Ten years I loved him, only to discover I was nothing but a ''placeholder''. He loved my hazel‑green eyes—the eyes belonging to another woman. He left me, five‑months pregnant, abandoned deep inside the rainforest. But the placeholder is done waiting.

"Pull over," I demanded, clutching the dashboard as the G-Wagon swerved around another slick curve.

"I'm driving," Lucas replied, his eyes fixed on the rain-slicked road of the Hoh Rain Forest.

"You're going too fast, Lucas. It's pouring."

"Maybe you should have thought about consequences before you opened your mouth online."

"Are we really doing this now?" I stared at his rigid profile. "I told the truth about Serena's salon. She burned three clients' scalps with cheap chemicals. I just shared the lab reports."

"You destroyed her business!" he yelled, slamming his hand against the steering wheel. "You made her a target for every troll in Seattle."

"She scammed people!" I yelled back. "Why do you care so much about her salon? I'm your fiancée!"

"You're a liability right now," he muttered.

He slammed on the brakes. The SUV skidded to a halt on the muddy shoulder, surrounded by towering, mist-choked trees.

"Get out," he ordered.

"What?" I blinked, confused. "We're in the middle of the national park."

"Get out of the car." He shoved my shoulder. The passenger door swung open, letting the freezing storm lash against my face.

My hands instinctively shielded my five-month pregnant belly. "Lucas, be reasonable. It's pouring out there."

"Her salon is ruined because of your little crusade. Consider this your lesson."

"And what about my baby?" I pleaded. "You're going to leave me here?"

"You'll survive. There's a ranger station five miles down the road." He leaned over and unbuckled my seatbelt.

"I'm not walking five miles in this storm," I snapped. "I'm five months pregnant."

Lucas stared at me.

There was no concern in his eyes.

No hesitation.

Just irritation.

"Then maybe next time you'll think twice before trying to destroy Serena."

My breath caught.

"Lucas, those women were burned."

"And Serena is being crucified online because of you."

"Because she hurt people!"

"Enough."

He reached across me.

For one stupid second, I thought he was going to pull the door shut.

Instead, his palm slammed into my shoulder.

Hard.

I lost my balance.

My boots hit the mud first.

Then my knees.

Pain shot through my legs as I landed beside the road, both hands flying instinctively around my stomach.

"Lucas!"

Rain crashed over me.

Within seconds, my hair was plastered to my face and my coat was soaked through.

I stared up at him through the open passenger door.

"You can't leave me here."

His expression didn't change.

"Watch me."

"Lucas, please."

I hated the word the second it left my mouth.

Please.

After ten years, I was still begging this man for basic mercy.

His gaze dropped to my stomach.

For a moment, something shifted in his face.

I thought he had remembered.

His child was inside me.

Our child.

Then his phone lit up in the cup holder.

SERENA.

Whatever softness I imagined disappeared instantly.

Lucas picked up the phone.

"Hey."

His voice changed.

It became gentle.

Patient.

The voice I had spent ten years trying to earn.

Serena's muffled sob came through the speaker.

"People are leaving horrible reviews again. Someone threw red paint on the salon door."

Lucas's jaw tightened.

"I'm handling it."

His eyes moved back to me.

Cold again.

"I'll call you when I'm done."

He hung up.

I stared at him.

"You're doing this because someone threw paint at her salon?"

"I'm doing this because you need to learn that your actions have consequences."

"And abandoning your pregnant fiancée in a rain forest doesn't?"

His mouth curved into a humorless smile.

"There's a ranger station down the road. Stop being dramatic."

Then he reached across the passenger seat.

And pulled the door shut.

"Lucas!"

I slammed both palms against the window.

"Lucas!"

The locks clicked.

The G-Wagon pulled away.

Mud sprayed across my jeans.

I stumbled after it.

"Lucas!"

The red taillights disappeared around the bend.

I stood in the middle of the road.

Alone.

Rain hammered the pavement.

Ancient trees towered above me, their branches swallowed by mist. Moss hung from them like wet curtains. Everything beyond the road looked dark, endless, and alive.

I wrapped both arms around my stomach.

"It's okay," I whispered.

I didn't know whether I was talking to my baby or myself.

