When I returned to the private room, his face was exactly as I had expected filled with anxiety.

He was on the phone, and the moment he hung up, his expression changed.

“Darling, something urgent came up at the office. You stay and enjoy the evening. I’ve already spoken to the manager.”

“Dante,” I looked at him, “didn’t you say you’d stay with me tonight? Please, don’t go.”

He frowned, his gaze flickering, as though torn between two worlds.

I could see the hesitation in his eyes.

He looked at me once more, then slowly pried my fingers off his sleeve, one by one.

“I’ll come back tonight, I promise. All right?”

I nodded and smiled.

But even I could feel how cold that smile was.

Half an hour later, my phone lit up.

It was a video from Lyra.

I stared at the screen for a few seconds before pressing play.

In the video, tears streamed down her face as she spoke in a fragile voice.

“I just miss you so much. Seeing you with her, so loving, it drives me insane with jealousy. It’s my fault, please don’t be mad, okay?”

Dante sat beside her, his expression gentle.

He held a warm egg to her reddened cheek, his voice low and tender.

“Don’t cry. Don’t cry, whatever you want, I’ll make it up to you.”

“Then… the twins’ birthday is coming up,” she said softly, “I want that new island you bought can we give it to them as a present?”

He was silent for a moment, then nodded.

At the end of the video, she lifted her head and smiled at the camera a sweet smile that chilled me to the bone.

“See? Even what he promised you, as long as I ask, he’ll still give it to me. Giselle, you’ve lost.”

I stared at the screen, the emptiness in my chest spreading wider and wider.

So he could be gentle just not with me.

And that, I realized, was what hurt the most.

The worst part of love isn’t the betrayal itself,

but the calm tenderness of the one betraying you.

Outside, the neon lights blurred before my eyes.

I switched my phone to silent and slowly stood up.

Perhaps after tonight, I really should leave this country.

Some people aren’t worth waiting a lifetime for.

And I finally understood that.

After that reunion, I thought Dante might at least notice something was wrong.

But he didn’t.

He continued as always gentle to others, distant to me.

And Lyra’s shadow appeared in his office almost every day.

That morning, I went to the company to sign my final transfer documents.

The moment I stepped into the meeting room, Lyra suddenly let out a sharp cry, clutching her stomach before collapsing onto the floor, striking the edge of the coffee table.

“Lyra!” Dante rushed to her instantly.

He hadn’t even taken off his jacket when he scooped her into his arms.

“Call a doctor!”

His voice was low, filled with a panic I had never heard from him before.

I stood frozen as my colleagues rushed out in alarm, the room erupting into chaos.

For a moment, I thought she was truly hurt.

But just before she fell, I had caught it the faintest trace of a smile at the corner of her lips.

It lasted less than a second, yet it was enough to freeze my heart.

Half an hour later, she was carried out on a stretcher to the hospital.

I had just stepped into the hallway when Dante’s cold voice sounded behind me.

“What did you do?”

I turned around and saw his face twisted in fury.

“You pushed her, didn’t you?!”

“I…” I hadn’t even finished explaining before his palm struck my face.

“Dante, you hit me?” My voice trembled, hoarse and disbelieving.

“If anything happens to Lyra, I’ll hit you harder next time!”

His voice was sharp and cold as a blade.

He brushed past me and ran toward the ambulance.

He carried Lyra in his arms as if she were a bride.

That sight pierced my heart like a needle, deeper with every breath.

He didn’t even look back.

I chased him to the parking lot, reaching for the passenger door, but he slammed on the gas.

The tires screeched against the pavement, the gust of air knocking my hand away and nearly sending me to the ground.

Colleagues downstairs stared, whispering to one another.

Their gazes hurt more than the slap.

I hailed a cab home.

The city lights flashed past the window, but all I could think was one thing:

He doesn’t believe me.

When I got home, I began packing my suitcase.

I had thought that if he was willing to hear me out, maybe I could still try to save this marriage.

But now I knew clearly he was already gone.

I folded the last piece of clothing, and before I could close the suitcase, the door burst open.

Dante stormed in, his face dark with anger.

“Come with me.”

“Where?” I asked coldly.

He didn’t answer. He just grabbed my arm roughly.

“To the hospital. Lyra needs a blood transfusion because of you.”

“Because of me?” I laughed, my voice shaking. “She fell on her own!”

“Don’t lie!” he roared. “Her blood type is rare, the emergency room doesn’t have a match. You’re O-type she needs your blood.”

