Chapter 2

Belen Porter POV:

The world felt muted, as if a thick layer of cotton had been wrapped around my senses. I barely registered the short drive to Camden' s estate or the gentle way he guided me into the guesthouse, which was larger and more luxurious than the home Gregory and I had first shared.

"Belen?" My assistant, Clara, stood in the doorway, her face etched with concern. "Mr. Montoya called me. He said you weren' t feeling well."

I sank onto the plush sofa, the silk cushions feeling impossibly soft against my skin. "I' m fine, Clara." It was a lie, and we both knew it. My body felt heavy, drained of all energy, a physical manifestation of the gaping hole in my soul.

Clara didn' t press. She simply placed a glass of water and a small plate of crackers on the coffee table. "Your mother-in-law called. Eugenia. She' s worried. She saw the news."

Eugenia Velazquez. A woman as tough and unyielding as the steel her husband had once forged. She had never liked Adrianna, had warned Gregory about her years ago. Part of me wanted to call her, to let her righteous fury rain down on her son. But this wasn't her fight. It was mine.

"Tell her I' m taking a few days for myself," I said, my voice flat. "And Clara... I need you to do something for me. I want everything you can find on Adrianna Page. Where she' s been for the last five years, who she' s been with, what her financial situation is. Everything. And I want it to be discreet."

Clara nodded, her expression grim. "Of course, Belen."

After she left, I was alone with my thoughts, a torment of memories replaying in a relentless loop. I remembered Gregory, waking from his coma. His eyes, hazy and confused, had scanned the room until they landed on me. He hadn' t remembered the accident, hadn' t remembered the months leading up to it. He only remembered me.

"You' re my anchor, Belen," he had whispered, his hand weak in mine. "You' re the only real thing in this whole damn mess."

He had promised me a lifetime of devotion. He had promised that the ghosts of his past were buried. He had sworn that his love for me was a calm, steady harbor, unlike the tempestuous, destructive passion he' d shared with Adrianna.

Now I understood. His love for me was a choice, a conscious decision to build a stable life. His feelings for Adrianna were an instinct, a primal pull he was powerless to resist. And when faced with both, he had let instinct win.

My phone buzzed. An unknown number. I almost ignored it, but a sick sense of dread compelled me to open the message.

It was a picture.

Gregory and Adrianna, not at the gala, but in what looked like a hotel room. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his tie loosened, and she was standing behind him, her arms wrapped around his neck, pressing a kiss to his cheek. His eyes were closed, a look of weary contentment on his face. On the nightstand, next to a bottle of champagne, was a tube of lipstick. A specific shade of deep crimson.

Ruby Woo. My favorite. The one I' d been unable to find for weeks.

The date stamp on the photo was from three weeks ago. My birthday.

The night he came home late, smelling of a perfume that wasn' t mine, with a faint smear of red on his collar that he' d blamed on a clumsy waitress. The night he' d promised me he was closing a deal but had looked at me with empty eyes.

"Did you get me the lipstick I wanted?" I had asked, trying to keep my tone light.

He had frowned, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "Sorry, sweetheart. It was sold out everywhere. I' ll make it up to you."

The pieces of the puzzle clicked into place, each one a fresh stab of pain. The lies. The deceit. The casual cruelty of it all. It wasn' t a recent relapse; it was a calculated betrayal that had been happening right under my nose.

Another message came through from the same number.

He buys me your favorite lipstick because he says the color reminds him of the first time he saw you smile. Isn' t that romantic?

My breath hitched. The screen blurred as tears I didn' t know I had left began to fall. I saved the image, the date stamp, the message. Evidence. Not for him, but for me. A reminder of why I could never go back.

A third message appeared.

He feels guilty, you know. He talks about you constantly. Talks about how good you are. But every night, he comes back to me.

Then the final blow.

Let' s make a bet, Belen. Let' s see who he chooses. He says he can' t leave you now, not with the baby. But I' m betting he will. The moment he' s ready to tell the world that my child is his, you' ll walk away. No scenes, no fight. You just disappear. Deal?

My child. The words twisted in my stomach. She was claiming her child was his. It was a lie, it had to be, but the poison had been injected. The doubt was there.

The audacity of it. The sheer, unadulterated cruelty. She wasn' t just trying to take my husband; she was trying to annihilate my spirit. To make me a willing participant in my own destruction.

My fingers trembled as I typed my reply. I didn' t defend myself. I didn' t rage. I accepted her challenge.

Deal.

Clara returned a few hours later, her face pale. "Belen... I have the preliminary report on Adrianna Page. But... there' s something else. Gregory just transferred the deed to one of his downtown penthouses into her name. And he deposited ten million dollars into a new account for her."

He had already given her a home. He had already given her a fortune. All before he even came home to face me.

I felt a bitter laugh escape my lips. The bet was already over. I had already lost. Or maybe, just maybe, I had finally won.

"Clara," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "Hold the report on Adrianna. Don't show it to me. And whatever you do, don't let Gregory know we're looking into her."

I needed to see it for myself. I needed one last look at the man I had married, one last chance to see if there was anything left of him to save.

I needed to watch him choose.