Drunk on victory and liquor, Rio tightened his grip on Bethany, his laughter loud and unrestrained. “She’s been clinging to me for six years like a desperate mutt, wagging her tail for a scrap of attention. It’s pathetic.”

Bethany pouted playfully, mischief glinting in her eyes. “If she finds out you're spending the night with me, what will you do? Think she’ll throw a fit?”

Rio scoffed, his expression darkening with contempt. “She wouldn’t dare. Marrying me is the best thing that ever happened to her. If she tries to cause trouble, I’ll make sure she’s blacklisted from the entertainment industry.”

Bethany giggled, trailing her fingers down his chest. “I adore you,” she purred before pressing her lips to his in a slow, sultry kiss.

The noise of the private lounge drowned out the faint vibration of Rio’s phone.

He didn’t notice it. He didn’t care.

Later that night, Bethany carefully selected a photo. In it, she nestled against Rio’s side like a delicate bird, his arm wrapped possessively around her waist. In his other hand, he held up a glass of champagne, his face alight with smug victory.

The rest of his team surrounded them, grinning and cheering, celebrating his latest championship win. The energy of the moment was electric.

The caption read: “Celebrating another winning of R. So proud of you!”

The moment she posted it, the internet erupted.

“Rio and Bethany look so perfect together. When’s the official announcement?”

“OMG! The way he looks at her—I’m swooning!”

“I knew it! There’s no way these two weren’t secretly together!”

Bethany smirked at the flood of comments, replying with a coy emoji before tagging Rio’s account. Within seconds, his like appeared.

By morning, every major gossip site had splashed their faces across their front pages.

[Racing champion Rio Beasley caught in late-night rendezvous with rising star Bethany—romance confirmed?]

[Speculation ends: Beasley and Arterton’s intimate celebration ignites dating rumors!]

The comment sections buzzed with excitement, some offering congratulations, others spewing outrage and many simply there for the drama.

***

The harsh morning sunlight streamed through the curtains, piercing through Rio’s pounding hangover. Groaning, he massaged his temples, but the warmth of the woman beside him made up for his discomfort.

Leaning over, he pressed a lazy kiss to Bethany’s forehead before grabbing his phone to check the time.

A single message from me popped up on the screen: [Let’s get divorce.]

He barely spared it a glance, assuming it was another one of my tantrums. Six years together and I had pulled every trick in the book to keep his attention—why would this time be any different?

Bethany stirred, stretching her toned arms before wrapping them around his neck. “Who sends message this early? They’re ruining my beauty sleep.”

Rio’s fingers lazily traced circles on her bare back. “Just insignificant block with too much time on their hands.”

By noon, he returned to the villa, expecting to find me sulking like always. Instead, I was neatly folding my clothes, placing them carefully into a suitcase.

He stopped cold. The haze of alcohol finally lifted, replaced by something sharper—confusion and a faint irritation.

“What are you doing?” I didn’t look up. My voice was steady, emotionless. “I’ve drafted the divorce papers. If you have no objections, sign them.”

My words hit him like a detonated landmine.

In an instant, he closed the distance between us, ripping the clothes from my hands and throwing them to the floor.

“Divorce?” His voice was low, dangerous. “What kind of stunt are you pulling now? Don’t play games with me.”

I lifted my head, meeting his bloodshot eyes with a cold, mocking smile.

“Six years, Rio. Six years. I gave up my career for you. I cooked for you, bent over backward to please your family and friends. And after everything, you still never truly saw me. You think I’m playing a game?”

My voice wasn’t loud, but every word cut like a blade, sinking deep into his heart.

He froze, as if seeing me clearly for the first time, a flicker of panic flashing in his eyes.

“Hazel, I—”

“Tell me, Rio. Have you ever, even once, loved me? Did you ever care about me at all?”

His face paled. His lips parted, but no words came out.

“That’s what I thought.” I bent down, calmly picking up the clothes he had tossed aside. I folded them neatly and placed them back into my suitcase.

“Saw the latest headlines about you and Bethany. Congratulations. You’re finally free of me. Now you can chase after your true love.”

I struggled, but his grip was ironclad, trapping me in his arms. A sharp pain shot through my lip as I tasted blood—he had bitten me. The sting jolted me back to reality, filling me with revulsion.

This wasn’t love. It was hate. Possession. Unwillingness to let go.

“Let me go!” I screamed, thrashing against him, but Rio only pressed closer. His breath was hot against my skin, thick with the stench of alcohol and Bethany’s perfume—the one she always wore.

“Drop the act,” he murmured, his grip tightening. “You spent six years trying to please me. Now, I’ll give you what you want."

