Blake POV:
Chyna' s face lit up, a predatory glee flashing in her eyes. "Oh, wonderful! So, she's finally out of the picture? That's fantastic news, Blake! Now we can finally make things official. The guru always said I was your true destined wife." She clapped her hands together, a sound normally sweet, now grating on my raw nerves. "We can announce our engagement! And I can officially become the boys' mother! The Hodge matriarch!"
Her words, once so alluring, now felt like gravel grinding in my soul. Matriarch. Destined wife. The titles, the ambition, clawed at me. My mind, still reeling from my mother' s brutal honesty, saw Chyna' s calculated joy as grotesque, a stark contrast to Amelia' s quiet dignity, even in her fury.
"No," I said, the word a flat, unexpected refusal.
Chyna's smile faltered, freezing on her face. Her eyes widened, a flicker of confusion, then annoyance, replacing the triumph. "No? What do you mean, 'no,' Blake?"
I pulled my hand away from her insistent grasp. "Amelia is my wife. She always will be. In my heart, she is the mother of my children, the true matriarch of my household." The words, spoken aloud, were a revelation even to me. They were true. Terribly, painfully true.
Chyna stared, utterly stunned. "But... but the guru said... and the divorce papers..."
"The guru was wrong," I interrupted, my voice firm, resolute. "And the divorce papers... they are a mistake I intend to rectify." My decision hardened. "The ceremony, the public announcement, everything is on hold indefinitely. Until Amelia returns. I will wait for her."
Chyna gasped, her jaw dropping. "Wait for her? Blake, she's gone! She hates you! I'm here! I'm the mother of your sons! The prophecy is fulfilled through me!" She gestured wildly to herself, then to the nursery where the twins lay sleeping.
I shook my head, my mind suddenly clear, brutally clear. In the cruel light of my mother' s indictment, the guru' s vague pronouncements twisted and warped. He had spoken of a spirit of the earth, of resilience, of a gentle heart. He had never said it had to be Chyna. Amelia, my Amelia, had embodied all of those things. Her love for my garden, her quiet strength, her unwavering devotion-she was the true embodiment of his prophecies. I had been so blind, so arrogant, so consumed by the superficial. I had chased a phantom, while the true treasure was right beside me.
My heart, a frozen block for so long, began to thaw, an agonizing thaw that brought with it a flood of regret. I loved Amelia. I didn't want to admit it, not to myself, not to anyone. I had convinced myself it was gratitude, convenience, a comfortable arrangement. But seeing her fury, feeling her contempt, hearing her raw pain-it had torn through my carefully constructed defenses. She was everything. And I had destroyed her.
I had never truly considered a life without her. Even through my cruel manipulations, my deliberate lies, I had subconsciously believed she would always be there, a constant, gentle presence. The thought of her truly gone, legally severed, emotionally detached, was a new, terrifying abyss.
"She's not coming back, Blake!" Chyna shrieked, her voice rising hysterically. "She's a vindictive bitch! She probably took everything she could get her hands on! She burned your things out of spite!"
"No," I said, my voice soft, almost a whisper. "She burned her own things. Her roses. Her memories. She burned us." The realization hit me with the force of a physical blow. She wasn't spiteful. She was heartbroken. And I was the cause.
Chyna, seeing her carefully laid plans unraveling, let out a frustrated scream and swept her arm across the nearby coffee table, sending a vase of flowers and a stack of books crashing to the floor. "She's a poison! She'll ruin you, Blake! Just like she tried to ruin my babies!"
Her hysterics were punctuated by the sudden, sharp cry of one of the twins from the nursery. Orion. Chyna, her face contorted in a mask of pure rage, turned towards the sound, her eyes wild. "Quiet, you little brat!" she shrieked, stomping towards the nursery.
I didn't see what happened next, only heard the increasing wails of the baby, and Chyna's muffled curses. My mind was consumed by a different kind of pain, a deeper, more profound regret.
I stumbled out of the mansion, blindly getting into my car. I drove, aimless, the city a blur, until I found myself in front of a small, unassuming baby store in a quiet suburban strip mall. The brightly lit windows displayed tiny outfits, colorful rattles, and plush toys. A young couple stood inside, gazing at a tiny pair of booties, their faces alight with an innocent joy.
A sudden, sharp pang, a sensation utterly new to me, twisted my insides. It was regret. Pure, unadulterated regret. I had seen such joy once, in Amelia's eyes, when she spoke of our future children. I had seen her trace patterns on her belly, whispering names, names like Phoenix and Orion.
A horrifying memory, sharp and vivid, pierced through the fog of my denial. The guru's commands, my cold, deliberate actions to ensure the "negative energies" of Amelia's pregnancies were "cleansed." Four times. Four times, I had, with cold calculation, orchestrated the termination of her hopes, her dreams, her children. Four times, I had watched her face crumple in despair, her body wracked with pain, her spirit slowly dying. I had dismissed it as weakness, as her inability to carry the "destined" heirs.
Now, standing here, watching the innocent joy of strangers, the full weight of my monstrous deeds crashed down on me. I had killed my own children. I had shattered Amelia's heart, not once, but four agonizing times. Her tears, her silent pleas, her broken expressions-they all flooded back, each one a fresh stab to my soul.
And for what? For a manipulative guru? For an opportunistic woman who only saw my wealth and power? For a twisted prophecy that I now realized I had gravely misapplied? I had convinced myself I loved Chyna, that she was my destiny. But it was a shallow, empty thing compared to the deep, quiet love Amelia had offered, a love I had so casually, so cruelly, discarded.
The taste of regret was bitter, sickening. It was a new kind of pain, one that burrowed deep into my bones, a constant, gnawing ache that would never truly heal. I had just begun to understand what I had truly lost.
