After everything was done, I went home. I stood in the place I'd lived for five years, looked at everything around me, and felt nothing but the absurdity of it all.

I didn't know how long I stood there before the door opened. Bartholomew walked toward me, frowning.

The jasmine perfume Vivien always wore reached me before he did.

“Have you come to your senses?”

He took off his jacket like nothing had happened, waiting for me to say I accepted them.

I let out a bitter laugh. Looking at this stranger wearing my husband's face sent a dull ache through my chest.

I didn't speak. I slipped the divorce agreement behind the gift registry and held it out to him.

His brow creased. He snatched it from me impatiently.

“What now? Who's that sour face for? If you want something, just say it. Bags, watches, jewelry. I can get you whatever you want.”

I lowered my head, a hollow smile pulling at my lips. In his eyes, every emotion I had was just me being difficult. Every wound could be paid off.

I swallowed the metallic taste rising in my throat and pushed the papers toward him, my voice eerily calm.

“Bartholomew, sign this. Consider it my compensation.”

He glanced down, assuming I was throwing a tantrum and needed gifts to settle me down.

After all, whenever he'd upset me in the past, it always took a pile of presents to coax me back. He figured now was no different.

He flipped to the first page. A full spread of luxury items. He didn't so much as blink before signing his name.

“Kay, stop being upset. You know you'll always be Mrs. Vance. The promises I made you will never change.”

He started to hand the signed pages back.

I clenched my fists until my nails bit into my palms, the pain making my hands shake. I turned to the next page and pushed it in front of him again.

“Sign this one too.”

Confusion flickered across his face, and he was about to look more carefully when his phone rang.

It was Vivien. On the other end, her voice was choked with tears, saying she'd had a nightmare and was scared.

Bartholomew's composure cracked in an instant. He dropped the papers and turned to leave.

I stepped in front of him, my voice cold.

“It's just a signature. It won't keep you from running to her.”

Seeing I wouldn't budge, he scrawled his name and bolted out the door without even grabbing his coat.

I watched his retreating back, then looked down at his signature on the divorce agreement. The last trace of warmth in my chest went dark.

Everyone in our circle knew he'd treated me like a princess.

We'd walked from the innocence of our school days all the way to the altar.

Five years ago, the wedding that stopped the city. Millions spent. Fireworks filling the sky. He knelt before me and swore on his life that I would be the only one.

Now I knew how cheap his promises were, how short a shelf life his love carried.

I gathered the papers and gripped them until my knuckles went white.

Then I turned and walked upstairs to the bedroom to pack.

Some time later, noise rose from the first floor. I went downstairs.

Bartholomew had Vivien tucked against his chest, giving instructions to the household staff.

Vivien stood there with red-rimmed eyes, looking fragile enough to snap.

When she saw me, her body flinched. She dropped her gaze, her voice a teary, quivering whisper.

“Kay, I really didn't want to intrude. But I kept having nightmares, and Bartholomew was afraid something might happen to me, so he……”

“But I promise, I don't want a title. I don't want anything. I just want to carry this baby safely to term, and the moment it's born, I'll leave. I won't cause you any trouble.”

The more she spoke, the more agitated she became, pressing a hand to her chest as a violent cough overtook her.

Bartholomew's expression changed instantly. He pulled Vivien into his arms, then whipped his head toward me, his voice sharp with accusation.

“Vivien is your best friend. She belongs here. Stop giving her that cold look and scaring her.”

A bitter laugh escaped me. From start to finish, I hadn't said a single word. And somehow, I was the one at fault.

“Bartholomew, did I say one word?”

He froze for a few seconds. His jaw twitched, his mouth opening and closing before he managed to speak.

“Kay, stop being petty. Vivien is carrying my child. It's not safe for her out there. Starting today, she stays here. I give you my word, the moment the baby is born, I'll send her abroad.”

I stood rooted to the spot, watching the husband I had loved for years bring another woman into our home right in front of me.

Watching the best friend I'd once risked my life to save, the woman I'd treated like family, waltz through my front door to take everything that was mine.

I stared at the two of them, and the cold swallowed me whole.