A sharp pain shot through me, but the ache in my heart was far worse.

Six years. I gave him everything. And this was what I got in return.

“Rio,” I choked out, my voice hoarse, “you disgust me.”

When it was over, the room was a mess.

Rio stood at the edge of the bed, staring down at me, his face unreadable. Silence stretched between us before he finally turned away. I heard the sound of running water. Then, without a word, he returned and scooped me up.

“Let me clean you up,” he said, his voice low, devoid of emotion.

I turned my face away, refusing to meet his eyes, refusing to acknowledge his touch.

“Fuck off.”

He ignored me. I was too drained to fight him. My body was numb, my mind empty. Warm water cascaded over my skin, but it couldn’t wash away the filth, the disgust that had seeped into my bones.

“Does it hurt?” His voice was softer now, almost careful. “I’m sorry if I was too rough. I drank too much last night.”

I shut my eyes. Hurt? Nothing could hurt more than realizing my heart had died.

Memories of the man he used to be flickered through my mind like a cruel, broken film reel.

Five years ago, Rio was gentle, considerate. He used to wake up early to make me breakfast, hold me close every night before we fell asleep.

He remembered my favorite flowers, planned surprises for my birthday. When work stressed me out, he would comfort me, encourage me. When I was sick, he never left my side. Back then, I thought I had found the man I would grow old with. I gave up my rising career for him, devoted myself to being the perfect wife, managing everything for him.

I even learned how to cook for him, how to please his family and friends. I thought my dedication would eventually earn his love and appreciation. I was wrong.

The moment Bethany appeared, all my sacrifices became a joke. He looked at her with a love and tenderness he never once gave me. He bought her expensive jewelry, threw lavish birthday parties for her, did all the romantic things I once dreamed of. Meanwhile, I became invisible.

He grew distant. Cold. Indifferent. He forgot my birthday. Forgot my favorite things. Forgot the promises he once made to me.

“Hazel, I will love you forever. Only you. I’ll never let you go.”

After what happened that night, Rio assumed I would act like I always did—swallow my pain, endure his temper, pretend nothing had happened. Maybe he thought a warm bath could wash away my humiliation, could cleanse him of his sins.

He was wrong. Some things, once shattered, could never be pieced back together.

His phone rang, slicing through the stillness. The name on the screen blinked. Beth.

Without hesitation, he answered, his voice shifting to gentle and affectionate, the complete opposite of the man who had just shredded me with his words.

“Hey, baby, what’s up?”

Bethany’s sugary voice poured through the speaker, laced with a childish whine, “What are you doing?”

“I’m just finishing something up, baby.”

“I miss you.”

“You miss me? Well, I miss you too.” Rio chuckled, his tone dripping with indulgence. “What do you want to eat? I’ll grab it on the way.” He didn’t even try to hide it. He flirted with her as though I wasn’t there, as though I didn’t exist.

I closed my eyes, sucking in a sharp breath, trying my hardest not to gag.

Then it hit me—the deafening crack of my heart breaking. My eyes snapped open as something rose in my throat. I sat up straight and gagged.

“What now?” he snapped, irritated.

“I feel sick,” I wiped my mouth, glaring at him. “I feel sick just looking at you,” I added coldly.

He didn’t care. He didn’t care about the dry heaving or the hatred in my eyes. As he buttoned his shirt, he shot me a condescending glance.

“Oh, please.” I could practically hear the eye roll in his voice. “If you were so miserable, why didn’t you say anything? Are you trying to put on a show? Gosh, you’re as dramatic as ever.”

He grabbed his coat and made for the door, pausing for a second before adding, without turning around, “And don’t even bring up divorce again. It’s getting old.”

The moment the door slammed shut, I rushed to the sink, gagging violently. My stomach twisted in agony as I vomited until there was nothing left.

“Rio, you bastard.” My voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

I turned on the faucet, splashing cold water onto my face before lifting my gaze to the mirror.

Pale. Haggard. Broken. The woman staring back at me was a ghost of who I used to be. I let out a bitter laugh. Was this really me?

For days, I had been plagued by nausea, unable to keep anything down. At first, I thought it was just the sheer disgust from everything Rio and Bethany had done to me. But as I lowered my gaze, dread pooled in my stomach.

Two red lines. Stark. Unmistakable.

I was pregnant. With Rio’s child.

Isn’t that just the cruelest kind of irony? The moment I finally decided to walk away from this marriage, life threw this at me.

Should I get rid of it? My fingers tightened around the small plastic device, my mind spinning. My hand instinctively went to my stomach, where a fragile life—my flesh and blood—was beginning to grow. But I couldn’t imagine raising this child in a home without a father.