"He'll come back."

Of course he would.

Lucas was cruel when he was angry.

Arrogant.

Vindictive.

But he wouldn't actually leave me here.

Not overnight.

Not pregnant.

Not in the middle of Olympic National Park.

I waited.

One hour.

Then two.

Darkness came early beneath the canopy.

My phone had died before we entered the park. My clothes were soaked through. My teeth wouldn't stop chattering.

No headlights appeared.

No engine came roaring back around the curve.

Lucas didn't return.

---

By the second day, I stopped expecting him.

By the third, I stopped crying.

The ranger station Lucas promised was "five miles down the road" might as well have been on another planet.

A storm had washed debris across part of the road, and somewhere during the first night, confused and half-frozen, I had followed what I thought was a service trail.

It wasn't.

The forest swallowed me.

My ankle twisted on a root before sunrise.

I hit the ground so hard my vision flashed white.

"God—"

I bit down on my sleeve to keep from screaming.

My ankle swelled until the skin stretched painfully against my boot.

I couldn't think about pain.

I couldn't think about Lucas.

I couldn't think about Serena.

I had to think about water.

Shelter.

Food.

The baby.

I collected rainwater in broad leaves and drank from my cupped palms.

I found berries along the edge of a clearing and ate only the ones I recognized from hiking trips years ago.

My stomach cramped from hunger.

Every few hours, I pressed a hand against the curve of my belly.

Sometimes I felt movement.

Tiny.

Faint.

But there.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

The words became my prayer.

"I'm sorry."

On the fifth morning, I woke to a cracking branch.

I froze.

Another crack.

Heavy.

Slow.

Something moved through the ferns twenty yards away.

Then I saw black fur.

My blood turned to ice.

A black bear lumbered between the trees, its wet coat shining beneath the gray morning light.

I covered my mouth with both hands.

Don't run.

I remembered that much.

Don't scream.

Don't run.

The bear stopped.

Its head lifted.

It sniffed the air.

My heart slammed so violently against my ribs I was sure it could hear me.

Please.

Please.

Not like this.

My palm flattened over my stomach.

The bear took three slow steps in my direction.

I backed toward a fallen cedar.

My injured ankle screamed.

I ignored it.

One step.

Another.

My fingers dug into the wet bark as I pulled myself higher.

One nail split.

Then another.

Pain ripped through my fingertips.

I climbed anyway.

Blood mixed with rainwater on my hands.

Below me, the bear sniffed around the roots.

I pressed my forehead against the trunk and stayed completely still.

Minutes passed.

Or hours.

I couldn't tell.

Eventually, the animal turned.

Its black shape disappeared into the mist.

Only then did I start shaking.

I looked down at my hands.

Three nails had split below the quick.

My palms were raw.

My ankle had swollen grotesquely inside my boot.

My lips were cracked.

My stomach felt painfully empty.

And suddenly, absurdly, I remembered Serena crying because someone had thrown paint on her salon.

Lucas had left me here for that.

He had looked at the woman carrying his child and decided Serena's feelings mattered more than whether we lived.

Something inside me went quiet.

Not broken.

Quiet.

There was a difference.

---

On the seventh day, I heard an engine.

At first, I thought I was hallucinating.

Then I saw the pickup.

An old blue Ford crawled along the service road beyond the trees.

I stumbled toward it.

"Wait!"

My voice came out as a rasp.

"Please!"

I waved both arms.

The truck kept moving.

"No!"

I ran.

My ankle nearly folded beneath me.

I screamed anyway.

"STOP!"

Brake lights flashed.

The pickup stopped.

An older man in a rain jacket climbed out.

His face changed the moment he saw me.

"Jesus Christ."

I couldn't answer.

My knees buckled.

He caught me before I hit the road.

"Ma'am, are you hurt?"

"I need to get to Seattle."

"You need a hospital."

"Seattle," I repeated.

His eyes dropped to my stomach.

"Are you pregnant?"

I nodded.

"Five months."

His expression hardened.

"Who left you out here?"

I looked back at the forest.

Seven days.

Seven days of mud.

Hunger.

Cold.

Fear.

"Someone who said he loved me."

