Chapter 3

I found Julian in the private hospital' s waiting area.

He was talking animatedly with Dr. Alistair Finch, an old Astor family friend and a renowned hematologist.

Liv was in a private room, apparently in a critical state.

"...and she needs it urgently," Julian was saying, his voice tight with anxiety. "Dr. Peterson said it' s the only thing that might stabilize her and the baby."

Dr. Finch looked grave. "A direct blood tonic of that nature is highly unconventional, Julian. And very specific in its requirements."

My stomach clenched. This sounded ominous.

Dr. Finch continued, "It requires fresh, vital blood from a female donor of similar age, ideally one who has recently... experienced a significant hormonal shift, like a pregnancy or its termination. It amplifies certain restorative properties."

Julian' s head snapped up. His eyes scanned the waiting room and landed on me.

A calculating look, one I' d never seen before, crossed his face.

"Ellie," he said, his voice suddenly smooth. "You' re here."

He walked towards me.

"Ellie would be perfect, wouldn' t she, Dr. Finch? She' s the right age. And she... she was pregnant."

He didn' t know I wasn' t anymore.

The dread intensified.

He took my arm, his grip surprisingly strong.

"Ellie, Liv needs this. Her life is on the line. The baby' s life."

His eyes bored into mine.

"She saved me, Ellie. At the gallery opening, that sculpture... it was falling. She pushed me out of the way. She got hurt protecting me."

A lie. A complete fabrication. Liv hadn' t saved him from any falling sculpture. She' d staged the vase incident.

But he believed it. Or chose to believe it.

"You have to do this," he urged, his voice a low command. "It' s the least you can do after what she did for me."

He knew I' d just been through a medical procedure, though he didn' t know which one. He didn' t care.

This was coercion, pure and simple.

Betrayal upon betrayal.

They took me to a small room.

A nurse prepped my arm, her touch impersonal.

Julian stood by the door, watching, his focus entirely on the outcome for Liv.

I felt a sharp sting as the needle went in.

My blood, my life force, draining away.

For her.

For his lie.

I felt weak, dizzy.

Julian didn' t look at me. He was already talking to Dr. Finch again, asking about Liv' s prognosis.

My suffering was invisible to him.

I was merely a resource to be exploited.

When it was over, Julian finally spared me a glance.

A flicker of superficial concern.

"Are you okay, Ellie? You look pale."

He turned to Dr. Finch. "You should check on Ellie' s pregnancy too, make sure everything is alright with her baby."

The irony was a cruel twist of the knife.

My baby was gone, a secret grief I carried alone.

His concern was for a child that no longer existed, a child he had already disowned in his public lie.

Dr. Finch approached me, his expression kind but professional.

"Mrs. Vance, about your recent..."

He was about to mention the termination. The truth was on the tip of his tongue.

Suddenly, Liv' s personal assistant burst into the room, frantic.

"Mr. Vance! Dr. Finch! Ms. Cartwright is asking for you. She' s agitated!"

Julian was gone in an instant, rushing back to Liv' s side.

The moment was lost.

The truth remained unspoken.

I looked at Dr. Finch.

"Please," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "Don' t tell him. About my... procedure. Let him believe what he wants."

He looked surprised, then understanding flickered in his eyes.

He knew my family. He knew our reputation for privacy.

He simply nodded. "As you wish, Mrs. Hayes."

He used my maiden name. A small acknowledgment of my reality.

I was grateful for his discretion.

My secret, my pain, would remain mine alone.

I sat there for a long time, watching the sunset paint the sky in hues of orange and purple through the hospital window.

I remembered another sunset, years ago, on a beach in Maine.

Julian had wrapped his arms around me from behind.

"I' ll always protect you, Ellie," he' d murmured against my hair. "You and our future. Nothing will ever harm you while I' m here."

More broken promises.

The beauty of the sunset felt like a mockery.

The relationship was dead, the vows shattered, the love extinguished.

The next few days were a blur of recovery.

I stayed at a small, private Astor family property in the city, away from the penthouse, away from Julian.

Marcus visited, his presence a quiet comfort.

News of Julian' s devotion to Liv was everywhere.

Gossip columns detailed his constant vigil at her bedside, his lavish gifts, his public declarations of concern for "his" child.

Each report was a fresh stab of humiliation.

The world saw him as a saint, a noble man standing by the mother of his child.

They saw me as... what? The scorned wife? The woman whose child was a mark of shame?

The narrative he had spun was suffocating me.

A week later, Julian finally called me.

Not to apologize. Not to ask how I was.

"Ellie, the Astor Foundation Gala is tonight. You need to be there."

His voice was brisk, matter-of-fact.

"I need you to help me get ready. Lay out my tuxedo. Make sure my cufflinks are polished."

He expected me to resume my wifely duties, as if nothing had happened.

As if he hadn' t ripped my world apart.

Liv, he informed me, was recovering well and would also be attending.

His tone implied I should be pleased.

I found out later, from his assistant, that Liv would be sharing our car to the gala.

"Ms. Cartwright is still a bit weak, and Mr. Vance wants her close by," the assistant explained.

When Liv arrived at the penthouse, leaning heavily on Julian' s arm, she gave me a look of feigned innocence.

"Ellie, I hope you don' t mind. Julian insisted. He' s so worried about me."

Her eyes gleamed with triumph.

She was enjoying this, every moment of my discomfort, my displacement.

In the car, Julian fussed over Liv endlessly.

Did she need a blanket? Was the temperature comfortable?

He adjusted her shawl, his fingers lingering on her shoulder.

These were the small, intimate gestures he once reserved for me.

The way he used to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

The way he' d hold my hand, his thumb stroking mine.

Now, all that affection, all that care, was directed at her.

I watched them, a silent witness to my own replacement.

The pain was a cold, hard knot in my chest.