I bit down on the soft flesh of my cheek to keep myself conscious, then turned and walked back to the bedroom, one step at a time.

From the living room drifted the low, tender murmur of their voices, and every syllable carved into me like a blade drawn slow across what was left of my heart.

The next morning, I had barely made it downstairs when I saw Vivien lounging on my favorite spot on the couch, wearing the silk nightgown Bartholomew had given me for my birthday.

He was peeling cherries by hand, feeding them to her one by one, his fingertips brushing the juice from the corner of her lips with a tenderness that turned my stomach.

“Slow down. You're like a little kitten begging for treats.”

“Bartholomew, you're so good to me.”

I gave a mocking smile."Indeed, how about I divorce Bartholomew and the two of you get married?"

Vivien ducked her head, coy and blushing, but the moment she spotted me, she flinched like a startled rabbit. She scrambled to her feet, tripping over herself to apologize.

“Kay, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to wear your clothes or sit in your spot……I'll go change right now.”

The tears spilled as she spoke, perfectly timed, perfectly pitiful.

Bartholomew pulled her back down immediately, his cold gaze cutting toward me like a blade.

“Kay, can you show a little class? Vivien is pregnant. She's fragile. It's a nightgown and a seat. Do you really have to make her feel this way?”

I stared at the scene in front of me, and all I felt was the absurdity of it.

My husband, in my home, hand-feeding another woman fruit.

My best friend, wrapped in my things, sitting in my place. And I was the one expected to be gracious about it.

Looking at her now, I started to wonder whether the girl I remembered had ever been real.

Back in school, when other kids picked on me, Vivien had grabbed a broom and charged in to shield me. ：“Anyone who touches Kay goes through me first.”

When my first boyfriend broke my heart, she stayed up with me until dawn, drinking and talking. ：“Forget him. Men are nothing. I'll always be here.”

After I donated my kidney for her, she had dragged herself out of her own hospital bed to collapse at the side of mine, sobbing until she passed out, gripping my hand.

“For the rest of my life, you will be the person closest to my heart.”

I had believed it then. I believed friendship outlasted love. I believed she was the light in my darkest hours.

But now she had taken my husband, was carrying his child, had moved into my home, and still had the nerve to play the victim.

“Bartholomew,” my voice trembled, but I forced it steady, “this is my home. What gives you the right?”

Vivien only cried harder.

“Kay, please don't say that……it's all my fault. You can yell at me, hit me, anything, just don't fight with Bartholomew. I just love him too much, and I can't give up this baby.”

“Enough!”

Bartholomew's voice cracked through the room like a whip.

“Kay, if you keep pushing Vivien, don't blame me for what happens next.”

I closed my eyes. There was nothing left to say. I turned and went back upstairs.

The moment I was back in my room, a message arrived with the driving records from the night of the accident, tracing Vivien's brother Neville's route.

I opened my laptop. The first thing that filled the screen was our photo, the three of us together.

Almost involuntarily, I clicked into an old folder. It was full of memories, all of us, from before.

I scrolled through the pictures one by one, and every swipe felt like a thousand needles driven into my chest.

I didn't understand how we had ended up here.

My thoughts were still churning when the door opened. Vivien walked in carrying a cup of warm water, an apologetic look painted on her face.

“Kay, I know you're upset. I made you some soup. Please don't let the anger make you sick.”

I didn't want to acknowledge her.

But she leaned in close, and her hand jerked. The entire bowl of soup tipped onto my arm. Scalding heat seared through my skin, and the breath hissed between my teeth.

I shoved her away on instinct. She stumbled backward, and the tears fell instantly.

“Kay, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to!”

As she spoke, she dropped to her knees in a show of panic, gathering the broken shards of the bowl, and dragged a piece of porcelain deliberately across her finger. A bead of blood welled up and rolled down.

My arm was swollen and angry red. I had no patience for her theatrics. I turned toward the bathroom to run cold water over the burn.

Before I could take a step, Bartholomew came rushing in, drawn by the commotion.

One look at the scene and his expression twisted.

“Kay, you!”

He went straight to Vivien, pulling her up from the floor, cradling her bleeding finger with exaggerated care while her eyes stayed swollen and red from crying.

