My chest felt tight, like someone had wrapped a band around it and kept pulling. I lowered my gaze, acting as if I hadn’t noticed the shift in the room—but Nikolai noticed.

His tone hardened instantly. “If this is how you’re going to treat Camille, then don’t expect us to keep coming back here.”

Silence fell like a curtain. Then Mr. Sokolov slammed his palm against the table. The sharp crack made me jump.

“Mind your tone,” he barked. “Are you seriously saying you’d abandon your own family for her?”

I instinctively tried to step back, but Nikolai caught my hand and laced his fingers through mine, anchoring me in place.

“Father,” he said, his voice low but unwavering, “I’ve told you over and over—Camille is the woman I love. She’s the one person I refuse to hurt. I don’t even raise my voice at her, yet every time we come here, you treat her like she’s invisible. Do you have any idea what that does to me?”

His grip tightened around my hand.

“If this happens again, I won’t just leave tonight. I’ll cut ties with this family completely.”

The same man who could order someone’s death with a glance now sounded like a husband ready to torch everything for me.

It would’ve been touching… if I didn’t know the truth.

The room stayed heavy after his words. He stood in front of me like a shield, the perfect picture of devotion. But instead of feeling protected, I just felt exhausted.

Mrs. Sokolov let out a stiff sigh. “Fine. Let’s eat.”

Dinner was painfully quiet. The only sounds were forks tapping against plates and the faint clink of glasses. Mrs. Sokolov kept sighing under her breath, small irritated noises that scraped against my nerves. I knew what was coming.

She finally set her fork down with a deliberate clatter.

“It’s been nine months,” she said coolly. “You’ve mourned long enough. Yes, you lost a daughter. But it’s time to give this family a grandson. The Sokolov name can’t end here.”

Mr. Sokolov’s stare pinned me in place. “That child died because you failed to take care of her properly. A stomach ache shouldn’t end in a funeral. Stop acting like you’re the only one who suffered. Try again—and this time, don’t make mistakes.”

The words tore straight through me.

Before I could respond, Nikolai calmly placed his fork down. His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried an edge.

“I’ve already said this. Camille is afraid of going through that pain again. I won’t force her. If we never have another child, then so be it.”

His parents’ expressions darkened, disappointment and anger mixing together. They were ready to argue again.

That’s when I spoke.

“You’ll have your grandchild within half a month.”

Everything stopped.

All three of them stared at me.

Nikolai squeezed my hand, his face softening into that familiar mask of concern. “Sweetheart… you don’t need to pressure yourself for me. I’ll handle it. I’ll protect you.”

Protect me?

He couldn’t even stop himself from running to Vanessa whenever she called.

Still, I smiled faintly. “You want a grandson that badly. I’ll make sure you get one.”

His parents relaxed almost immediately, satisfied with my answer. But Nikolai looked uneasy, like he sensed something shifting beneath the surface.

Then his phone vibrated.

He glanced at the screen. I caught the name.

Vanessa.

A message preview flashed briefly: Some guy’s asking for a quick one. Is that okay?

I started counting silently. One. Two. Three.

Right on cue, Nikolai stood up. “Camille, something urgent came up at the office. Finish dinner here. I’ll come back to pick you up.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. He grabbed his coat and left.

The door hadn’t even fully shut before the polite expressions disappeared.

“We’re giving you less than a month,” Mrs. Sokolov said coldly. “If you don’t get pregnant again, don’t bother stepping foot in this house.”

Mr. Sokolov didn’t hold back. “You came from nothing. No family name. No wealth. Both your parents gone. Without Nikolai, you are nothing. Don’t think we’ll put up with you forever.”

Each sentence felt like another blade.

The walls seemed to close in.

And Nikolai?

He never came back to get me.

---

He returned that evening as if nothing had happened—calm, composed, unbothered.

We got into the car. The seats were still warm from sitting under the sun all afternoon.

I kept my gaze on the passing streets. “Done with work?” I asked casually.

There was the slightest pause before he answered. “Yeah.”

His fingers tapped lightly on the steering wheel. Slow. Rhythmic. That tiny habit of his always showed when he was in a good mood.

After a while, he glanced at me. “Did my parents say anything after I left?”