---

By the time I reached Seattle, I smelled like wet leaves and rotting earth.

My hair had dried into filthy knots.

My face was swollen.

My lips were cracked.

One boot had been cut open because my ankle was too swollen to fit inside it.

The driver wanted to take me straight to the emergency room.

I refused.

I needed clothes.

Money.

My passport.

And then I would leave.

I didn't know where.

I just knew I couldn't stay.

The private elevator opened into the penthouse foyer.

Warm air brushed my freezing skin.

For one second, I nearly collapsed from relief.

Home.

Then I heard laughter.

Lucas.

I stopped.

The front door to the living room stood slightly open.

Derek's voice carried through the gap.

"Seriously, man. Seven days?"

A glass clinked against another.

Lucas laughed.

"She needed time to cool off."

My fingers tightened around the wall.

Derek whistled.

"You aren't worried she'll actually leave?"

Lucas laughed again.

Not nervous.

Not guilty.

Amused.

"Elena?"

A pause.

Then—

"She really thinks she's still worth something."

My body went completely still.

Derek muttered something I couldn't hear.

Lucas answered louder.

"She's a pregnant model with no active contracts and a family that barely speaks to her. Who else is going to want her?"

My lungs forgot how to work.

Derek laughed.

"Cold."

"It's true."

"What if she finds out about Serena?"

Silence.

I leaned closer to the door.

My pulse pounded inside my ears.

Derek continued.

"You aren't scared she'll find out and refuse to marry you?"

Lucas gave a low chuckle.

"She won't."

"Pretty confident."

"She has no one else."

Each word landed slowly.

Precisely.

"Elena loves me so much it's embarrassing."

Another clink of crystal.

"She doesn't have the guts to leave."

I stepped backward.

My shoulder struck the mirror in the foyer.

I turned.

For the first time in seven days, I looked at myself.

I barely recognized the woman staring back.

Mud streaked my cheeks.

Dark circles bruised the skin beneath my eyes.

My lips were colorless.

My hair hung in tangled ropes around my face.

But my eyes—

My eyes were still the same.

Hazel green.

A strange mixture of brown and green that Lucas had once told me was the most beautiful color he had ever seen.

Ten years ago.

A mountain road.

Snow falling around us.

I had slipped near an icy ridge during a winter shoot.

Lucas had grabbed my wrist before I fell.

He pulled me against his chest.

Then he stared into my eyes.

*Beautiful.*

That was the first word he ever said to me.

I had remembered it for ten years.

I had built an entire love story around it.

Then Serena came back to Seattle.

And the first time I saw her standing beside Lucas, I noticed her eyes.

Hazel green.

Exactly like mine.

I stood there, trembling, my hand pressed against the doorframe to keep myself upright.

My reflection stared back at me from the hallway mirror—a ghost with hollow cheeks, mud-caked hair, and swollen ankles. But it was my eyes that made my blood run cold.

Hazel green.

Serena had hazel green eyes.

I remembered the story Lucas loved to tell—how he'd rescued me ten years ago on a ski trip in the Cascades, how he'd looked into my eyes and said they were the most beautiful things he'd ever seen. He'd called me his miracle.

Now, staring at my own ruined face in the glass, I understood. The rescue, the compliments, the decade of devotion—it had never been about me.

It had been about the color of my eyes. I was a stand-in. A replacement. A carefully selected substitute for the woman he truly wanted.

The realization settled over me like a second skin, cold and absolute. I wasn't his fiancée. I was his placeholder.

I turned away from the mirror. I turned away from the penthouse. And I walked back out into the rain.

The rain soaked through my clothes, chilling me to the bone by the time I reached the neon-lit convenience store on the edge of the highway.

I slammed the payphone receiver against my ear, shivering uncontrollably.

"Dad? It's me."

"What do you want, Elena?" Robert's voice blasted through the cheap speaker, vibrating with annoyance.

"Lucas left me in the woods. I had to walk miles in the storm."

"And whose fault is that?" he snapped.

"Dad, please. I have nowhere to go. Can I come home?"

"Your things are all in the dumpster by the door."

I gripped the metal cord of the phone. "What?"

