Chapter 3

I walked out of the doctor's office in a daze, her cheerful words echoing in my ears. Pregnant. Six weeks. I placed a hand on my still-flat stomach, a tear slipping from the corner of my eye. Why now?

I had a follow-up appointment at a high-end private pediatric clinic to confirm the details, a place known for its discretion. As I sat in the plush VIP waiting area, a familiar silhouette made me freeze.

It was Julian, and he was with Noah. The boy saw me first. He ran over, a sticky lollipop in his hand, and deliberately pressed the gooey candy onto the lapel of my expensive wool coat, leaving a bright red stain.

"Noah, don't," Julian said, his tone more tired than disciplinary.

I stood up, my heart pounding, and moved toward the consulting rooms, needing to escape. As I passed an open door, I heard Julian's voice, clear and firm, speaking to a doctor. "This one," he said, gesturing presumably toward Noah, "is my only child. I want you to use the absolute best medicine, regardless of cost."

My breath caught in my throat. I ducked into the ladies' room, my body trembling. A moment later, the door swung open. It was Seraphina. She leaned against the marble counter, a triumphant smirk on her face.

"Don't even think about it," she said, her voice a low hiss. "It's useless even if you are pregnant. Julian made it very clear. His only heir is Noah."

I stared at her reflection in the mirror, my face a cold, emotionless mask. I pushed past her without a word. As I reached the clinic's exit, a small voice piped up from behind me.

"My daddy doesn't want your baby!" Noah shouted, his voice echoing in the quiet, sterile hall. "He only wants me!"

The pain in my chest was a physical weight, crushing me. This toxic, fractured thing he called love was something I had to cut out of my life.

In my car, I made two calls. The first was to schedule an abortion. The second was to my lawyer.

"Draw up the divorce papers," I said, my voice cold and steady. "I want everything split down the middle. Everything I am entitled to."

As I sat in the parking lot, my phone rang. It was Julian. "Happy birthday, Aria."

I had completely forgotten.

"I'm so sorry about last night," he said, his voice laced with practiced regret. "A crisis at the office. I didn't get home at all."

A bitter laugh almost escaped my lips. "Okay," I said.

He seemed to relax. "I've arranged a celebration for you tonight. For your birthday and for the big design award you just won. To make it up to you."

"Okay," I repeated, my voice a monotone.

I hung up the phone. He had no idea what was coming. He felt a sense of unease, a feeling that something precious was slipping through his fingers, but he couldn't name it. He had no idea it was already gone.