Clara’s POV
It was supposed to be our ninth anniversary, a celebration of nine years we had promised each other.
Instead, Mark walked through the penthouse doors with another woman—his arm wrapped around her, her dress stretched over a belly that belonged to him.
For nearly a decade, he had made me feel untouchable. He sent rare roses flown in from Italy, kissed my hand in front of guests, and swore that I was the only woman he would ever love.
And now?
Now he stood there, proud, beside a woman carrying his child, parading her like a trophy in the heart of our home.
“She’s sensitive to changes,” he said casually, his hand possessive around the other woman’s waist as she leaned into him with infuriating confidence. “No repeated meals, and she can’t sleep alone. You’ll move your things to the guest suite.”
I froze.
“Move?” My voice cracked. “Mark, are you serious? You cheat on me, get her pregnant, and now you expect me to pack up and disappear into a guest suite like… like I’m nothing?”
His eyes hardened. “This isn’t a request, Clara. You will do it.”
“No.” My hands trembled as I gestured at her. “You impregnated her and brought her here to celebrate our anniversary? Do you even hear yourself? The audacity, Mark. Absolutely not.”
“I said move, Clara!”
His presence was overwhelming, radiating power that pressed down on me like a physical weight. Years of shared life, of marriage, of expectation, tried to chain me in place.
But I refused to kneel to a man who had shattered everything we had built.
“I’m leaving,” I said firmly. “I’m done. Happy? Goodbye, Mark.”
Did he think I would bow to her, the other woman? Never. I had packed weeks ago, after a shocking video arrived on my phone—a video of him with her. I had been ready for this night long before it arrived.
Mark’s lips curled into a smirk as he stepped toward me, pointing at me once, dismissively, like swatting a fly.
“Leave, then,” he said. “Throw your little tantrum. You’ll be back in days, begging like the spoiled wife who thought she had it all.”
Laughter floated behind me. Guests, friends, family—people who had once bowed when I entered a room—were whispering and smirking at my humiliation.
Too bad for them, I wasn’t staying to play the humiliated wife.
The car my cousin had sent was already waiting outside.
Mark thought I’d return crawling? I didn’t even glance back as I retrieved my luggage from the bedroom.
But just as I reached the door, his voice cut through the room.
“Leave the Moonstone bracelet. Give it to her.”
My chest tightened.
The bracelet. My grandmother’s gift. The only thing that had kept me grounded through weeks of heartbreak and betrayal. And now he wanted me to hand it to her? To the woman carrying his child?
“No,” I whispered, tears spilling down my cheeks. “Not this. Anything but this.”
Mark snorted, drawing her closer. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. She needs it.”
I could have screamed. I could have thrown it. I could have fought.
But my body trembled. My hands shook. And the weight of his presence threatened to make me submit.
So I walked over to her, slowly.
I unclasped the bracelet and fastened it around her wrist.
“May your child be safe and happy,” I said softly.
The moment the silver clasp clicked, a thin red line appeared across her pale skin. She gasped and fell to her knees, clutching her wrist.
“W-What did you do to me?” she cried. “Did you hurt me on purpose?”
“What? No!” I stared at her wrist, horrified.
Mark reacted instantly. He moved as if every muscle in his body had tensed. He swept her into his arms, holding her as if she were made of glass, before turning his sharp gaze on me.
“What did you do?” he demanded. “Are you so bitter that she carries my child that you would curse her?”
“I don’t know!” I said, my hands still suspended midair, trembling.
“Call a doctor. Now!” He barked, then turned his gaze back to me. “You—clean up the mess. Every shard. Do it now.”
I looked down at the shattered bracelet on the marble floor.
Glass and metal pierced my palms, but I didn’t care. Pain was better than weakness.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
Once.
Then again.
And again.
My knees burned as I pushed myself upright, bloodied hands pressing against the cold floor. I brushed hair from my face and met his eyes.
“Is that enough, Mark?”
There was no softness in his gaze. No flicker of affection.
“The man who once protected you is gone. Who do you think you’re pretending for now?”
I stared at him, the man I had loved. “Why don’t you just reject me, Mark? If you despise me, end it. Break the bond.”
He laughed—low, amused, cruel. “Why would I? You’ll come back. You always do. And rejection… that’s painful. Not worth it.”
I gathered the remaining pieces of the bracelet and tossed them into the trash. I washed the blood from my hands, picked up my bag, and walked out.
This time, I didn’t look back.