"You ruined Serena's salon. Lucas's family is furious. You think I'm going to lose my business loans because you can't keep your mouth shut?"

"I'm your daughter! I'm pregnant with your grandchild!"

"Don't call me again," he growled. "You make me embarrassed to show my face in this town."

The line went dead.

The dial tone buzzed, a steady, flat drone that sounded exactly like a death knell.

I hung up. I had no one.

My bare feet slapped against the pristine linoleum of Seattle General Hospital's maternity ward.

Brown, muddy rainwater dripped from my ruined dress, leaving a filthy trail across the waiting room floor.

The receptionist wrinkled her nose, sliding a clipboard across the counter. "Ma'am, the ER is downstairs."

I shoved the clipboard back. "I need to schedule a termination."

Her fingers froze over her keyboard. She eyed my swollen stomach. "You're well into the second trimester."

"I know exactly how far along I am. Get me a doctor."

"You need a psychiatric evaluation first, and—"

"I need a doctor," I interrupted, my voice cracking like dry wood. "Now."

Dr. Chen flipped through my emergency ultrasound results, his brow furrowing deeper with every page.

He tossed the manila file onto his metal desk.

"You are severely malnourished, Elena." He tapped the glossy image of my twenty-one-week scan. "Your blood pressure is dangerously low."

I kept my spine rigid against the examination chair. "When can you perform the procedure?"

"Did you hear what I just said?" He leaned forward, lacing his fingers together. "Your uterine wall is extremely thin."

"I don't care about the wall."

"You should." He pointed a pen at me. "At this stage, a surgical abortion will cause irreversible damage."

My nails dug into my palms, carving half-moons into the skin. "I accept the risks."

"You might lose the chance to ever be a mother again," he warned, his tone dropping an octave.

I turned my head toward the black-and-white monitor showing the tiny curve of a spine.

"Do it." My voice didn't waver.

"Elena, this isn't a decision to make lightly. You are twenty-one weeks."

"I can't even protect myself." I met his gaze, refusing to blink. "How can I let a child suffer with me?"

He studied my face, searching for hesitation. He found none.

He sighed heavily, pulling a prescription pad from his drawer.

"Seven days. Next Thursday at 8 AM. We have to prep your cervix."

"Thank you."

"Eat something before you collapse," he ordered. "If your vitals drop any lower, I won't put you under anesthesia."

The private elevator doors parted, spilling me into the foyer of Lucas's downtown penthouse.

Warm air rushed over my freezing frame, carrying the sharp scent of single malt whiskey and expensive cigars.

"Well, look what the storm dragged in."

Lucas lounged on the Italian leather sofa, a crystal glass dangling from his fingers.

Derek sat across from him, grinning like a jackal.

I wrapped my arms around my stomach, water pooling at my feet on the hardwood floor.

"How did you make yourself look like such a ghost?" Lucas swirled his drink, his eyes raking over my muddy appearance.

I didn't answer.

"Even heavily pregnant, you can't stay put," he mocked.

Laughter erupted from Derek. He slammed his glass onto the coffee table.

"Thought you said she'd be crying at the ranger station, man."

"I figured she'd learn her lesson." Lucas pushed himself up, stalking toward me. "Clearly, she's just stubborn."

I didn't back away when he stopped inches from my face. "You left me to die."

"I left you to think." He reached out, flicking a wet lock of hair off my cheek.

I slapped his hand away. "Don't touch me."

Derek chuckled, pouring himself another shot. "She's got some fight left in her, Hale."

I turned my head, catching sight of the dining room wall.

A massive, silver-foil balloon arched across the floor-to-ceiling window. *Future Mrs. Hale.*

Beneath it, an elegant countdown board displayed our wedding date. Exactly one month from today.

My stomach churned.

In four weeks, I would be six months pregnant. I would be massive, waddling, and completely vulnerable.

He didn't want to marry me out of love. He wanted a spectacle.

"You're going through with the wedding," I stated, the realization turning my blood to ice.

"Of course." Lucas smiled, a cold, empty expression. "We sent the final invitations yesterday. The entire city is coming."

He wanted everyone to see me. The disgraced, pregnant bride.

It was his execution day for me, a public humiliation for exposing Serena's scam.

