Chapter 2

The crowd's applause for Janay's earlier speech about self-reliance echoed in my memory. Now, they saw her as a victim and me as a cruel, jealous wife.

I watched James's back as he chased after her. I saw the look in his eyes, the same intense, obsessive fire that he once reserved for me. It was a look I knew all too well.

My mind flashed back.

Before James, there was Mark. We had been together for five years, high school sweethearts who were planning a wedding. Our life was simple, but it was ours.

Then James Cole saw me at a charity event. He decided he wanted me.

He didn't woo me with flowers. He created an "accident." A construction site mishap that left Mark with a shattered leg and a mountain of debt. James's company was conveniently responsible.

Then James played the hero. He showed up at the hospital, offering to cover all of Mark' s medical bills and pay off his debts. On one condition.

I had to marry him.

I saw through the charade. I saw the cold calculation in his eyes. My hate for him was immediate and absolute.

But Mark, broken and terrified of James's power, took the deal. He left me with a simple, "I'm sorry, Erica. I can't fight him."

I was betrayed twice over. My heart was a wasteland. I agreed to marry James, not out of choice, but out of sheer, numb defeat.

The first year was a silent war. I refused to speak to him. He, in turn, was relentlessly gentle. He never forced himself on me. He would sit at the dinner table, eating alone while I stayed in my room. He would leave small, thoughtful gifts on my pillow that I would promptly throw away.

Then came the blue roses.

He filled the garden with them, a flower that couldn't naturally grow in our climate. He spent a fortune creating a specialized greenhouse environment just for them.

"I'll make them bloom for you," he had said, his voice soft. "And then you'll love me."

When the first blue rose bloomed, I felt something shift inside me. His persistence, his unwavering, obsessive focus, had slowly worn me down. I started to talk to him. I started to let him in. I started to believe that maybe, just maybe, this twisted beginning could lead to real love.

We had a year of something that felt like happiness. Then I got pregnant. And he lost interest.

The spell was broken. His conquest was complete.

The university ceremony was a blur of hostile whispers and accusatory glares. James' s assistant appeared at my side.

"Mrs. Cole, Mr. Cole suggests it would be best if you left now."

His voice was polite, but the message was clear. My part in the play was over. I was no longer needed.

I stood up and walked out, my head held high, though my insides were churning. I was just a tool, a stepping stone for his new romance.

The driver opened the car door for me. As we pulled away from the campus, I watched the students celebrating, their faces bright with hope. I had been one of them once.

The car was a silent, air-conditioned bubble, but it couldn't protect me from the flood of memories. I remembered a day, not long after we were married, when James had brought me back to this same campus. We had a photoshoot, a strange, staged version of the wedding photos I never had with him.

He had been so sweet that day, so boyish. In the middle of the shoot, he got down on one knee. He didn't have a diamond. He had a simple ring he' d made himself from a bent piece of wire and a small wildflower.

"It's silly, I know," he' d said, his cheeks flushed. "But I wanted to do this. I'm willing to be childish and ridiculous for you, Erica."

It was those moments, those small, seemingly sincere gestures, that had finally broken my defenses.

Now, he was re-enacting those same romantic scenes with Janay.

A wave of nausea washed over me, and I gagged, my stomach heaving.

The driver, alarmed, immediately changed course. "To the hospital, Mrs. Cole?"

I nodded, unable to speak. I remembered James' s strict orders to all his staff: my health was the absolute priority. Another bitter irony.

At the hospital, the doctor ran some tests. The baby was fine, all indicators normal. But the doctor looked at me with concern.

"Erica, your hormone levels are a bit erratic. And you seem... distressed."

I tried to force a smile. "I'm just tired."

"It's more than that," the doctor said gently. "These are early signs of prenatal depression. It's very important to have your partner's support during this time. You need rest and a calm environment."

The examination room fell silent. I fought back tears, the doctor's words confirming the cold dread in my heart. He saw my expression and stopped talking.

When I got home, I walked straight to the garden. The six remaining blue roses drooped on their stems. My heart felt just as cold and withered.

I raised the shears and cut down another one.

Five left.

I had dinner alone. The cook prepared my favorite meal, but I had no appetite. I simply stared at the single blue rose I' d placed in a vase on the table.

James came home late, well past midnight. He saw the lights on and scowled, assuming I was waiting up to confront him.

"What is it now, Erica?" he snapped, his voice laced with irritation. "Are you going to give me another one of your silent, judgmental stares?"

I didn't answer. The driver, following him in, quietly handed him the report from the hospital. "Sir, the doctor's report. He said Mrs. Cole needs your support."

James glanced at the folder, a sneer twisting his lips. "Prenatal depression? What new trick is this?"

He tossed the report onto a side table without opening it. "You're getting more and more creative with your attempts to get my attention."