Chapter 4

The Vance family chapel was a cold, imposing stone building on their vast estate. The air inside was heavy with the scent of old wood and incense. It was the same place where Liam had knelt years ago, taking lashes for me. Now, I was the one being forced to my knees on the hard, cold stone floor, not out of love, but as a punishment.

The heavy oak doors closed behind me, plunging the room into a dim, dusty light. I was alone. There was no food, no water, just the silent judgment of the stained-glass saints staring down at me.

As the hours passed, the cold from the floor seeped into my bones. My knees ached, and my back, still tender from the fire, began to throb with a dull, persistent pain. To distract myself, I let my mind drift back to the past. I remembered Liam bringing me hot chocolate on a snowy day, wrapping me in a thick blanket, his hands so gentle as he rubbed my cold feet. I remembered him whispering, "I' ll always keep you warm, Eleanor. Always."

The contrast between the warmth of the memory and the biting cold of my reality was so stark it made my heart ache. The man who had promised to keep me warm had thrown me into the coldest, darkest place imaginable.

I don' t know how long I was there. Time seemed to stretch and warp in the dim light. At some point, my body gave up. The pain became too much, the exhaustion overwhelming. I swayed, and the stone floor rushed up to meet me.

When I woke up, I was in a soft bed in a room I didn' t recognize. Liam was sitting beside me, dabbing my forehead with a cool cloth.

"You' re awake," he said, his voice thick with what sounded like relief. "You fainted. You' ve had a fever."

I stared at him, my mind groggy. His concern felt like a cruel joke.

"My father went too far," he said, avoiding my eyes. "I' ve spoken to him. It won' t happen again. As for Sarah... it was a misunderstanding. She was just scared and confused."

A misunderstanding. He dismissed her malicious lie, the lie that had led to my public humiliation and physical suffering, as a simple misunderstanding. There was no apology, no acknowledgment of the injustice.

I said nothing. I was too tired to argue, too broken to fight.

The next day, he tried to make amends in the only way he knew how: with money. A box from a famous luxury brand appeared on my bedside table. Inside was a diamond necklace, a glittering, ostentatious piece that meant nothing to me.

"I know you' ve been through a lot," he said, his voice soft. "I thought this might cheer you up."

I looked at the cold, sparkling stones and felt a wave of nausea. Did he really think he could buy my forgiveness? That a piece of jewelry could erase the pain and betrayal? I pushed the box away without a word. My silence seemed to unnerve him, but he didn' t press the issue.

A week later, he came to me with another idea. "The annual Vance Charity Gala is next week. I want you to come with me. As my wife. I want to show everyone that we' re still together, that everything is fine."

"And Sarah?" I asked, my voice flat.

"She' ll be there too, of course," he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "She' s carrying my child. She needs to be seen. But you will be by my side. I' ll make it clear to everyone that you are still Mrs. Vance."

The idea of parading our broken marriage in front of high society, with his pregnant mistress in tow, was grotesque. But I was tired of fighting. I was just a pawn in his game, a piece to be moved around to maintain appearances. So, I agreed.

The night of the gala was a nightmare. I wore a simple, elegant dress, the diamond necklace he had given me feeling heavy and cold against my skin. Liam stayed by my side, his hand resting possessively on the small of my back. But his eyes kept straying to Sarah, who was holding court across the room, looking radiant in a custom-made gown, her hand resting proudly on her belly.

He made a show of introducing me to his business partners, his voice loud and clear: "This is my wife, Eleanor." But then he would immediately excuse himself to go check on Sarah, bringing her a glass of water or fending off overly curious guests.

The whispers followed me wherever I went. I could feel the pitying and scornful glances. "That' s her, the barren wife." "Look at him, flaunting his mistress." "She must be so humiliated."

The main event of the evening was a charity auction. Liam, in a grand gesture of public affection for Sarah, bid an exorbitant amount of money on a rare pink diamond, a stone almost as big as the one he had given me. The auctioneer announced that the proceeds would go to a foundation for single mothers. The irony was so thick I could barely breathe. Liam won the bid, and the crowd applauded as he walked over to Sarah and presented the diamond to her. She held it up to the light, her smile triumphant. He had just publicly declared her importance, her value, while I stood on the sidelines, forgotten.

Later that evening, I was standing on the terrace, trying to get some fresh air, when Sarah approached me.

"It' s a beautiful night, isn' t it?" she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness.

I didn' t answer.

"You know, you should just give up," she continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "He doesn' t love you anymore. He loves me. He loves our child. You' re just an obligation, a memory he can' t get rid of."

Her words were like small, sharp stones, pelting me one by one.

"He chose me in the fire," she said, her smile widening. "He' ll always choose me."

Suddenly, she stumbled, letting out a small cry. She grabbed my arm, as if to steady herself, but then her grip tightened, and she pulled me with her. We both tumbled over the low railing of the terrace and into the large, ornamental pond below.

The cold water was a shock. I went under, my dress dragging me down. When I surfaced, sputtering and gasping for air, I saw chaos erupting on the terrace.

People were shouting. Liam was at the edge of the pond, his face a mask of panic. For a split second, his eyes met mine. But then Sarah let out a loud, theatrical scream.

"Help me! The baby!"

Liam didn' t hesitate. He kicked off his shoes and dove into the water, swimming directly towards Sarah. He reached her, wrapped his arms around her, and started pulling her towards the edge of the pond. He didn' t even glance in my direction.

I was a stronger swimmer than Sarah, but the heavy, waterlogged dress was pulling me down. I struggled to stay afloat, my limbs growing heavy and cold. Another guest, a man I didn' t know, finally jumped in and pulled me out.

I lay on the wet grass, shivering and coughing up water, as I watched Liam carry Sarah out of the pond. He wrapped her in his jacket, his voice full of frantic concern. "Are you okay? Is the baby okay? I' m calling an ambulance right now."

He rushed off with her, surrounded by a crowd of concerned onlookers, leaving me alone and soaking wet on the lawn.

A little while later, as I was being given a towel by a hotel staff member, I heard his voice again from the direction of the ambulance. He was talking to a paramedic, his voice tight with worry.

"Just make sure she and the baby are alright. She' s all that matters." Then I heard the sound of a kiss, a soft, intimate sound that echoed in the cold night air. It was a sound of deep affection, of a bond that had now solidified beyond any doubt.

He had chosen her. Again. In front of everyone. The last shred of hope, the last flicker of love I might have held for him, died right there, on the cold, wet grass of the gala.