Chapter 3

Adelle POV

Carter hadn' t come home. Not that I was surprised. He liked to make grand, dramatic exits, then punish me with his absence. I knew his patterns. He would stay away for days, perhaps even a week, to make his point.

So when I walked through the front door of our apartment building that afternoon, after dropping Daisy off at school, I was completely unprepared for the sight that greeted me. The scent of something sweet and cloying, like burnt sugar, hung in the air. And there, in our kitchen, stood Carter.

He was wearing an apron. An apron! He was hunched over the stove, stirring something in a saucepan with a concentration I had rarely seen him apply to anything outside of his architectural blueprints. A children' s cookbook, dog-eared and splattered, lay open on the counter. He was making... a soufflé. For Fernanda' s child.

My stomach churned. Carter Preston, the man who considered ordering takeout a chore, was in my kitchen, attempting to bake a delicate dessert for his mistress' s child. It was a chore he had never once attempted for Daisy, or for me. Not once.

A fresh wave of nausea washed over me, a physical manifestation of the disgust and pain. I was glad Daisy wasn' t here to witness this charade. The image of her innocent face, so hopeful just yesterday, would have shattered completely. I could almost hear her small, confused voice: "Mommy, why is Daddy making that for her?"

Then, a small figure emerged from the living room, rubbing sleep from her eyes. It was Fernanda' s child. She ran to Carter, her voice bright and clear. "Daddy! Is it ready?" She hugged his leg, looking up at him with adoration.

Carter' s face softened, a genuine, tender smile I hadn't seen directed at our daughter in years curving his lips. He bent down, scooped her up, and kissed her forehead. "Almost, sweet pea. Just a few more minutes."

They looked like a perfect, happy family. A family he had built in secret, using the very foundations of my life. My eyes burned. Tears welled, hot and stinging, threatening to spill over.

I took a shaky breath, forcing myself to move forward. Each step felt heavy, as if I were wading through thick mud. I felt like an alien observer, an intruder in my own home, watching a play unfold where I had no part.

Carter still hadn' t turned around. He was completely absorbed in his new daughter, his new life.

Fernanda' s child, however, noticed me. Her eyes, so like Carter' s, narrowed. "Daddy, she' s staring at me," she whimpered, burying her face in Carter' s shoulder. "She looks scary."

Carter gently stroked her hair. "It' s okay, sweet pea. Daddy won' t let anyone hurt you." His voice was laced with a venomous sweetness, a clear message meant for me. Then, his eyes finally met mine, cold and hard. "Adelle. What are you doing here? Get out."

The words were a physical shove, pushing me back, making me feel small and unwanted. I was a trespasser in my own house. I watched him, this man I had loved, catering to this child with such tenderness, a tenderness he had denied Daisy. A bitterness, sharp as acid, rose in my throat. He was a doting father to one, a neglectful monster to another. It wasn' t just about the cooking. It was about the care, the affection, the love he was so readily giving to this other child, a love he had withheld from his own.

He had never loved me. Not truly. I was just a placeholder, a convenience, a means to an end. Now that I was no longer useful, he was discarding me like an old, worn-out possession. The realization hit me with the force of a tidal wave, drowning any lingering hope, any last shred of affection. I was useless. I was disposable.

The tears I had suppressed finally broke free, streaming down my face. I didn' t want them to see me like this. I turned abruptly, stumbling out of the kitchen, racing to the sanctuary of my bedroom. I slammed the door shut, the sound echoing through the apartment.

From behind the thin wood, I could hear their muffled laughter. Fernanda' s child' s delighted giggle, Carter' s deep, resonant chuckle. It was a symphony of betrayal, playing on a loop in my head. I sank to the floor, tears racking my body, silent, desperate sobs.

My illusions, painstakingly built over years of denial, had shattered completely. He wasn' t just having an affair; he was building a new life, a new family, right under my nose. A life where Daisy and I were emphatically excluded.

Divorce. It was the only way. But I knew Carter. He wouldn' t let go easily. Not of his carefully curated image, not of his claims to Daisy. The thought was a bitter, metallic taste in my mouth. He was probably already imagining his future, a perfect picture with Fernanda and her child, free from the burdens of his past.