First Marriage Failed, Second Marriage was Sweet

The fake heiress, June Fox, pushed me down the stairs while I was pregnant.

I collapsed in a pool of my own blood, feeling the life inside me slipping away, tears streaming from the pain.

And my husband, Patrick Harding, was wiping the tears of the woman trembling in his arms, murmuring soft words of comfort.

"Don't look. It's ugly. Are you hurt anywhere?"

Because the best window for emergency treatment was missed, I could never carry a child again.

Patrick shrugged it off like it was nothing.

"So you can't have kids. It's not like you're dying."

From the day we started dating, through our wedding, to now, eight full years. He knew better than anyone how much I loved children.

And he had stripped me of the right to ever be a mother.

Three days later, I stumbled home in a daze.

On the master bedroom sheets, there was a half-dried stain. It was obvious. They'd had sex in my marriage bed.

I shut the bedroom door. Something inside me went quiet for good. I dialed a number I hadn't touched in years. "I agree. I'll honor our arrangement.Leave him and marry you."

——

"Serena Abbott, the divorce papers and the resignation letter are both ready. Are you really going through with this?"

My closest friend handed me the two documents, her eyes full of reluctance and confusion, a sigh caught in her throat.

She had been there since I was brought back to Graystone City. She'd witnessed every chapter of my love story with Patrick.

I took the papers. Eight years of my life, condensed into two thin sheets. Almost laughably light.

I nodded, firm. "Yes."

I was going back to Havenport. My adoptive parents were still waiting for me to come home.

I turned and walked out, carrying those two sheets of paper straight to Harding Group, all the way up to the top floor.

Patrick looked up when I came in, mildly surprised, a crease of irritation forming between his brows.

"Why did you check yourself out? Are you feeling better? I've been swamped. That's the only reason I haven't come to see you."

"You don't need to rush back to work. Your only priority right now is recovering. You know that, right?"

Swamped. Not swamped. He simply didn't care enough. He'd been too busy taking care of June Fox.

I smiled and said nothing. I slid the papers across the desk toward him.

"Sign these."

Patrick's gaze dropped. His pupils contracted, an involuntary reflex.

"What is this?"

I watched his hand reach to flip the first page, and the sting behind my eyes deepened. A bitter laugh escaped me.

"Call it your compensation to me."

A flicker of guilt crossed his face. Even he knew he'd gone too far.

He opened to the first page. Patrick was always careful; no matter how rushed, he'd at least skim the contents.

But then his phone rang. The name on the screen burned into my eyes like a brand.

Sweetheart June.

June Fox. The woman who had stolen eighteen years of my life. Who tormented me the moment I was brought back. Who had now killed my child.

Patrick knew everything I'd suffered. There was a time he'd despised June Fox too.

And now he had her saved as Sweetheart.

How absurd.

I let out a cold laugh. Eight years of love, reduced to a punchline.

Patrick answered immediately, his voice softening without him even realizing it.

A whiny, coquettish voice poured through the speaker.

"Patrick, I want boba from that place in Southvale. Come get it with me!"

He stood without a second of hesitation, already heading for the door.

"Serena, I'll be back in a bit."

I reached out and caught his wrist. My fingertips were ice. My voice was flat.

"June Fox pushed me down a flight of stairs and killed our baby. You signing a little compensation on her behalf isn't unreasonable, is it?"

His brow furrowed. Displeasure flooded his eyes in an instant.

"I told you, June didn't do it on purpose. She had terrible cramps that day. She lost her footing and bumped into you. She was so scared she cried."

"Stop making everything into such a big deal."

Lost her footing.

Three little words, weightless as air.

I laughed. Laughed until my eyes blurred with tears.

I had been writhing in a pool of blood, screaming in agony, and he was wiping June Fox's tears.

I had been on the operating table, hovering between life and death, and he was rubbing June Fox's stomach through the night.

I stared into his eyes, searching for even a trace of guilt. Of love.

Patrick shifted under my gaze. He searched my face too, looking for the old grievances, the hysteria he was used to.

But all he found was emptiness. A silence that had nothing left to give.

"Just sign. Once you do, I'm gone. I won't keep you from your boba date."

I pressed the pen into his hand.

He hesitated for a moment, then flipped straight to the last few pages. One broad stroke of his hand, and Patrick Harding sprawled across the signature line.

He stepped forward, pulled me into his arms, and pressed a kiss to my forehead, a gesture that almost passed for tenderness.

"Whatever you want, it's yours. Now be good and go home on your own."

Then he left without looking back.

I watched his retreating figure, and eight years of memories crashed over me at once.

When the Fox family first brought me back, everyone in the house hated me. My brother Carl said I'd stolen June's love. June herself found every possible way to bully me, to tear me down.

It was Patrick who stepped forward, shielded me behind him, and told June, stone-faced, to apologize.

He knew I was terrified in that unfamiliar house. Every day after school, he'd come to sit with me, bringing warm milk, saying, "Don't be scared. I'm here."

He promised he'd protect me for the rest of his life. That he'd never let anyone hurt me.

Back then, I was the only one in his eyes.

The door swung open, cutting through my thoughts.

"Ms. Fox, where would you like these pastries and flowers?"

A new assistant walked in carrying an armful of lush red roses and a box of elegant pastries, her face bright with envy.

"Mr. Harding is so good to you. He has fresh flowers delivered every single day and all these desserts specially prepared so you won't go hungry at work."

I looked at the sickeningly sweet macarons and mousse cakes. I looked at the roses I'd never liked, the same ones that always showed up on June Fox's social media. A hollow smile tugged at my lips.

I didn't have a sweet tooth. I hated red roses. Patrick knew that better than anyone.

"Just set them over there."

My voice was flat. I gathered my things and walked out.

The assistant was still chattering behind me.

"Ms. Fox, you're so lucky. Mr. Harding only has eyes for you..."

Lucky?

I walked out of Harding Group. The evening wind hit my face, and my eyes burned.

My phone buzzed. A name I hadn't seen in eight years lit up the screen.

Maurice Sanchez.

On the other end, I could hear the smile in his voice.

"Eight years before you finally called. Much later than I expected. I'll come get you tomorrow."

I shook my head, my gaze steady.

"Give me a week. There's something I need to take care of first."

Finalize the divorce. Then, at June Fox's birthday gala, deliver them a gift they'd never forget.