I was about to respond when something caught my eye beneath the passenger seat.

A pair of silk stockings.

Ripped.

They weren’t mine.

So this was where he’d gone.

I knew about Vanessa. But I hadn’t imagined he would use this car.

Seven years of marriage, and I’d always tried to be careful, reserved. I wasn’t bold or adventurous. Sometimes I even asked him if he wanted me to change—if he was bored of me.

Back then, he would pull me into his arms and kiss my hair.

“Sweetheart, I only want you. Even if you wore rags, you’d still be the one I’d choose. Don’t try to be someone else for me. I love you exactly as you are.”

Now those words felt like smoke.

I swallowed hard. “What do you think?” I asked quietly.

He assumed I meant his parents. He had no idea I’d already seen enough.

Without warning, he hit the brakes and pulled me into a tight embrace.

“I’m sorry, Camille. I shouldn’t have left you alone with them. It won’t happen again. I promise.”

His arms wrapped around me like iron bars.

I gently pushed against his chest until he let go.

“Just drive, Nikolai,” I said softly. “I’m tired.”

Because somewhere deep inside, I already knew.

There was nothing left to save.

The second I walked through the door, my steps faltered.

Vanessa was already sprawled across the living room sofa, dressed in a silky nightgown, lazily munching on chips like she owned the house.

“Didn’t you say you had some party tonight?” I asked, keeping my tone neutral. “You mentioned you wouldn’t be back.”

She flashed me a small, almost bashful smile. “Oh, Camille, I forgot to tell you. I got into an argument with my boyfriend. I only went to the party to make him jealous. I even told him about it, but he acted like he didn’t care. Then the moment I arrived, he showed up and dragged me out.”

She casually tugged at the neckline of her gown, letting the fabric slip just enough. The marks on her skin were obvious. Dark. Fresh. She glanced at me sideways, like she was proudly showing off a trophy.

“I didn’t realize he’d get that jealous,” she added lightly. “We ended up fooling around in the car. Three times.”

My fingers curled into my palms so tightly my nails left crescents in my skin. Still, I forced my voice to remain steady.

“Since when do you have a boyfriend? You never mentioned one.”

She laughed softly, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Oh, that? Around nine months ago. Right after I got back from overseas. My brother introduced us.”

Nine months.

The exact month she moved into this house. The same time Nikolai’s so-called friend asked him to “take care” of his sister. What a convenient arrangement. She must’ve attached herself to him from day one.

My breathing grew heavier despite my effort to stay composed. Anger simmered just beneath my skin. And then I felt it—Nikolai’s hands settling firmly on my shoulders.

“Sweetheart, you’ve had a long day,” he murmured gently. “I’ll prepare a bath for you. You need to relax.”

As if nothing was wrong, he guided me toward the bathroom.

I went inside and shut the door behind me. I began undressing, telling myself that sinking into warm water might steady my thoughts. Halfway through, I realized I hadn’t brought fresh clothes.

When I opened the door—

Everything stopped.

A few feet away, Nikolai had Vanessa pinned beneath him. His hand tore at her nightgown impatiently, his mouth pressed against her skin while his grip held her firmly in place.

She tipped her head back, letting out soft, breathy sounds. “Careful… Camille’s still showering,” she teased. “Didn’t you already have enough earlier in the car?”

His voice dropped, rough and possessive. “Don’t test me. If you even think about letting another man near you, you’ll regret it.”

She laughed quietly, pleased with his reaction. Then her gaze shifted—and locked onto me.

“Oh, relax,” she purred. “I won’t. I’m yours, remember? You’re so jealous, aren’t you?”

That was all I could take.

I grabbed my clothes and shut the bathroom door, locking it this time.

The bathwater was hot when I lowered myself into it, but it didn’t sting nearly as much as the scene replaying in my mind.

Seven years ago. Our honeymoon on that private island. I had glanced—just once—at a man walking by. Nikolai had gone feral with jealousy. He kept me inside our suite for an entire week.

When the bed frame broke and we ran out of food deliveries, he held me tightly and whispered, “Camille, you don’t need anyone else. I’m enough for you. Promise me you won’t look at another man.”

I promised.

Again and again.

From that day on, I never so much as spared another man a second glance.

And now?

