Chapter 2

Adrian came home the next morning expecting a war.

I could tell from the way he entered the dining room.

His shoulders were squared, his expression guarded, and there was already irritation sitting behind his eyes. He had probably spent the entire drive home preparing himself for the conversation he expected us to have.

The screaming.

The accusations.

The tears.

Maybe even another desperate attempt from me to save our marriage.

For seven years, that was how our arguments ended.

I fought.

Adrian withdrew.

I cried.

He became colder.

Then, somehow, I was always the one apologizing for making things difficult.

This time, however, I was sitting quietly at the breakfast table with a cup of untouched coffee between my hands.

I looked up when he entered.

"Good morning."

Adrian stopped.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

"That's it?"

I tilted my head.

"What else should I say?"

He seemed almost offended by my question.

"About yesterday."

I lowered my gaze to my coffee.

"My mother died yesterday, Adrian."

His expression shifted for the briefest moment.

"I know."

"No. You don't."

The words came calmly.

There was no accusation in my voice, and perhaps that was what unsettled him.

I continued before he could respond.

"But it's all right. I don't want to argue."

He stared at me.

For years, I had dreamed of seeing him speechless.

I never imagined it would happen because I had finally stopped caring what he said next.

He pulled out the chair across from me.

"Serena, we need to talk about Celeste."

"All right."

His brows drew together.

"She is carrying my child."

"I know."

"I want to be involved in the baby's life."

"Of course."

He leaned back slowly.

"You understand that?"

"Yes."

"And you understand that I'm going to spend time with her?"

I looked directly at him.

"Yes."

Something changed in his expression.

He had expected resistance.

Instead, I gave him permission he no longer needed.

"You can spend as much time with Celeste as you want," I said. "You can acknowledge the baby. You can be its father. You can introduce it to your family, your friends, your business partners, whoever you want."

"Serena..."

"I understand that our marriage has changed."

The silence that followed was almost uncomfortable.

Adrian studied me as though I were a stranger.

Perhaps I was.

Maybe the woman he knew had disappeared sometime during the night.

Or perhaps she had simply finally stopped pretending.

He rubbed a hand over his jaw.

"I didn't expect you to react like this."

"I know."

"You're not angry?"

I thought about it.

Of course I was angry.

There was a part of me that wanted to throw every plate in the house against the wall. Another part wanted to demand why seven years of marriage had apparently meant so little to him.

But anger required something I no longer had.

Hope.

"No," I said softly. "I'm tired."

That answer silenced him.

I had spent seven years being Adrian Vale's wife.

Seven years protecting the man who had slowly destroyed the woman I used to be.

When reporters discovered his first affair, I was the one who stepped in front of the cameras.

"Adrian and I are perfectly happy."

When another woman was photographed leaving his hotel suite, I smiled and told the press it was a business meeting.

When rumors spread that his company was struggling, I attended charity galas beside him, smiled for photographs, and made sure no one saw the fear behind his eyes.

When his investors questioned whether he was capable of leading the company, I gave up my residency placement and moved my entire life around his schedule.

I had been a doctor once.

Or at least, I had been becoming one.

I loved medicine.

I loved the controlled chaos of an emergency room, the sharp concentration required when someone's life was literally in your hands, the moment a patient's breathing steadied because you had done something right.

Then Adrian's company began expanding.

He needed me.

At least, that was what I told myself.

So I stepped away.

I became his wife.

His shield.

His excuse.

His quiet supporter standing one step behind him while the world applauded his success.

And somewhere along the way, I disappeared.

My hand drifted unconsciously toward my abdomen.

There was another memory buried there.

One I had spent years refusing to touch.

Seven years ago, Adrian was trying to close the first major deal that would transform his small company into the empire it eventually became.

The negotiations were falling apart.

He called me that night.

"Serena, please. I need you."

I had been eight weeks pregnant.

We hadn't told anyone yet.

Not even our families.

It had been our secret.

Our baby.

I remembered smiling at the phone when he told me the investors were demanding one final meeting.

"I'll come."

"You shouldn't. You're pregnant."

"I'll be fine."

I wasn't.

The meeting lasted for hours.

I remember standing beside Adrian while his business partners questioned him. I remember the pressure building in my abdomen and the cold sweat covering my palms.

But I stayed.

Because Adrian needed me.

Because I thought being his wife meant standing beside him when things became difficult.

By the time we reached the hospital, there was nothing the doctors could do.

I lost the baby that night.

I also lost something inside myself that never completely returned.

Afterward, the doctors told us there could be complications.

They warned that another pregnancy might be difficult.

For years, Adrian believed I couldn't have children.

Eventually, he stopped asking.

I never corrected him.

Because every time I looked at him, I remembered that little life we had lost while I was trying to save his dream.

And then, three months ago, I discovered the truth.

My hands tightened around the edge of the table.

My latest medical results had come back normal.

There was no permanent damage.

No infertility.

No reason I couldn't have children.

My body had not betrayed me.

I had simply spent years believing that it had.

Adrian was watching me.

"What are you thinking about?"

I looked at him.

"Nothing important."

He seemed dissatisfied with the answer.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

That almost made me laugh.

After everything, that was the question he chose to ask.

"I'm going to be fine."

He stood.

"I'll give you some time."

"You don't need to."

He paused.

I smiled politely.

"You should go see Celeste."

His jaw tightened.

"Serena."

"She is carrying your child. She probably needs you."

He stared at me for several seconds before finally walking away.

I waited until I heard the front door close.

Then I let out the breath I had been holding.

I didn't cry.

That surprised me most of all.

Instead, I opened my laptop.

The humanitarian program application was still there.

My cursor blinked beside the final question.

Why do you wish to serve overseas?

I stared at the screen.

Because I wanted to remember who I was.

Because I wanted a life that belonged to me.

Because I was finally done sacrificing myself for people who would never sacrifice anything for me.

I began typing.

My phone vibrated.

I almost ignored it.

The number was unfamiliar.

One message.

I opened it.

My blood went cold.

If you're finally ready to leave him, I can get you out.

I stared at the screen.

Then another message appeared.

Don't tell Adrian.

My fingers went numb.

I looked at the name attached to the number.

Lucien Rook.

I knew that name.

Everyone did.

And suddenly, for the first time since my mother's death, I felt something other than grief.

Fear.

Because Lucien Rook was not a man who offered help without a reason.

And somehow, he already knew I was ready to leave.