Aliza's POV:
A wave of intense, searing pain ripped through my lower abdomen, a pain far more brutal than anything I had experienced before. It wasn't the dull ache of grief, but a visceral, terrifying agony. As the last vestiges of consciousness slipped away, the image of Frida's triumphant, twisted smile burned behind my eyelids. I was losing control, losing everything.
When I awoke, the first thing I registered was the blinding white of a hospital ceiling, then the distant murmur of hushed voices. My body felt heavy, hollowed out, an unbearable emptiness radiating from my core. I reached for my stomach, a deep, primal ache resonating within me.
A doctor, a kind-faced woman with worried eyes, leaned over me. "Mrs. West? Aliza? Can you hear me?"
I nodded weakly, my throat raw. "What... what happened?"
Her voice was gentle, but her words were like stones, dropping one by one into the chasm of my soul. "You suffered a severe internal hemorrhage. We had to perform an emergency procedure. The... the pregnancy was no longer viable. We lost the baby, Aliza."
The words hit me like a physical blow. Lost the baby. Again. But this time, it was definitive, violent. The tears came, hot and furious, blurring the pristine white room. My baby. My baby, the tiny life I had just begun to acknowledge, was truly gone. Ripped away by the cruel hand of fate, or perhaps, by the vengeful malice of another woman. The pain was beyond bearing, a raw, primal scream trapped in my chest.
I lay there, adrift in a sea of grief, when the television mounted high on the wall flickered to life. A breaking news alert. A smiling image of Dax and Frida flashed across the screen. The anchor's voice, smooth and authoritative, filled the room. "West Enterprises CEO, Dax West, was spotted earlier today at the exclusive Paradise Cove Resort, comforting actress Frida Brennan after a reported emotional breakdown linked to ongoing tabloid speculation. Sources close to the couple suggest a rekindling of their past romance, with Mr. West reportedly cutting short a planned vacation with his wife, Aliza Hayes, to be by Ms. Brennan's side."
My blood ran cold. He was with her. Again. While I lay here, bleeding, losing our child, he was publicly comforting her. A bitter, hysterical laugh escaped my lips. This was a nightmare. He was not just emotionally detached; he was a stranger, a cruel parody of the man I thought I knew.
Days later, discharged from the hospital, I returned to the cold, echoing mansion. It felt less like a home, more like a tomb. I walked through the empty rooms, each step a testament to the life that was no more. The nursery, half-decorated, mocked me with its pastel colors and silent promises.
I went to my private study, a small sanctuary in this vast house. From a hidden drawer, I retrieved a small, tarnished silver locket. My most treasured possession. I opened it, my fingers tracing the faded inscription: Always and Forever. Your Protector. Inside, a tiny, blurry photo of me as a child, and a simple drawing of a star. The star pendant Dax had tried to give me, his clumsy pinky promise, had been a cruel mirror image of the true promise, the true protector.
I remembered that day, a decade ago. The abandoned warehouse. The terror. The harsh voices. And then, a boy, a kind boy, no older than me. He had hidden me, shielded me, whispered words of comfort even as he trembled. He had drawn that star on my palm, promised to protect me, always. I had always attributed that memory to Dax, the powerful heir, the one whose family owned everything. But now, with Frida's words, with her manipulative claim, it was all clear. It wasn't Dax. It was never Dax. The boy was someone else. Someone I had misremembered, someone I had unwittingly replaced with the man I had loved for so long.
Dax. My heart clenched, not with love, but with a profound, aching emptiness. He had built his entire identity around being Frida's savior, a lie she had fostered, and he had believed. And I, a fool, had bought into that lie, sacrificing my heart, my dignity, my entire life for a ghost. He was not my protector. He was my tormentor.
I clutched the locket, the memories a sharp, painful echo. All those years, all that love, all that hope-wasted on a phantom. My promise, my love, my loyalty, my child-all thrown away for a man who didn't even know me, who never truly saw me.
"No more," I whispered, my voice raw but firm. No more wasted love. No more quiet suffering. No more living in the shadow of his misremembered past. I stood up, walked to the fireplace, and with a decisive movement, threw the locket into the roaring flames. It was time to burn it all down. The past. The lies. The pain.
The next morning, I called my parents. "Mom, Dad," I said, my voice clear and resolute. "I want a divorce. And I've applied for a prestigious biochemistry fellowship in Argentina. I'm leaving."
There was a stunned silence on the other end, then my mother's voice, soft with understanding. "Aliza, are you sure?"
"I've never been surer," I said, a new strength blooming within me. "I need to find myself. Away from here. Away from him."
My father, after a moment, spoke. "We'll support you, Aliza. Whatever you decide. We'll make sure everything is handled."
A wave of relief washed over me. I packed a single suitcase, leaving behind the designer clothes, the expensive jewelry, everything that tied me to the West name. As I carried my bag down the grand staircase, Dax's voice, sharp and demanding, echoed from the front door. He had just walked in.
"Aliza! Where are you going?" he demanded, his eyes scanning my small suitcase. "What is this?"
I stopped, my heart cold and hard. "I'm leaving, Dax," I said, my voice steady. "I'm going to Argentina. And I want a divorce."
His face paled, a flicker of something, perhaps shock, crossing his features. "A divorce? Aliza, you can't be serious. What about-"
Just then, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, his eyes widening. It was a text from Frida. He frowned, a familiar line appearing between his brows. He looked from me to his phone, a momentary hesitation. Then, without a word, he turned and rushed out the door, his phone already pressed to his ear, his voice low and urgent. "Frida? Are you alright? What happened?"
He left. Again. For her.
A wry, bitter smile touched my lips. He had made my decision easier. There was no going back. There never was. He truly had no idea what he had lost. I picked up my suitcase, a strange sense of lightness washing over me. The chains were broken. I was free.
I walked out of the mansion, the heavy doors closing behind me with a resounding thud. I had booked a flight for that afternoon. My new life awaited.
Dax returned an hour later, his frustration palpable. Frida had apparently had a minor panic attack, easily soothed. He walked into the silent house, calling my name. "Aliza? Aliza!" His voice echoed through the empty halls. He walked into our bedroom, only to find it stripped of my personal belongings. The closet was half empty. My side of the nightstand was bare.
A cold dread crept into his heart. "Aliza!" he roared, but only silence answered him. He pulled out his phone, dialed my number. It rang once, twice, then went straight to voicemail. Then, a notification popped up. User has blocked you.
His hand trembled. He tried to call my parents, only to be met with a cold, formal voice. "Mr. West, we've been instructed to inform you that our daughter, Aliza Hayes, has retained legal counsel. All further communication regarding her personal affairs will be handled by her attorney. You will receive a formal notice shortly." The line went dead.
Dax stood there, phone still in hand, staring at the empty side of the bed. Divorce. The word echoed in his mind, cold and sharp. He had never truly considered it. Aliza, leaving him? It was inconceivable. He had always assumed she would be there, a constant fixture in his regulated life. But now... now she was gone. And for the first time in a long time, Dax West felt a chilling, profound sense of loss.