She kept her head low, tears streaming down her face like rain on blossoms.

“Bartholomew, don't blame Kay. Maybe she didn't like the soup I made, so she knocked it over……I made a mess of her room, but please don't be angry with her. She didn't mean it.”

His face went dark. He didn't even glance at me. He seized my wrist and snarled in my face.

“Do you have any idea how long Vivien stood in that kitchen making soup for you? You couldn't even be grateful, and then you let her kneel on the floor picking up broken porcelain? How can you be this cruel? Apologize to her. Now.”

“She spilled it on me herself!”

The burn screamed against my skin, but I kept my voice cold and steady.

“Let go of me!”

I couldn't stand looking at either of their faces for another second. I just needed the pain to stop.

“And you still have the nerve to argue! Is this how you carry yourself as Mrs. Vance?”

My defiance sent him over the edge. He called the bodyguards and had them drag me out to the garden.

“Take her outside. She doesn't come back in until she apologizes to Vivien.”

The bodyguards dragged me outside, and I stumbled hard into a marble pillar. The impact sent tremors of pain through my whole body.

Bartholomew carried Vivien past me, his eyes churning with rage. He didn't so much as glance at the blisters already rising on my arm. He gave me one cold scoff, then turned and took her to get bandaged.

“Let her learn her lesson. She doesn't set foot inside until I'm back.”

Vivien looked at me from the cradle of his arms, triumph written all over her face.

The bodyguards had their orders. Every door was locked within seconds.

I fought with everything I had, but it was useless.

The midday sun was brutal. An hour passed. Sweat drenched my hair and ran into my eyes, and the burn on my arm had gone past pain into numbness.

My legs buckled with every step. I kept telling myself to hold on, just hold on.

I don't know how long it had been when the world went black and I hit the ground.

When I opened my eyes again, the smell of antiseptic filled my nose.

The nurse standing by my bed saw me stir. Her brow creased.

“Ms. Simmons, you really need to take better care of yourself. You're pregnant, and on top of that you've got heatstroke and a burn injury!”

My mind went blank.

I pressed my hand to my stomach, disbelief flooding through me. Pregnant.

Tears fell without warning, landing on the back of my hand, scalding hot. I flinched.

This baby. The worst possible timing.

I squeezed my eyes shut and dug my nails into my palms, using the pain to force myself to think clearly.

After a long time, I opened my eyes. Whatever had been alive in them before was gone. I spoke to the nurse, my voice raw.

“Schedule a procedure for me. Five days from now. I want a termination.”

The nurse froze.

“The baby is perfectly healthy. Are you sure you don't want to keep it?”

I nodded. “I'm sure.”

She didn't say another word. She turned and went to process the paperwork.

I lay on the hospital bed, perfectly still. My fingertips rested against my stomach. I mouthed the words I'm sorry without making a sound.

Bartholomew heard I'd been hospitalized. He assumed it was just heatstroke. He was waiting for my apology, and when none came, he didn't bother visiting. Not once.

Outside my door, the nurses kept their voices low, but every word carried through to me, sharp and clear.

“That Ms. Pruitt in the VIP suite, the one Mr. Vance adores? Ever since she got pregnant, he's been spoiling her rotten. He's at the hospital every single day, stocking her room with high-end supplements, holding her arm when she walks like she might shatter if she trips.”

“Everyone knows. Every socialite in the city envies her. Mr. Vance used to dote on Ms. Simmons like that, remember? And look what happened. Dropped her just like that. Now she's lying in a standard room, nobody checking on her, and he hasn't even come by once. How things change.”

“Ms. Pruitt is the one he really loves. Ms. Simmons? Old news. The title of Mrs. Vance is just an empty name at this point.”

A bitter laugh scraped out of my throat. My eyes burned red, and tears slid down in silence.

Five years. From teenage sweethearts to marriage vows, from a wedding that cost millions to promises of forever. None of it held up against a few of Vivien's tears, against the so-called Vance heir in her belly.

I curled into myself on the hospital bed, biting down on my lip so hard it split, tasting copper, refusing to let a single sound escape.