The words had barely left Zoe’s mouth when the door burst open.

Julian stormed in, shoved me aside with brutal force, and pulled Zoe protectively behind him.

My feet lost their grip on the floor. I flew backward and slammed into the sharp edge of the desk.

A searing pain shot through my lower back, and my vision went black for a moment.

Julian didn't even glance at me. He wrapped his arms around Zoe and held her close, his icy eyes fixed on me. "Bella! How could you hit Zoe?"

I tried to push myself up, but my body wouldn't cooperate. The pain was too much.

Zoe pressed her hand to her reddened cheek and curled into his chest. Her voice came out trembling. "Don't blame Bella, Julian... it's my fault. I'm clumsy. I always make her angry. She helped me once, and I have nothing to give her in return. So if she wants to hit me or yell at me, I deserve it…"

A flash of tenderness crossed Julian's eyes. He turned to me, his voice cold and sharp. "Zoe is young. She doesn't know any better. When did you become so petty, Bella?"

"Julian..." I was drenched in cold sweat. My hand pressed against my throbbing lower back, and my voice came out weak, pleading. "It hurts so much... please, just take me to the hospital..."

Before I could finish, Zoe suddenly clutched her stomach and doubled over with a pained cry. "Ah! Julian... my stomach... it hurts so much..."

Julian's expression changed instantly. He didn't spare me a single glance. He scooped Zoe into his arms and strode toward the door. "Don't worry. I'm taking you to the hospital right now. You will be fine. I promise."

He carried her out of the room. His footsteps faded down the hallway.

Then I heard the front door slam. The engine of his car roared to life and peeled away.

I was alone.

I lay curled on the cold floor. The icy tiles pressed against my cheek.

The world fell silent around me, broken only by the ragged sound of my breathing and the unrelenting agony radiating from my waist.

I didn't know how long I stayed there. When I finally gathered enough strength, I reached for my phone with trembling fingers and called for an ambulance.

By the time the paramedics arrived, I was barely conscious. The last thing I remembered was being lifted onto a stretcher. Then everything went dark.

When I woke up, I found myself in a hospital room.

The sharp scent of disinfectant filled the air. The room was quiet and empty. No one sat by my bedside. No Julian.

I let out a bitter laugh. How pathetic did I look? Lying here all alone while he was somewhere else, taking care of Zoe.

I struggled to sit up and reached for the glass of water on the nightstand. Then I heard it—Julian's voice, soft and tender, drifting through the wall from the room next door.

I froze. So Julian was in the same hospital.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed. Every movement sent a fresh wave of agony through my back. I gritted my teeth and stumbled to my feet. I held onto the wall for support, shuffling out of my room and down the hallway.

I stopped outside the door next to mine. It was slightly ajar.

I peered through the gap.

Inside, Zoe lay in bed, her face pale. Tears glistened in her eyes as she smiled up at Julian.

The room was crowded with doctors and nurses. They hovered around her, running tests, checking monitors. Everyone was so focused on her.

Julian sat at her bedside, holding her hand. His grip was firm, gentle. His eyes—the same eyes that used to look at me with so much love—were soft and worried.

"Don't be scared," he whispered. "Everything is fine. The baby is fine too."

Their hands were intertwined. They looked like a young couple deeply in love.

The sight cut through me like a knife.

And what about me? What was I, then? I was his wife. I was supposed to be the one holding his hand.

I leaned against the cold wall and slid down to the floor. My knees gave out. I couldn't stand anymore.

I pressed my hand to my chest. The ache there was worse than my back. It was a different kind of pain. The kind that didn't heal with medicine.

I didn't know how long I sat there. When my legs finally went numb, I pulled myself up using the wall for support and returned to my room.

I ignored the nurses who tried to stop me. I checked myself out against medical advice since I felt the desperate need to get out of there.

I drove back to the house we used to share. Our house. The one where I had dreamed of growing old with Julian.

I walked into the bedroom and pulled out my suitcase. I packed only the essentials. My passport. A few changes of clothes. And one photograph—our very first picture together.

It was taken at the library entrance, on the day we met. A stranger had offered to snap it for us. I had kept it hidden inside a book all these years.

Everything Julian had ever given me—the jewelry, the designer watches, the limited-edition bags—I left behind. I didn't want any of it.

Our wedding photo still sat on the nightstand. I stared at it for a long moment. Then I picked it up, tore it in half, and kept the half with my face. The half with his face went straight into the trash.

When I finished, I grabbed my suitcase and walked out of that gilded cage without looking back.

Soon, I arrived at the airport as the first light of dawn broke over the horizon. I was leaving this city behind. I was leaving everything behind.

The airline attendant smiled warmly as she handed back my documents. "Have a wonderful trip, ma’am."

I had used my family connections to acquire a fake identity—a one-way ticket to a small town in the south of France.

I sat in the waiting area and pulled out my phone. I was going to erase every trace of Isabella. The name. The life. The history.

I thought about eight years ago. Julian had held my hand on the Brooklyn Bridge and watched fireworks explode across the night sky.

"Bella, you're mine," he had said, "You're never leaving my side. Not for the rest of your life."

But you were wrong, Julian. For the rest of my life—I would never have you in my world again.

Meanwhile, Julian had finally put Zoe to sleep. He stepped out of her room and walked to the room next door. The bed was empty. A nurse was stripping the sheets.

A strange unease crept into his chest—a hollow feeling, like he had lost something precious and didn't know it until now.

"Where's the patient in this room?" he asked worriedly.

The nurse glanced up at him. "Are you family? The young lady checked herself out last night."

"What?" Julian's heart dropped. He fumbled for his phone and dialed my number.

A cold, mechanical voice answered, "The number you have dialed is no longer in service."

His face went pale. He called the villa's housekeeper immediately. "Where's my wife? Put her on the phone!"

There was a pause on the other end. Then the housekeeper's voice came back, hesitant and nervous. "Mr. Reed... your wife was gone. She took her suitcase and left this morning..."