I trailed after them up the stairs, each step heavier than the last. Adrian’s arm was draped around Alessia’s waist, the perfect picture of chivalry, pretending I didn’t exist three steps behind—watching the last pieces of my life crumble like dust in slow motion.
Then his charm cracked. His expression darkened. In one swift move, he pushed her against the wall, hand pressed to her abdomen.
“Nikolai can wait,” he muttered, his voice low, dangerous. “You and I have unfinished business.”
Alessia let out a startled breath, her lips parting in shock before melting into a smile. Without hesitation, he dragged her into an empty storage room, the door slamming shut behind them.
I didn’t move. I just stood there—silent, hollow. And then the noises started.
The faint thump of movement. The rasp of fabric.
Then Adrian’s voice, deep and guttural through the thin wall. “Damn, Alessia… you had my child and you’re still this tight?”
She laughed softly, breath catching between words. “What, Elara’s not keeping up anymore?”
My knees weakened. I slid down the cold hallway wall, my body trembling as if I were detoxing from poison. No tears came. No screams. Just the awful sounds of betrayal filling the space where my heart used to be.
“Elara’s too rigid,” Adrian growled. “Always composed, always cautious. Like she’s scared to feel anything. But you—” He groaned, voice breaking into a laugh. “You’re fire. You’re wild. That blood of yours made you something different.”
I bit my lip so hard I tasted iron.
He wasn’t done. “Even your scent,” he murmured. “When you walk in, everyone notices. Elara could stand in a spotlight and still blend in.”
Another moan. Another laugh.
“You never fake it,” he said. “You just… take me. No hesitation. No pretending.”
My fingernails dug into my palms until blood mixed with the chill of the tile floor.
This was Adrian.
My husband.
The man who used to whisper promises into my hair during galas, swearing forever under the camera flashes.
Now he was panting like a starving animal for the woman who had burned our world to the ground—making sure I heard every second of it.
I forced myself up, legs unsteady, heart hollowed out. If I stayed a moment longer, I might’ve torched the entire building just to drown the sound of them.
---
Inside the office, the director waited with an uneasy smile.
“Miss Ardent,” he began carefully, “just to confirm—are you and Mr. Marlowe still pursuing the adoption of young Nikolai?”
My voice came out sharper than I intended, calm but frozen. “I’d like to review his file first.”
He handed over the folder. I flipped through casually—until one line hit me like a gunshot.
Date of Birth: Spring. Five years ago.
Six months after Adrian slipped a ring on my finger and promised me the world.
While I was testing wedding cakes and picking floral arrangements, Alessia was giving birth to his child.
Rage spread through me like slow poison—searing, acidic, unstoppable.
I returned the folder to him with a steady hand.
“We won’t be proceeding. Let another family take him. One that actually deserves the chance.”
The director nodded silently. He wasn’t shocked. He already knew.
---
The peace shattered as the door burst open.
“What the hell do you mean we’re not adopting him?” Adrian stormed in, face red, snatching the papers off the desk like a spoiled prince denied his crown.
“You don’t get to decide this alone, Elara.”
I didn’t flinch. “Oh, now it’s a we?” I asked dryly. “You never mentioned adopting him to me, not once.”
He said nothing. His jaw worked, but no words came. Then—because irony loved company—Alessia appeared.
Wearing cream silk, acting pure as snow, her heels tapping against the tiles like loaded weapons.
“Well, look who it is,” she said sweetly. “Elara Ardent. You look… exhausted.”
I met her gaze with a smile that didn’t reach my eyes.
Adrian scrambled to cover his panic. “Alessia’s here because she’s… she’s a shareholder now. I didn’t expect her today.”
I tilted my head. “And that’s relevant to adopting Nikolai because…?”
He stiffened. He hated when I cornered him.
“Elara, please. Don’t be cruel. Nikolai needs a stable home.”
“Cruel?” I let out a bitter laugh. “You lied for five years, and I’m the cruel one?”
Alessia stepped forward, touching my hand with fake sympathy. “I was actually touched when Adrian said you were open to raising Nikolai. I thought maybe you weren’t as heartless as people claim.”
My smile sharpened. “Then maybe you should adopt him, darling.”
Her expression faltered for half a second—barely—but I saw it.
Adrian moved protectively in front of her. “Don’t start. She’s not married; it wouldn’t be proper for her to raise a child alone.”
That hit like a punch. So now he guarded her reputation, when for years he let the world rip mine apart?
For half a decade, I’d been fed the same lines:
“Let’s focus on work first.”
“It’s not the right time.”
“It’ll happen when it’s meant to.”
All while his mother whispered that I was barren, that I was a disappointment to the Marlowe bloodline.
Margot Marlowe—polished and poisonous—once looked me straight in the eye and said, “A hen too old to lay eggs has no place in a golden cage.”
And Adrian? He bought me jewelry instead of defending me. Flowers instead of answers.
Love, they called it. What a joke.
The door opened again, and there she was—Margot herself. Impeccable as ever, perfume sharp enough to sting.
“Elara, my dear,” she said sweetly, stepping inside as though she hadn’t orchestrated half my misery. “No need for drama. You know how emotional women in your… circumstances can be.”
“Circumstances?” I repeated. “You mean the ones you helped arrange?”
She smiled thinly. “Every story needs a role. Yours was useful for a while.”
Alessia laughed softly, pressing a hand to Adrian’s arm. “Some women are meant to wear the ring. Others just keep it warm.”
Adrian stayed silent.
Not one word in my defense.
I turned to him. “Do you even want a child with me, Adrian?”
He hesitated, eyes darting to the wall like it could save him.
“Let’s wait a bit longer,” he said finally. “The timing—”
“Fine,” I cut him off, my voice hollow.
He smiled, mistaking surrender for peace, and wrapped his arms around me. “That’s why I love you,” he murmured. “You always understand.”
Behind him, Alessia’s gaze burned into me—jealous, ravenous, triumphant.
And in that moment, I understood.
She didn’t just want the man.
She wanted the power that came with being me.
That’s when the truth hit hard—
When love dies, someone’s always waiting to claim your place.
But I wasn’t leaving quietly.
Not this time. Not in heels. Not with a smile.