“But I…”

“I don’t want to hear it!”

He shoved me toward the door.

I stumbled, catching myself against the frame.

“Dante, how can you not believe me but believe her?”

“Everyone heard her scream!” he shouted. “Your jealousy almost got someone killed!”

He didn’t look at me again, dragging me all the way to the car.

I was half-pushed, half-dragged into the hospital.

I wanted to resist, but against his strength, I was helpless.

The emergency room smelled of disinfectant.

Lyra lay on the bed, pale as a paper flower.

When she saw me, the corner of her mouth lifted slightly.

“Doctor, her blood type is O-positive,” Dante said, his voice almost pleading. “Please, help her.”

The doctor nodded. “We’ll need the wife to sign a consent form.”

Before I could react, Dante snatched the pen from the tray.

“I’ll sign.”

He wrote his name quickly.

I opened my mouth to protest, but the nurse had already pressed me into the chair.

The needle slid into my arm, cold liquid flowing through my veins.

Dizziness hit me like a wave, and the world went dark.

When I woke, the ceiling above me was a blinding white.

I tried to sit up, but pain throbbed through my head.

The door opened, and Dante walked in, his expression emotionless.

“You’re lucky,” he said flatly. “Lyra’s going to be fine.”

I let out a short laugh. “How fortunate for me.”

“Don’t be sarcastic,” he said coldly. “You only gave a bit of blood. It’s not like you lost a limb.”

“Don’t you even care how I am?” I asked quietly.

He adjusted his cufflinks, his tone icy. “The doctor said you’re fine. Stop acting pitiful.”

His words cut deeper than any wound, slicing through the last of my illusions.

As he turned to leave, the doctor stepped into the room.

“Mr. Dante, you’re her husband, correct?”

He didn’t even look at me. “I don’t have such a vicious wife,” he said coolly.

Then he turned and walked out.

I stared at the door, the whole world swaying around me.

The doctor sighed. “Madam, there’s something I need to tell you. You… were one month pregnant.”

I froze, my throat tightening.

“But you’ve miscarried.”

My voice was barely a whisper. “Why… did I miscarry?”

“Because your body was already weak during the transfusion,” the doctor said softly. “And your husband signed the consent form allowing the blood to be drawn.”

My whole body went rigid.

“He knew I was pregnant?”

The doctor nodded.

“Yes, he knew.”

For a moment, all I could hear was the sound of my own heartbeat slow, painful, and trembling.

I tore out the IV and stumbled out of bed.

The doctor rushed after me. “Miss Giselle, you’ve lost too much blood!”

“Where is he?” I demanded through clenched teeth.

He hesitated, then pointed to the room next door.

I pushed the door open.

Dante was sitting beside Lyra, gently helping her drink water, his expression unbearably tender.

“You bastard!”

My voice ripped through the air.

He looked up, frowning. “What are you hysterical about now?”

I strode forward and slapped him hard across the face.

“You killed our child!”

Lyra’s eyes flickered, and the corner of her lips curved into a faint smile.

“Child? You were pregnant?” she asked softly.

“Shut up!” I screamed.

“Enough!”

Dante stepped protectively in front of her and shoved me backward.

I fell to the floor, pain shooting through my abdomen as blood streamed down my legs.

“You… you signed to drain my blood when I was carrying our child? For her?”

“She almost died!” he snapped. “I couldn’t just stand there and watch!”

A bitter laugh escaped me, tears sliding down my cheeks.

“And our baby? Didn’t it deserve to live?”

“Maybe this is karma,” he said coldly. “A jealous woman doesn’t deserve to be a mother.”

I stood frozen, as if plunged into ice.

Lyra held his arm gently and whispered, “Don’t say that, it’s my fault…”

I looked at them and finally understood. I was never the exception in his life only the sacrifice in his love story.

I forced myself to stand, trembling, and wiped my tears.

“You’ll regret this,” I said quietly, my voice so calm it scared even me.

Two days later, I was discharged from the hospital.

He never came.

The house was empty, the air cold and hollow.

On the table lay an envelope from the lawyer the divorce papers.

I signed my name, my hand steady, almost too steady.

I once believed love could redeem a person,

but now I know love can kill, too.

I packed my bags and closed the door behind me.

The house felt like a tomb.

When the plane lifted into the sky, I watched the city lights shrink into the distance.

I knew the woman named Giselle was dead.

And I would return, under a new name,

to reclaim everything for my child, and for myself.