"I won't be there," I told him.

Lucas grabbed my chin, his grip bruising my jaw. "You'll be there, Elena."

"You can't force me down the aisle."

"I can make sure your father loses his pension, his house, and everything he owns."

I glared into his dark eyes, the secret of my appointment with Dr. Chen burning a hole in my chest.

He thought he was going to parade a pregnant, broken woman in front of Seattle's elite.

He had no idea I would be empty by then.

"We'll see about that," I whispered, jerking my face out of his grasp.

The front door clicked open behind me.

A high-pitched, familiar voice echoed through the hallway.

"Lucas, baby? I brought the cake samples."

Four hours had passed since Serena paraded into the penthouse with her ridiculous cake samples.

"These are for the rehearsal dinner," she had announced, her high-pitched voice echoing off the marble walls. She had linked her arm through Lucas's, completely ignoring my dripping, shivering presence in the foyer.

Lucas hadn't even looked at me. "Take them to the kitchen, Serena. Let's see what you brought."

He had ushered her away, leaving me to peel off my ruined dress alone. My bare feet had left muddy prints all the way to the guest bathroom.

I didn't know when she left. I didn't care.

I lay in the dark bedroom, staring at the shadows dancing across the ceiling.

The bedroom door creaked open.

Heavy footsteps crossed the plush carpet. The mattress dipped behind me.

An arm draped over my waist. Lucas pressed his chest against my back, his large palm flattening over my swollen stomach.

"You and the baby are fine, right?" he whispered, his voice pitching into a soft, feigned tenderness.

"Yeah." I kept my eyes closed.

His fingers stopped moving against my skin. He shifted, pulling back just enough to break the warmth. "Just 'yeah'?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"I expect a little more warmth, Elena. I sent Serena home so we could have a quiet night."

"You want a medal for that?"

"I want you to stop acting like a victim." He yanked his arm back. "I let you cool off. I gave you space. Now turn around and look at me."

I didn't move. "I'm tired, Lucas."

"You're always tired lately. Or angry. Or plotting some new way to ruin my friends' lives."

"Serena scammed people."

"Serena made a mistake!" he snapped, his voice rising. "You didn't have to blast her lab reports all over the internet. You did it to be vindictive."

"I did it because three women lost their hair!" I pushed myself up, finally turning to face him. The dim light of the streetlamp filtered through the blinds, casting harsh shadows across his sharp jawline. "Why are you defending her?"

"Because she's my friend. And you're supposed to be my wife."

I stared into his dark eyes. They held no warmth, no regret for leaving me in the forest. "Do you love me?"

He blinked. The question caught him off guard. His jaw tightened. "Where is this coming from?"

"It's a simple question. Do you?"

"Of course I do." He answered instantly, the words snapping out of his mouth without a second of thought. "I love you. Now go to sleep."

His phone vibrated on the nightstand. The screen lit up the dark room, flashing a photo of Serena.

Lucas snatched it before the second ring. He swiped the screen.

"Serena?"

"Lucas..." Her voice pierced the quiet bedroom, thick with tears and ragged breathing.

He sat up instantly. His posture went rigid. "What happened? Are you hurt?"

"I had the dream again." A loud sob echoed through the speaker. "You left me. You walked down the aisle with her and you never looked back."

"Serena, calm down. It's just a dream."

"It felt so real, Lucas. I can't breathe. My chest hurts so much. Please don't get married. Please."

Lucas swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He grabbed his jeans from the floor, his movements frantic. "Serena, don't be afraid. I'm coming over right now."

"You promise? You won't leave me alone?"

"I'm already getting dressed. Lock your doors. I'll be there in ten minutes."

He ended the call and shoved his arms into a dark sweater.

I pushed myself up against the headboard. "You're leaving."

He didn't look at me as he grabbed his car keys. "She's having a panic attack, Elena. Have some sympathy."

"I'm your pregnant fiancée. I walked miles in the freezing rain today because you abandoned me."

"Stop throwing tantrums." He paused at the doorway, his silhouette imposing in the hall light. "I said I'd marry you and I won't break my promise. Take care of yourself and the baby."

The bedroom door clicked shut.

