Three months into my pregnancy, my boyfriend suggested we temporarily move into an old house, worried that the chemicals from new furniture might be harmful. Then, I happened upon a social media update from his assistant.
"Enjoying a vacation at the lavish lakeside villa with my boss... He's so generous! I'll be loyal to him forever!" the post exclaimed. As I clicked on the images, I realized it was the very villa Rowen and I had dreamed of as our future home. Stroking my pregnant belly, I dryly liked the post. Seconds later, Rowen called:
"Briana, the company landed the big deal because Wrenley played her cards right. What's wrong with rewarding her with a vacation? Stop being overly dramatic." He hung up before I could reply.
I didn't argue this time. Instead, I calmly set my phone down, turned away, and scheduled an appointment for an abortion.
---
The doctor performing my surgery was a renowned gynecologist in New York City and one of my mother's protégés. "So, my mentor mentioned your engagement is off?" he asked, his voice tinged with smugness.
I didn't respond with my usual sharp retorts. Instead, I placed a hand on my slightly protruding belly and managed a bitter smile. "Yes, it's over."
His demeanor shifted to one of seriousness, "Don't worry, little sister. I'll make sure you won't feel any pain."
I nodded, following his instructions. When Rowen and I first started dating, nobody believed in us. Rowen was struggling back then, trying to kickstart his company. While others doubted him, I believed in his potential. After much persuasion, my family reluctantly agreed to give us a chance, as long as we kept my background a secret. I accepted, trusting that Rowen, a man with dreams and ideals, wouldn't change because of wealth.
Given the instability in his career, I was careful about contraception throughout our seven-year relationship. This unexpected pregnancy, however, exposed Rowen's true character. In retrospect, my efforts to prove everyone wrong about Rowen seemed laughable.
As I emerged from the operating room, a hollow feeling settled in my chest. I instinctively opened Rowen's chat window on my phone. Nothing awaited me there. Letting out a humorless laugh, I was about to close it when a notification popped up from his assistant, Wrenley.
It was a selfie taken in front of a floor-to-ceiling window. Reflected in the glass were two entwined, naked figures. Outside, the vibrant cityscape sparkled, and a distant lighthouse stood like a sentinel over the coastline. It was unmistakably the Sea View Grand Hotel in Manhattan, with its opulent suites costing at least $3,888 a night.
I remembered when I had wanted to try the rooftop pool suite during a getaway, and Rowen had called me extravagant. Now, it was apparent he had the funds; he simply didn’t want to spend them on me.
A wave of nausea hit me, and I rushed to the bathroom, vomiting violently. When I returned, the doctor glanced at me with concern. I dismissed him, indicating I was fine, and called the butler to send a driver to pick me up, suppressing the churning turmoil inside.
