Chapter 2

The first person I called was Janelle. My best friend. The phone rang twice before she picked up, her cheerful voice a painful contrast to the silence in my soul.

"Elaine! What' s up? Don' t tell me you' re bailing on our spa day tomorrow. Drake finally letting you out of the house?" she teased.

I opened my mouth to speak, but only a choked sob came out.

"Whoa, Ellie, what' s wrong? Are you okay?" Janelle' s voice sharpened with concern.

"Janelle..." I whispered, my voice cracking. "I need... I need to get away."

"What happened? Is it Drake? Did that possessive asshole do something?"

I couldn' t form the words. The betrayal was too big, too monstrous. It felt like if I said it out loud, it would become real, and I wasn' t ready for that.

"The project," I said, forcing the words out. "The one you told me about in Paris. The architectural bid. Is it... is it still open?"

There was a silence on the other end. "The Moreau Foundation project? Elaine, that' s a two-year commitment. You told me there was no way Drake would ever let you go for that long."

The mention of his name made my stomach clench. "His opinion doesn' t matter anymore."

"Ellie, what the hell is going on?"

I finally broke. The story spilled out of me in a torrent of broken whispers and ragged breaths. The park. Kiana. The little boy who called him Daddy. The apartment. The necklace. The cruel, dismissive words.

Janelle was silent for a long moment, and when she finally spoke, her voice was vibrating with rage. "That son of a bitch. That absolute piece of garbage. After everything you' ve done for him, for that marriage. The treatments, the pain... and he does this? With her? The woman who killed your first baby?"

She was so angry she was sputtering. "And you' re still pregnant, Elaine! With his child!"

I closed my eyes, one hand automatically going to my flat stomach. A protective, instinctual gesture. The baby. Our miracle. Now it just felt like a cruel joke.

All those years of invasive procedures, the hormone shots that made my body feel like a war zone, the crushing disappointment month after month. I did it all for him. For us. For the family I thought we were building.

"I' m taking the job, Janelle," I said, my voice eerily calm. "I need to leave. Now. I' ll handle things here. Just... get me on that team."

"And the baby?" she asked softly, the question hanging in the air between us.

I didn' t answer. I couldn' t.

I ended the call and started walking, my feet carrying me back towards the home that no longer felt like mine. It was late when I arrived. The house was blazing with lights, a stark contrast to the darkness in my heart.

Drake was sitting on the living room sofa, his head in his hands. The crystal ashtray on the coffee table was overflowing with cigarette butts. He never smoked. Only when he was under extreme stress. The sight would have normally sent a pang of sympathy through me. Now, it just felt like a performance.

The maids tiptoed around him, their faces etched with fear. He had a formidable temper when provoked.

As I stepped into the room, his head snapped up. The exhaustion in his eyes was replaced by a wave of relief so potent it was almost tangible. He rushed towards me, pulling me into a powerful, suffocating hug.

"Elaine! My God, where have you been? I was going crazy. You weren' t answering your phone." He buried his face in my hair, his voice muffled. "I was so worried."

His touch felt like a violation. I pushed him away, my body rigid.

His arms dropped, and he looked at me, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. "What' s wrong, baby?"

"I was with Janelle," I lied, my voice flat. "My phone died."

He seemed to buy it, his possessiveness kicking in. "I told you to always keep it charged. What if something had happened?"

He used to track my phone. He said it was for my safety, but I always knew it was about control. Any deviation from my routine, any unanswered call, would result in a barrage of texts and a tense atmosphere at home until I had accounted for every minute.

He must have mistaken my silence for sullenness. His expression softened. "I' m sorry, I' m not mad. Just worried." He reached into his pocket. "I have something that might cheer you up."

He pulled out a velvet box. Not the one from before. A different one. He opened it to reveal a diamond necklace, a different design but just as extravagant as the one Kiana was now wearing.

"It' s a one-of-a-kind piece from Van Cleef. Do you like it?" he asked, his eyes full of what I used to think was adoration.

My fists clenched at my sides, my nails digging into my palms. The hypocrisy was breathtaking. He was trying to buy my forgiveness for a crime I wasn' t even supposed to know about.

I said nothing, my face a blank mask.

He frowned, misinterpreting my silence again. "You don' t like it? It' s okay, I can get you something else. Anything you want." He snapped his fingers at a maid. "Bring him in."

The maid scurried away and returned a moment later with a tiny, fluffy golden retriever puppy. It whimpered softly, its button eyes looking around with a mixture of fear and curiosity.

Drake took the puppy and gently placed it in my arms. "Remember Sunny? You were so heartbroken when he passed. I know I' m allergic, but I got my shots. I can handle it. For you."

The warmth of the tiny creature in my arms was the first real thing I' d felt in hours. Tears pricked my eyes and began to stream down my face. Sunny had been my childhood dog. Drake had hated him, always sneezing and complaining, but he had tolerated the dog for me. After Sunny died, he' d held me for hours, promising we' d get another dog one day, when the time was right.

He was a master of grand gestures, of remembering the little things that meant the world to me. And he used that knowledge like a weapon, to soothe and control me.

The puppy licked my tears, and a sob escaped my lips. This man, this monster, he knew me so well. He knew exactly which strings to pull.

He saw my tears and his face relaxed into a triumphant smile. He thought he had won. He thought this small, furry creature could erase the chasm that had opened between us.

I looked up at him, the puppy cradled in my arms, and asked the question that had been screaming in my mind for hours.

"Drake... do you still love me?"

Before he could answer, his phone, sitting on the coffee table, buzzed to life. The screen lit up, and I saw the name clear as day.

Kiana.

The words died in my throat. The world swam before my eyes.

Drake' s face tightened in annoyance. He glanced at me, then at the phone. "It' s just work, baby. A problem at the West Coast office." He leaned in to kiss me, but I turned my head.

He sighed, a long-suffering sound. "I have to go. I' ll be back as soon as I can."

He turned to leave.

I didn' t say a word. I just watched him walk away, another lie falling so easily from his lips.

As his hand touched the doorknob, I spoke, my voice cold and clear.

"Wait."

He turned back, a flicker of impatience on his face.

I walked to the antique desk in the corner, pulled a file from the drawer, and walked back to him. I held it out.

"You need to sign this before you go."

It was the divorce agreement my lawyer had on standby for years, a precaution Janelle had insisted on after the first time I suspected he might be unfaithful, a suspicion he had expertly soothed away.

His name was at the top, in bold letters. Drake Cordova. And below it, mine. Elaine Lester.