I stared at the divorce agreement. The icy legal clauses blurred before my eyes, and something inside me snapped.
A red haze clouded my vision. I lunged at Lucas, sinking my teeth into his arm like a rabid animal. I bit down until the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. When my strength finally gave out, I collapsed.
I didn't stop there. I retreated to the bathroom, climbed into the tub, and opened my veins.
Crimson dyed the water, turning the room into a slaughterhouse.
That was what it took to make Lucas panic. That was what it took to scare him away from Yara's side and back to me.
"Alex."
He wept until he collapsed beside me, holding my bandaged form. "I never wanted you to die. I don't want your life, Alex."
"Alex..."
I had walked through the gates of hell and back. My body was so frail the doctor warned against any agitation. Yet Lucas felt the need to clarify his position right then and there.
"I can give you anything," he sobbed, trembling against me. "I can ensure you remain Mrs. Delgado. I can give you wealth, status, power. Anything..."
He looked up, eyes swollen, and delivered the final blow.
"...anything except love. I just can't love you anymore, Alex."
I watched him break down. I watched this powerful CEO reduced to a helpless child. And then I watched him sit by my hospital bed, waiting until he thought I was asleep to whisper comforting words to Yara over the phone.
In that moment, the tether snapped.
The Lucas I had tried to keep hostage with my life didn't matter anymore. The love I had tried to force was worthless.
So when I finally recovered enough to bring up the divorce again, I sent the agreement to him.
But Lucas didn't respond.
Yara did.
She invited me to a café—one of those trendy, chic spots designed for social media photos.
"Alex Henson," Yara began, gesturing around the room. "I heard that since you were little, you wanted a shop like this. Something leisurely and elegant. A place to just be with the person you love. Is that right?"
I looked at the woman across from me. Young, vibrant, her skin so dewy it looked like it would bruise if touched.
"I also heard about your family," she continued, voice dripping with faux sympathy. "You came from wealth, yet you refused to listen to their advice. You insisted on being with Lucas. Even when he had nothing, you followed him into the gutter."
Yara stirred her coffee, the spoon clinking against porcelain.
"When things were hardest, I heard your basement apartment leaked wind and water. Lucas told me that when it poured outside, it drizzled inside. The wind cut right through the walls. The bedding was always damp, impossible to warm. But even then, you thought you were happy."
Yes.
The year I eloped with Lucas.
We were so destitute we couldn't keep food on the table. We split a single steamed bun for dinner. Outside, the storm raged; inside, the roof leaked. We sat on the damp mattress, watching water drip into plastic buckets—drip, drip, drip—and joked that we had a natural sunroom with a water feature.
Back then, we were so poor that love was our only currency.
We clung to each other, desperate to give the other a better life. We treated every twenty-four hours like forty-eight, working ourselves to the bone.
During our busiest year, Lucas and I didn't sleep for five days straight. Not a single hour.
When we finally signed the deal that changed everything, Lucas held me, weeping. His eyes were red, his voice hoarse as he shouted my name to the empty office.
"Alex! We made it! We finally made it!"
"Alex Henson," Yara said, slicing through the memory. "The year you 'made it,' your body paid the price."
Her gaze dropped to my lower abdomen.
"You lost a child, didn't you? And from that day on, you lost the right to ever be a mother."
My hand tightened around my coffee cup, knuckles turning white.
It was the one trauma Lucas and I never spoke of. The tacit understanding we buried deep.
That night, amidst the celebration of our first major victory, Lucas's embrace had been gentle, as if he wanted to merge his soul with mine. I didn't even have time to return the hug before I felt the warmth spreading between my legs.
A massive hemorrhage.
The price of his empire was my blood.