He was just as obsessive.

Only not about me.

I sank deeper into the water, forcing a shaky breath out of my lungs.

When I finally stepped out of the bathroom, Vanessa was gone. Nikolai sat alone in the living room, looking composed, as if nothing unusual had happened.

On the table in front of him was a neatly arranged plate of sliced fruit and a cup of ginger tea, steam still rising.

The sight made something inside me twist.

He stood and handed me the cup. “Your cycle’s coming soon,” he said gently. “This will ease the cramps.”

The warmth seeped into my hands, but inside, I felt nothing but cold.

Just minutes ago, he’d been all over her.

Now he was playing the attentive husband.

---

Sleep barely touched me that night. One thought kept circling my mind: how many versions of him exist?

Sometime before dawn, exhaustion must have pulled me under, because I jolted awake at the sound of my name.

“Camille!”

Nikolai shot upright, his hands reaching frantically through the darkness until he found me. He pulled me against him, holding me so tightly I could barely breathe.

“Don’t leave,” he muttered hoarsely. “Please… don’t walk away from me.”

I stiffened in his arms. “What are you talking about?”

His eyes were red, his breathing uneven. “I dreamed you left me. It felt like hell. I woke up and you were still here. Thank God.”

I looked down, words heavy in my chest. I almost told him that one day soon, that dream would be real.

But I said nothing.

Maybe that nightmare unsettled him, because the next morning he refused to let me out of his sight. He insisted on driving me to work himself, as if I might vanish the second he looked away.

When we entered his office, I stopped in my tracks.

His desk—no, the entire surface—was covered with photographs of me. Different outfits. Different days. Some angles I didn’t even recognize.

A chill ran down my spine.

Before I could react, I felt him behind me. His arms wrapped around my waist, his lips brushing the side of my neck.

“Camille,” he murmured softly, “women throw themselves at me all the time. But when I look at these, I remember who I belong to. You don’t have to doubt me. I’m yours.”

I stared at the photos, my mouth pressed into a thin line. I couldn’t find the strength to respond.

A knock interrupted us.

“Boss, the meeting’s about to begin,” Dante called from outside.

Nikolai exhaled reluctantly and held me a moment longer before letting go. “Stay here, baby. Walk around if you’re bored. I’ll be back soon.”

I nodded.

But the last place I wanted to stay was that office, surrounded by images of myself like some kind of shrine.

So I wandered instead. Floor after floor, pretending to look around, pretending to care.

Around noon, my phone vibrated in my hand. My pulse quickened when I saw the number.

“Ms. Camille Laurent,” a polite female voice said, “your immigration request has been approved. You may come to the consulate to collect your visa.”

I barely had time to react.

A familiar voice sounded behind me.

“Visa?”

The blood drained from my face.

I turned around slowly—and there he was.

Nikolai.

All the color had drained from his face, like the floor had just collapsed beneath him.

“Visa?” he repeated, his voice quiet but unsteady. “What visa?”

My pulse stumbled, but I forced a light smile onto my lips. “Not mine. A friend’s planning to move overseas. She called to ask me about the process.”

He searched my face, studying me as if he could peel the truth straight from my skin. For a heartbeat, he didn’t move.

Then suddenly, he pulled me into him.

His arms wrapped around me so tightly I could barely draw air. I felt it—his body trembling.

“Camille,” he breathed into my hair, his voice rough, almost broken. “Don’t ever do that to me. For a second, I thought you were leaving. I can’t… I can’t survive without you.”

I rested my palm against his back, moving it gently like I was comforting him.

On the outside, I gave him a small, steady smile.

Inside, I was already gone.

That afternoon, while he was locked in back-to-back meetings, I slipped out quietly. I went straight to the immigration office and signed the final documents. My hands shook as I wrote my name, but my thoughts had never felt so certain.

There was no turning back now.

---

That evening was the Sokolov Company’s annual gala. The ballroom glittered beneath chandeliers, champagne flowing freely while investors and partners mingled under golden light.

I chose a simple dress. Soft color. Minimal jewelry. I didn’t want eyes on me.

Vanessa, of course, arrived in a crimson gown that hugged her body like it had been stitched directly onto her skin. Conversations paused when she walked in.

