Chapter 2

Hazel Horton POV:

The clinic lights were stark, sterile white, mirroring the emptiness that had settled in my womb. It was over. The physical remnants of what I' d once thought was a shared future, gone. The paper in my hand, a confirmation of the procedure, felt strangely light, yet weighed a ton. My body ached, a dull, insistent throb, but the pain was a distant echo compared to the gnawing void inside. Every last emotional thread that still connected me to Bryon, to that facade of a family, had been snipped.

I walked out, my gait slow but steady, into the crisp morning air. The city was just beginning to stir, a grey canvas of hurried footsteps and distant sirens. I needed coffee. Strong, black, hot enough to scald away the lingering chill. My eyes scanned the street, searching for a cafe. And that's when I saw them.

Bryon and Dorian.

They were huddled close on a street corner just a block away, Dorian leaning heavily against Bryon, her face pale and drawn. She looked like she' d been through a war, or perhaps a particularly wild night. Bryon had his arm wrapped tightly around her, supporting her, his concern etched clearly on his face. Their proximity, their shared intimacy, was a punch to the gut. The world blurred for a moment, the sterile white of the clinic replaced by a blinding flash of red.

Dorian let out a soft groan, her voice raspy. "Ugh, my head is absolutely killing me, Bryon. And my throat... I think I swallowed fire last night." She pressed her forehead into his shoulder, a theatrical display of fragile dependence.

Bryon stroked her hair, his touch tender. "I know, baby. You were really going for it last night. Drank us both under the table." He chuckled, a soft, intimate sound that used to be reserved for me. "Maybe lay off the tequila for a bit?"

Dorian giggled, a weak, breathless sound. "But it felt so good at the time," she whimpered, "You told me it was okay. You said you loved watching me... unwind." She looked up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. "The doctor said I need to rest. No more... strenuous activities for a few days."

Bryon squeezed her closer. "Don't worry, Dor. We can find other ways to unwind. Maybe a nice, quiet evening in, just us. I' ll make sure you' re taken care of, my love. Anything you want, you' ve got it." His words were a sickeningly sweet promise, delivered with a devotion that sliced through me like a razor.

My stomach recoiled. A wave of profound nausea washed over me, a physical manifestation of the disgust. I remembered nights where Bryon would push me away, citing stress from work, exhaustion, anything to avoid intimacy. "I'm just not in the mood, Hazel. It's been a long day. Can't you understand?" He would snap, leaving me feeling rejected, undesirable, and constantly questioning myself. I'd blamed myself, blamed my pregnancy, blamed the stress of the startup. I' d believed him when he said he was too tired, too stressed, too something for me.

Now, watching him dote on Dorian, his words painting a vivid picture of their shared, wild night, it all clicked into place. He wasn't tired or stressed. He was just busy with her. He didn' t want me. He wanted her. He wanted the thrill, the indiscretion, the illicit passion. My child, our child, had been nothing more than an inconvenience, a tie that bound him to a life he no longer wanted. He didn't care about my comfort, my needs, my feelings. He only cared about his own pleasure, and Dorian' s.

Dorian, sensing my presence even though I was trying to disappear into the shadows, suddenly looked up. Her eyes, still a little bleary, locked onto mine. A smirk, slow and deliberate, spread across her face. "Well, well, if it isn't Hazel. Looking... refreshed. Must be all that alone time you're getting now." Her voice dripped with malice. "Tell me, darling, what' s your secret? Bryon says you' ve been looking a little... tired lately. But then again, he always had a soft spot for the damsel in distress, didn' t he?"

Bryon's head snapped up. His eyes, still clouded with concern for Dorian, now registered pure shock as they landed on me. His face instantly contorted, a mixture of guilt and annoyance.

"Oh, Hazel, come on," Dorian continued, relishing his discomfort and my pain. "What do you have that I don't? I mean, besides a trust fund and a daddy who buys you companies." She tossed her head back, a mocking laugh escaping her lips. "Bryon always says I appeal to his... primal side. You' re just so... domestic, aren' t you?"

Bryon gave Dorian a warning look, a feeble attempt to silence her, but it was too late. He turned to me, his voice low and placating, "Hazel, don't listen to her, she's just... upset. You know how she gets."

