He threw himself in front of his grandmother's cane without a second thought, shielding Rose behind him—and in that single motion, every word of comfort he'd offered me moments ago turned to ash.
"Grandma! This was my idea. I was trying to protect the family—don't take it out on someone innocent!"
Evelyn froze, her gaze cutting toward me instinctively.
Blood was soaking through the white sheets beneath me. Her cane came down hard across Percival's back.
"You animal! Her wound hasn't even closed—how could you let her hold the baby!"
Panic and regret flashed through his eyes. He started toward me—
But behind him, Rose crumpled to the floor.
He spun, catching her, already moving for the door.
Evelyn planted herself in his path.
"You're not leaving! Your wife is still in that bed! Have you forgotten you have a family?"
Percival's jaw worked. Conflict warred across his face.
"I haven't! But you hit her—she's hurt! I can't just ignore that! Aria... she has you. She'll be fine!"
Once, he'd shielded me like that.
Once, I was never the one left behind.
I swallowed the pain clawing up my throat and looked at him. My voice came out flat, distant.
"Grandma. Let him go."
He stared at me, clearly caught off guard by my composure.
After all, the old Aria would have begged. Screamed. Thrown herself at his feet. Shredded every last scrap of dignity just to make him stay.
Something complicated flickered in his eyes—words forming, then dying unspoken.
He left.
The nurses helped me redress my wound. The baby was soothed back to sleep.
Then my phone lit up.
[I forgot about your stitches. Sorry. I just didn't want a scene at the hospital—it would've looked bad for the family.]
[Rose is still unconscious. She needs someone with her. I won't be coming back tonight. Get some rest.]
I stared at the screen until the words blurred.
I remembered a different version of him. The one who'd flown eleven hours the moment he heard I was hurt. Who'd cleared his entire schedule just to sit beside me during a routine checkup. Who refused to leave my side.
Evelyn caught me staring and snatched the phone from my hands. She read the messages, and a cold scoff escaped her.
"That ungrateful wretch. Just wait until he comes home—I'll deal with him myself. Aria, don't worry. Grandma will—"
I laughed.
It stopped her mid-sentence.
My gaze met hers, calm and unblinking.
"You allowed all of this to happen, didn't you?"
"I stopped caring about what he does a long time ago." I didn't let her respond. "You made me a promise. Once I gave birth, you'd help me get the divorce. I'm holding you to that."
Her expression cracked. Guilt pooled in her eyes, heavy and undisguised.
"I failed you, child."
She exhaled slowly. "I already tricked him into signing the divorce papers. Finish your thirty days of recovery, and then... you're free to go."
Evelyn took the baby into her own care, personally arranging round-the-clock help.
I checked into the postpartum recovery suite under the guise of standard confinement, dodging prying eyes and wagging tongues.
But that night, the gossip still detonated across every business circle in the city:
The Stephens heir abandons his wife hours after childbirth—storms out to protect his sister-in-law—defies the family matriarch.
Stephens Group stock plummeted. Percival was drowning in damage control.
Rose's lifestyle influencer account got swarmed. Netizens dug up the scandal I'd once tried to expose—how she'd made a play for her own sister's husband—the same story Percival had buried with his connections.
Her comment sections turned into a bloodbath. If he hadn't intervened again, she'd have been deplatformed and sued for breach of contract.
Seven days passed before I saw him again.
The moment he walked in, his eyes locked onto mine—cold, accusing.
"Aria." His voice was tight with barely leashed anger. "Does destroying us really make you happy? Is this the kind of revenge you wanted?"
I blinked, and then it clicked.
He'd decided I was the one who'd leaked the scandal.
Of course he had. I used to work in media. Spinning narratives was what I did best.