His heavy footsteps faded down the hall. The front door slammed, rattling the picture frames on the wall.

I pushed the heavy duvet off my legs. The chill of the empty room bit into my bare arms.

I walked to the closet and pulled down the white memory box from the top shelf. I dragged it to the center of the bed and ripped the lid off.

Inside sat dozens of polaroids. Our first year together. The year before she came back.

I flipped through them, tossing them onto the mattress one by one.

Lucas smiling at the pier, the wind catching his hair. Lucas kissing my cheek at a New Year's party, his arms wrapped tight around my waist. Lucas holding up my first sonogram, a bright, genuine grin on his face.

I checked the dates scrawled in black ink on the bottom borders.

January. March. May.

Serena moved back to Seattle in June.

I dug deeper into the box, tossing aside movie tickets, dried roses, and old restaurant receipts.

There were no photos after June. Not a single one.

"You never took another picture of us," I whispered. My voice sounded hollow, swallowed by the massive, empty room.

I grabbed the New Year's photo. My thumbs clamped down on the glossy paper.

I tore it in half. The thick cardstock ripped with a sharp, satisfying snap.

I picked up the pier photo. Ripped it.

The sonogram picture. Torn into four jagged pieces.

I gathered a handful of the remaining photos. I twisted and pulled, forcing the thick paper to yield. I wanted to destroy the evidence that he had ever looked at me with love.

A sharp sting bit into my index finger. I gasped, dropping the mangled pile.

A bright bead of crimson welled up on my skin. A paper cut.

Then I noticed the burning on my palm. Another cut. My thumb throbbed with a fresh, stinging line.

I had shredded the memories so violently that the sharp edges had sliced into my hands.

Tiny, stinging wounds.

Just like the ones Lucas left on me every single day.

He didn't stab me in the chest. He just gave me a thousand little cuts, assuming I would bleed out quietly.

"Take care of yourself," he had said.

I wiped the blood on my white nightgown. It left a rusty, jagged streak across the cotton fabric.

The digital clock on the nightstand flashed 3:00 AM.

Sleep wouldn't come. My chest felt hollow.

I grabbed my phone from the side table. The screen glared in the pitch-black room.

I opened Instagram. Serena's profile sat at the top of my search history.

A purple ring glowed around her profile picture. A new story.

I tapped it.

The video started with a shaky shot of a dashboard. The streetlights blurred past the windshield, painting the car interior in flashes of orange.

Serena's giggling voice played over the speakers. "Look who's driving across the city at two in the morning because I craved Lady M cake."

The camera panned to the driver's seat.

Lucas.

He had one hand on the steering wheel. A soft, genuine smile played on his lips.

"You're a menace, Serena," he said, his voice laced with affection.

I tapped the right side of the screen. The next story loaded.

A brightly lit kitchen. Serena's kitchen.

Water boiled in a silver pot on the stove. Lucas stood at the counter, chopping garlic.

"The cake shop was closed," Serena's text caption read over the video. "So he's making me midnight pasta instead."

In the background of the video, Lucas turned around. "Do you want extra parmesan on this?"

"Always," Serena answered from behind the camera.

I stared at his relaxed shoulders. The easy way he moved around her kitchen, opening cabinets he already knew by heart.

When I was sick during my first trimester, I begged him to make me toast. Just a single slice of dry bread.

He told me to order delivery. He said he was too busy with work to play nurse.

He wasn't busy. He wasn't incapable of effort.

He just didn't want to try for me.

He always told me he loved how independent I was. How I never demanded his time like other women.

He didn't prefer independent, understanding women. He just used my independence as an excuse to neglect me. He didn't like me enough to be inconvenienced.

I locked the screen. The room plunged back into darkness.

My phone buzzed in my hand. A text message lit up the glass.

It wasn't from Lucas.

It was an unknown number.

*He makes the best garlic pasta. Thanks for letting me borrow him tonight. See you at the wedding!*

Attached was a photo of Lucas, asleep on Serena's couch, her legs draped over his lap.

I stared at the image, my thumb hovering over the screen.

*Thursday, 8 AM,* I reminded myself.

I didn't reply. Instead, I opened my contacts and blocked Lucas's number.