The air in the private hospital waiting room was sterile and cold. Josef stared at the wall, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles were white. The sound of his own breathing was harsh in the silence. When the doctor finally emerged from the operating room, his expression was grim.
We did everything we could, the doctor said softly. I'm sorry, Mr. Griffin. We lost the baby.
The words landed like stones. Josef’s face hardened into granite. He turned and punched the wall. The crack of plaster echoed the snap of his control.
His grandmother, the Matriarch, placed a restraining hand on his arm. Josef...
He shrugged it off, his muscles rigid. I want her out, he said, his voice devoid of all emotion. It was colder than the silence. I want a divorce. Now.
Don't be rash, the Matriarch argued, her voice strained. Think of the family's reputation. The scandal... And I made a promise to her grandmother.
Josef let out a short, brutal laugh. Your promise That promise brought a murderer into our family. His eyes met his grandmother's, a clear threat in their depths. She leaves, or I will ruin her. I will make sure she never works, never finds peace, anywhere in this country. That is my promise.
The Matriarch looked at her grandson, at the unyielding fury in his face, and knew he meant it. She made a calculated sacrifice.
Alright, she said, her voice heavy with defeat. We'll send her away. Abroad. Until this blows over.
Josef didn't reply. He just turned and walked towards Carmelita's room, leaving his grandmother to deliver the verdict.
The drive back to the estate was silent. The Matriarch found Aurora exactly where she had been left, a fragile statue in the cold, cavernous ballroom. The girl looked up as she approached, her eyes wide with a desperate, pleading hope.
The Matriarch's usual warmth was gone, replaced by a weary disappointment. You're going abroad, Aurora, she stated. It was not a suggestion.
Aurora's head snapped up, disbelief warring with the dread coiling in her stomach. What Why I didn't do anything! You have to believe me.
It's for your own protection, the Matriarch said, the words sounding hollow. Josef is... not thinking clearly. The media will have a field day. It's better if you're gone. She sighed, the sound heavy. You were too naive, Aurora. You never understood your place here.
The criticism landed on the open wound of her humiliation. My place Aurora whispered, her voice cracking. Why does he hate me so much What did I ever do
The Matriarch hesitated, her gaze softening for just a moment with something that looked like pity. Then she delivered the final blow.
He never wanted to marry you, child, she said, her voice devoid of pity. It was my arrangement. A promise I made to your grandmother on her deathbed. He was... obligated.
The truth landed with a sickening, silent finality. Her entire marriage—the cold dinners, the separate rooms, the polite distance—was a lie. She wasn't just disliked; she was an unwanted burden he had been forced to carry from day one. The last of her illusions shattered.
Pack a small bag, the Matriarch instructed, her tone becoming business-like. A car will be here in the morning.
Aurora didn't cry. The pain was too deep, a cold, heavy thing that had settled in her chest. She just nodded numbly.
She walked like a ghost up the grand staircase, the scene of her social execution. In the master bedroom—his bedroom, never hers—everything seemed foreign and cold. It had never been her home. On the nightstand sat a framed photo from their wedding day. Josef was smiling, a brilliant, camera-ready smile, but he wasn't looking at her. He was looking past her, at the crowd. A performance.
Her movements were mechanical. She pulled a small duffel bag from the closet and packed a change of clothes, a toothbrush, her wallet. Her mind was a blank vortex of humiliation. The weight of being exiled, unloved, and falsely accused was a physical pressure, a prelude to the journey ahead.