I saw Nikolai nearly choke on his drink when a cluster of men surrounded her. He kept that polished host smile in place, but the muscle in his jaw twitched. The anger simmering beneath the surface was impossible to miss.

People kept approaching me, offering congratulations I hadn’t earned.

“You’re so lucky.”

“He adores you.”

“Mr. Sokolov is completely obsessed.”

Glasses were raised to his devotion. I was called the envy of every woman in the room.

When one man handed Vanessa a drink, Nikolai stepped in smoothly. He took the glass from her hand and downed it himself.

“Can’t have my friend’s sister getting taken advantage of,” he said lightly, though his eyes were anything but amused.

Vanessa tilted her head, lips curving. “Careful, Nikolai. If you keep acting possessive, Camille might misunderstand.”

I smiled calmly. “There’s nothing to misunderstand. Nikolai loves me. He wouldn’t know how to live without me.”

He looked at me then, something flickering across his expression—uncertainty, maybe even fear.

That was when I noticed it.

On Vanessa’s wrist.

The bracelet.

The same design as mine.

For a split second, her smile faltered when she saw where I was looking. Then she excused herself quickly and slipped out of the ballroom.

Nikolai grew restless almost immediately. He glanced at his phone beneath the table. Moments later, he stood, wearing that courteous public smile.

“Excuse me. Urgent matter,” he murmured before walking out.

I knew exactly what kind of “matter.”

When I tried to follow, one of Nikolai’s business associates—well-known for cheating despite his wedding ring—blocked my path. He dragged me into meaningless conversation, clearly stalling.

I kept my tone polite. “I’m not feeling well. I think I’ll head home early. Please don’t worry about arranging a ride. I’ll call a cab.”

I slipped past him.

My heels echoed softly against the marble floor as I walked down the corridor.

That’s when I heard it.

A door not fully closed.

Low voices. Sharp breaths. The unmistakable sound of bodies moving together.

I stopped.

Then, carefully, I leaned just enough to see inside.

Vanessa was on top of him, moving like she had every right to be there. His hands gripped her hips, his head tilted back.

Her gaze shifted.

She saw me.

And she smiled.

“Tell me something, Nikolai,” she said, her voice raised just enough. “Do you actually love me? If you don’t, I’ll go find your business partner right now.”

His reply came instantly, strained and desperate. “I love you, Vanessa.”

Her smile deepened. She held my eyes as she spoke again. “Then prove it. Make sure I’m the one carrying your child.”

His answer was nothing but a hoarse affirmation.

My vision blurred.

But my hand was steady.

At my side, my phone was already recording.

Every word.

Every confession.

Every betrayal.

Before they noticed me, I stepped away quietly and walked down the hall.

Back at the house, I pulled my suitcase from the closet. My fingers trembled as I unzipped it.

But my heart was calm.

This wasn’t a thought anymore.

I was truly leaving.

---

The airport lounge felt too bright.

I sat there with my passport and boarding pass clenched in my hand, my suitcase at my feet. My phone buzzed.

Of course.

I answered.

“Where are you?” Nikolai asked. “Dante said you weren’t at the venue—”

“I wasn’t feeling well,” I replied gently. “My head was pounding. I went home to rest.”

“I’ll have Dante bring you medicine.”

“No,” I interrupted softly. “I’m done with all that. I just need sleep.” I paused briefly before adding, “But before you go home tonight, there’s something for you in our bedroom. A small gift. Please open it.”

I could picture it clearly.

On the bedside table: the divorce papers. Our wedding rings. And the USB drive.

He chuckled quietly. In the background, I heard a faint sound.

A woman’s laughter.

“I’ll look at it,” he said smoothly. “But I won’t be home tonight. Important business to handle.”

Vanessa’s voice floated behind him again.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he added casually.

I smiled faintly. “Sure.”

“I love you.”

“Sleep well,” I whispered, ending the call before he could continue.

My hand shook as I lowered the phone.

But for the first time in years, my chest felt lighter.

When boarding was announced, I stood.

My phone lit up again with his name.

This time, I didn’t hesitate.

I powered it off.

As I stepped onto the plane, something inside me finally loosened.

Under my breath, I whispered,

“Goodbye, Nikolai. I don’t belong to you anymore.”