"Upset?" Dorian scoffed, pushing Bryon's hand away from her arm. "Upset that you're stuck with her when you could be with me?" She turned to Bryon, her gaze intense. "Tell her, Bryon. Tell her who you really want. Tell her who truly understands you. Who makes you feel alive."

Bryon hesitated for a split second, caught between two women. But it was only a split second. He tightened his arm around Dorian. His eyes, cold and defiant, met mine. "Dorian is right, Hazel," he said, his voice hard. "She understands me. She's my soulmate. She's the one I want. Always."

Dorian' s face lit up, a grotesque parody of joy. She practically melted into Bryon' s embrace. Their lips met, a long, lingering kiss, right there on the street corner, as if I didn't exist. As if the world revolved around their disgusting display of affection. It was a kiss meant to wound, to annihilate, to erase me completely. And it did. It was the final, brutal blow.

My hands clenched, the confirmation paper crumpling into a tight ball. A profound, aching sorrow unlike anything I had ever felt before washed over me. It wasn't just about Bryon, or Dorian, or their betrayal. It was about everything I had sacrificed, everything I had believed in, crumbling into dust right before my eyes. All those years, all those compromises, all that love... for nothing. My heart felt like a hollowed-out cavity, echoing with the sound of their sickening kiss.

I couldn' t stand another second of it. The sight of them, entangled and smug, made the bile rise in my throat. My body rebelled, a sudden dizzy spell washing over me. I needed to leave. Now. I turned abruptly, my vision still a little blurry.

Thump.

I stumbled, my ankle twisting beneath me, and crashed to the pavement. The crumpled paper flew from my hand, landing precariously close to a storm drain. A sharp pain shot up my leg.

"Oh my God! Are you okay?" a kind voice asked, a woman rushing to my side. She had been hurrying past, and I had walked right into her path. "I'm so sorry! I wasn't looking."

The commotion startled Bryon and Dorian. They broke apart, their heads snapping towards the sound. Bryon's face, a second ago filled with passion for Dorian, now morphed into a mask of thinly veiled panic. He recognized me. He saw me sprawled on the ground, vulnerable and hurt. He rushed towards me, a performance already beginning.

"Hazel? What happened? Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice laced with feigned concern. He knelt beside me, his hands reaching out.

I flinched, recoiling from his touch as if burned. My body instinctively rejected his proximity. His touch felt contaminated, a betrayal against my very skin. His face darkened, a flash of annoyance replacing the fake concern. His eyes, sharp and calculating, fell on the crumpled paper lying on the ground, an inch from the storm drain. His hand darted out.

CRASH!

A loud clatter echoed from a nearby alley. Dorian, who had been watching Bryon with a possessive glare, shrieked. "Bryon! What was that? Are you okay?"

Bryon's head snapped up, his attention immediately diverted. He saw Dorian stumbling out of the alley, clutching her head, a trash can overturned near her feet. She looked genuinely distressed, a picture of helpless vulnerability.

"Bryon! My head! I feel dizzy again!" Dorian cried, her voice a pathetic wail. "Help me!"

Bryon's gaze, which had been fixed on the paper, flickered to Dorian. The decision was instantaneous. He abandoned me, still on the ground, without a second thought. He shot to his feet and sprinted towards Dorian, his face a contorted mask of urgency and genuine concern. He scooped her up in his arms, cradling her as if she were a fragile porcelain doll.

"I've got you, baby," he murmured, his voice soft with adoration. "Let's get you home. You need to rest." He carried her away, disappearing around the corner, leaving me lying there, abandoned, forgotten. The crumpled paper, the evidence of my sacrifice, remained on the dirty pavement. My heart, already a barren wasteland, felt a fresh surge of bitter acid. It wasn't just about the affair anymore. It was about his profound, utter lack of care for me, for our child, for anything that didn't serve his immediate desires.

I slowly pushed myself up, my ankle throbbing. The paper was still there. I picked it up, smoothing the creases with shaking fingers. My future, our future, had just walked away with another woman. But in that moment, as I stared at the confirmation of my procedure, a new clarity settled over me. There was no more "us." There was only me. And a burning, ice-cold resolve. He wanted to discard me? Fine. But he wouldn' t just discard me. He would regret every single breath he took before this was over.