Chapter 4

Haven Shelton POV:

I woke up to the sight of Andre on his knees by my hospital bed, his face buried in his hands. His shoulders were shaking with what looked like sobs. When he looked up, his eyes were red-rimmed and filled with tears.

"Haven," he choked out. "God, I'm so sorry. I was... I was so worried. Kaliyah saved your career. I felt like I owed her, owed her baby... It was a moment of insanity."

The performance was flawless. The remorse, the tortured explanation, the self-flagellation. It was all there. I simply stared at him, my heart a cold, dead weight in my chest.

"The art gallery..." I said, my voice a dry rasp. "You told our friends your nights were for her."

His face went pale. "It was just talk, Haven. Locker room talk. You know how those guys are. I was just playing along. It meant nothing."

"Is her baby yours?" I asked, the question hanging like a guillotine in the air between us.

"No!" he said, a little too quickly. "Of course not. God, Haven, how can you even ask that? Do you have so little faith in my love for you?" He framed it as an accusation, a wound I had inflicted upon him with my distrust. It was a masterful pivot. "I'm helping her out of a sense of duty. That's all."

I almost laughed. Duty. He called this duty. He took the one genuine act of professional kindness I had received and twisted it into a justification for his betrayal. He had made my gratitude the foundation of his affair.

He saw the skepticism in my eyes and shoved his phone into my hand. "Look. Look at everything. There's nothing to hide."

I scrolled through it. My face was his wallpaper. The photo gallery was filled with pictures of me, of us. His calendar was filled with reminders: "Buy Haven's favorite flowers," "Pick up Haven's prenatal vitamins," "Date night with my beautiful wife." It was a perfect digital shrine to a perfect husband. A meticulously curated lie.

I handed the phone back to him. The effort he put into the deception was almost more sickening than the affair itself.

"I believe you," I lied.

Relief washed over his face. He crawled onto the bed, wrapping his arms around me like a repentant child, burying his face in my hair. "Thank you," he whispered. "I knew you would. You're the only one who's ever understood me."

I felt nothing but a profound, chilling cold. It was no longer about love or betrayal. It was about survival.

He spent the next week playing the part of the devoted husband. He never left my side, catering to my every whim. Then, one afternoon, he said he had to step out for a quick meeting. The moment he was gone, Kaliyah appeared in my doorway.

"He misses me," she said with a smug smile, filing her nails. "He texts me every night after you fall asleep. He says being with you feels like a chore. He can't wait until you're recovered so he can come back to my bed."

I squeezed the glass of water in my hand, my knuckles turning white. It was all a game. A sick, twisted game where they were the players and I was the board.

"You're nothing but a temporary distraction," I said, my voice low and even. "He'll get tired of you, just like he'll get tired of all the others."

"You're the one who's going to be replaced," she sneered, her eyes flashing with hatred. "You're a washed-up, pregnant hausfrau. And your baby? It's just an obstacle."

The word "obstacle" broke through my carefully constructed calm. I stood up, the water glass still in my hand.

Kaliyah's eyes widened. But just as I took a step forward, she did something extraordinary. She slapped herself, hard, across the face, leaving a bright red mark.

"Stop it, Haven!" she shrieked, collapsing to the floor. "Don't hit me! I'm pregnant!"

She began to wail, clutching her stomach, accusing me of trying to kill her baby, of being a jealous monster who couldn't stand that Andre had found true love.

Andre walked in at that exact moment. Of course he did. He stood in the doorway, his gaze flickering between my stunned face and Kaliyah's sobbing form on the floor.

For a moment, I saw a flicker of indecision in his eyes. A flash of something that might have been suspicion.

"Andre," he said, his voice tight, "I've told Kaliyah we can't see each other anymore. It's for the best." His gaze, however, lingered on her with a tangible ache.

Kaliyah, seeing her chance, scrambled to her feet. "I was just trying to leave," she sobbed, "but I felt dizzy." She swayed dramatically and then pitched forward, not away from me, but directly at me.

It all happened in slow motion. Andre lunged, but his instincts betrayed him. He didn't reach for me, his injured, pregnant wife. He reached for her. He caught Kaliyah, his arms wrapping securely around her as she collapsed against his chest.

His momentum carried them forward. His body, shielding hers, slammed into me.

I was knocked off balance. My feet scrambled for purchase on the slick linoleum floor, but found none. I fell backward, my head connecting with the hard steel frame of the hospital bed with a sickening crack.

The world tilted, the white ceiling spinning into a gray vortex. The last thing I saw was Andre's face, his eyes wide with horror, as he clutched Kaliyah tightly to his chest. He had made his choice. Again.

And then, everything went black.

I woke up alone. The room was empty, silent except for the rhythmic beep of a heart monitor. I almost laughed. Of course it was empty. Where else would he be?

The illusion was shattered. The pretense was over. There was no going back to the comfortable lies. He was not the man I married. He was a stranger who wore my husband's face.

I reached for my phone, my fingers surprisingly steady. I dialed the number I had called just a week ago.

"Jude?" I said when he answered.

"Haven. Is everything okay?"

"I have a question for you," I said, my voice clear and cold as ice. "That offer you made me back in college... the one where you said if I ever left him, you'd marry me in a heartbeat."

There was a stunned silence on the other end of the line.

"Does the offer still stand?"