Goodbye, I'm Not Yours Anymore

“Sir, if we don’t get your wife to the emergency wing now, she won’t make it,” Ryker stammered, voice shaky. He’d been my husband's family’s head of security for fifteen years—handled gunmen, arson, blackmail. But this? This rattled him. “You’re really planning to extract the embryo out of her to save your ex-fiancée’s baby?”

I lay at the foot of the penthouse stairs, my blood mixing with the ivory veins of the marble floor like some grotesque artwork. I wasn’t just bleeding—I was leaking life. It was everywhere. Down my thighs, across my hands, soaking into the silk dress I’d worn to dinner. I couldn’t feel my legs anymore. Everything hurt. Everything.

But I still remembered exactly how I got here.

Favio had taken a call. One glance at the caller ID—Caroline—and his whole body changed. I’d seen the shift, the way his face went slack and strange like he was listening to God herself. And then… just like that, he shoved me.

I was halfway down the staircase, hand on the polished banister, when his palm slammed into my shoulder blade. A clean, cold push.

I don’t even think he said my name.

One second I was upright, the next—I was tumbling. I hit the tiles back-first, the wind punched out of me, my skull ricocheting off the last step. And for a moment, I just lay there in stunned silence, unable to process what had happened.

I was four months pregnant. Not that it showed. Just a gentle fullness, barely more than bloat. You wouldn’t know unless you were looking for it. Favio never was.

“That’s what Dr. Lenz said,” he said now, standing over me like I was a broken appliance. “Only this embryo is viable for the neural grafts. If we don’t move now, Caroline’s going to die.”

Caroline. The ex. Favio’s first love. The one the press still called “Favio's first love” The one who tried to shove me off the rooftop at the gala last year—but it was fine, apparently.

“Get the damn surgeon on the line,” Favio barked. “We’re doing the extraction now. While she’s still under.”

Ryker went ghost-white. “Sir… Miss Amelia isn’t even sedated. She’s in shock. If you do this—if you rip the embryo out of her—you’ll kill her child and she might never be able to carry again.”

“She’s already done her part,” Favio snapped. “She wanted to prove her loyalty to this family. Well—this is it. I know that child she was carrying isn't mine and Caroline was more important than her.”

Ryker fumbled for his phone, whispering, “I’m calling an ambulance,” but Favio snatched it, hurled it against the wall, and stepped over me like I was office furniture—like I wasn’t even a person.

---

I must’ve blacked out, because when I woke up again, I was strapped to a surgical table on Cunningham MedTech’s private floor. Tubes in my veins. Machines whining. My body hollowed out.

My hands trembled as I touched my stomach. It was flat.

No movement. No swell. No heartbeat fluttering beneath my ribs. Just a silence that screamed.

I wanted to sob, but even my throat hurt. Like I’d swallowed razors.

Night fell. The world outside turned black. Somewhere beyond the glass, life moved on.

And then I heard it.

“Favio, stop. Not here… Amelia’s in the next room,” Caroline giggled.

“She’s out,” he grunted. “We can celebrate properly.”

Their voices were right outside my door. The soundproof walls did nothing. They didn’t even bother closing the door.

“We did it,” she whispered. “She never would’ve agreed to give it up willingly. But now? Now we have the cells. I’ll finally be cured.”

He kissed her. I heard the bed creak. The headboard tapped the wall.

I lay there, numb, eyes open. I let a single tear slide sideways into the pillow. Then they started talking again.

“You know I only married her because of the embryo, right?” Favio muttered.

Caroline laughed. “Oh, I know. You said it so many times. Jeez, and the way she dresses? I’m sorry, but she looks like a damn librarian from a failed sitcom.”

“She does,” Favio snorted. “Hair always up. Turtlenecks in summer. Walking around like she’s smarter than everyone but can’t even figure out how to look half-decent. I mean… come on. She looks pathetic.”

“She’s too soft,” Caroline said, a pout in her voice. “I’m sorry I left you back then.”

Favio shushed her gently. “It’s okay. We’ve got what we needed now. Everything’s gonna be fine.”

Caroline hesitated. “But… what if she divorces you?”

He laughed. “She won’t. She’s nothing. Her parnts died alrady. No family. No one’s gonna help her.”

“But what if she leaves anyway? What if she sue you?”

“She can’t. I’ll be the one to divorce her—but only after I’m sure you’re cured. After that, I won’t need her for anything then I'll give you the wedding you deserve.”

Caroline sighed, pleased. “I knew you still loved me.”

I closed my eyes. Didn’t scream. Didn’t cry. I just let a single tear drift sideways into the pillow, salt soaking into cotton.

They thought I was broken. They thought I was done. They had no idea who they were bleeding.

***

The next morning, I ripped out my IV and strolled into the Cunningham estate in head-to-toe black, heels clicking like gunshots against their pretentious imported marble. Mrs. Cunningham was at her grand cielo, all pearls and disdain, pretending she didn’t see me.

I dropped the folder in her lap like a guillotine blade.

“Tell Favio I’m out. I'm divorcing him," I said, voice silk wrapped around steel. “He and Caroline can keep their miracle science project. But I’m taking the entire Winslock tech portfolio with me—every damn share. And I want ten million wired to my new firm. Today.”

She opened the folder. Her hand trembled.

“You signed over the patents to yourself,” she whispered.

“No,” I said, smiling coldly. “You signed them over. Power of attorney. That little clause in the prenup your son never read? Yeah. It matters now.”

“You’re bluffing,” she hissed.

I didn’t blink.

“Try me.”