread snap.

"I want a divorce."

His expression shifted — from guilt to something sharper.

"You're being emotional. Go back to your room. We'll talk when you've calmed down."

"I am calm." I met his gaze without flinching. "This is the calmest I've been in three years. I want a divorce, Dominic."

He stepped closer, towering over me.

"You signed a contract. You leave when I say you leave."

I smiled — a real smile, for the first time in years.

"Then I suggest you read the fine print. Clause 14: In the event of irreconcilable harm, either party may terminate."

I turned and walked away.

Behind me, I heard Seraphina whisper, "Dominic, maybe you should go after her..."

He didn't.

He never did.

But this time, I didn't need him to.