Elaris’s POV
My husband was holding another woman tightly in his arms, his hand moving over her hair with a tenderness he had not shown me in months.
“Draven?” I called, but my voice came out hoarse and weak.
He turned at once. His forest-green eyes landed on me, and his expression darkened.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded. “Did you follow me? Did you come here to spy on us?”
“Draven, I—”
“Save it,” he snapped. “You were vicious enough to hurt her, and now you have the nerve to stand there and watch? After everything I have done for you, you could not carry out one simple request. Look at what you caused.”
He stepped aside then, and I finally saw her clearly.
Even with the slight swelling in her face and the redness around her eyes, I recognized her at once.
Nyra Ravaryn.
Draven’s childhood friend.
The woman who had returned from London seven months ago, after marrying into another crime family overseas.
I frowned, confusion tightening in my chest. Why was she here with him?
Then her perfume reached me.
Lilies and jasmine.
It hit me so hard I nearly staggered.
For months, Draven had smelled different. When I asked about it, he told me he had changed the cologne he used after late nights at the club.
He had changed something, yes.
But standing in that room now, with Nyra’s perfume thick in the air and clinging to his shirt, I knew the truth.
That scent had never belonged to cologne.
It had belonged to her.
Still, I tried to tell myself I might be wrong. Maybe I was only exhausted. Only hurting. Only letting grief twist everything into something uglier than it was.
“After everything you put her through, you still cannot even ask what happened to her?” Draven’s cold voice cut through my thoughts.
My throat tightened. “What happened to her?”
“She had an allergic reaction because of you,” he said harshly. “I told you to bring the seafood, but you never came. She had no choice but to go out and eat instead, and this is what happened.”
I stared at him, my breathing turning shallow.
The seafood.
The meal he had ordered me to prepare in the middle of the day.
The meal I had nearly died trying to deliver.
The meal that had cost me my baby.
It had all been for Nyra.
“How...” My lips trembled. “Why didn’t you answer me? Why did you ignore my calls?”
Draven looked almost offended by the question.
“When you refuse to do as I say, why should I listen to you?” he said coldly.
“Draven, let her be,” Nyra said softly at last. “I’m sure Seraphina was only delayed.”
“Delayed?” Draven let out a harsh scoff and looked back at me. “Apologize to Nyra. Now.”
“Apologize?” I repeated, too stunned to believe what I was hearing.
Nyra lowered her lashes, all softness and false grace. “That isn’t necessary, Seraphina. But... why are you here in the hospital?”
For one brief second, I was grateful for the question.
“I had an—”
“It hurts, Draven,” Nyra whimpered suddenly, clutching her side. “Ah—”
At once, Draven turned back to her and gathered her closer, all his attention returning to her as if I had ceased to exist.
I stood frozen by the doorway, pale from blood loss, shaking from grief, and he did not even ask why I was there.
Over his shoulder, Nyra lifted her eyes to mine.
There was something smug in them. Quick. Sharp. Ugly enough to make my stomach twist.
Then I understood.
She had asked that question on purpose.
Only to show me that no matter what I said, Draven would choose her.
I staggered back to my room with that truth clawing through me.
The rest of the day passed in a blur, but my mind kept circling all the small changes in Draven I had ignored these past months.
It had begun seven months ago, on our third wedding anniversary.
We were meant to have dinner alone, just the two of us, but he left in the middle of it to pick up an old family friend arriving from London. Later that same night, he came back with Nyra at his side and casually invited her to join us, as though there had been nothing strange about it.
At the time, I had thought little of it.
But now, lying awake and replaying the last seven months, I realized how blind I had been.
His late returns to the penthouse.
The phone calls he would end the moment I walked into the room.
The unfamiliar perfume clinging to his jackets.
Still, perfume and suspicion were not proof.
Maybe he only cared too much because Nyra had run from a brutal marriage when she returned to the city. A few weeks later, word spread that she was pregnant. Maybe Draven’s protectiveness came from pity. From loyalty. From an old promise between their families.
Maybe it truly was all in my head.
I clung to that thought as I drifted into an uneasy sleep.
The next day, the doctor discharged me with strict orders to rest and avoid any strain.
Before leaving, I asked about Nyra, but the young nurses only sighed dreamily and told me she had already gone.
“She was carried out in her husband’s arms,” one of them gushed. “Like something out of an old romance film.”
I said nothing.
I pulled my coat tighter around myself and took a hired car back to the Greymark estate.
When I arrived, I stopped at once.
There were two pairs of shoes outside the door.
One belonged to my husband.
The other was a woman’s.
A cold feeling slid down my spine.
Then I heard voices drifting from the kitchen.
Nyra’s voice.
“Draven, are you sure about this?” she asked softly. “I don’t want your wife to be upset, and I don’t want to intrude. Maybe you should talk to her first... tell her that I’ll be living here from now on.”
