“Still mad? I got you those heels you wanted. You kept saying you liked them, right?”

He held out a shoebox like a peace offering. Red-soled heels—the exact pair I'd mentioned more than once.

Only there were faint scuff marks near the sole. And the size was two smaller than mine. These were never meant for me.

I remembered instantly. A few days ago, his latest fling had posted these same shoes on social media, posing and preening before adding a complaint:

“God, my man is so basic. Told me the red soles were 'hot' and literally made me model them for him. Embarrassingly tacky.”

Then she'd let her dog walk all over them, captioning it something about how even the dog wouldn't wear them.

The girl's name was Lorna Winfield, a junior in the dance program. She'd met Duncan at a drinking party.

I hadn't been there that night. I'd hurt my back caring for Duncan's bedridden grandmother.

He didn't say a single comforting word. I limped home and found the two of them tangled in our bed.

Duncan raised an eyebrow, smiling like it was nothing：

“Don't be mad. She just reminds me of you at eighteen. That same freshness, that same beauty.”

“Don't worry that I'll forget about you now that she's here. I still love you.”

So in his mind, all I deserved were shoes even a dog had rejected.

Always telling me he loved me, while behind my back I was the worn-out woman he was too embarrassed to show off.

I closed the lid with a bitter smile and looked up at him.

“These aren't for me, are they?”

“You forgot. I can't wear heels anymore.”

Duncan's eyes went wide for a second, a flicker of shame crossing his face before it smoothed over.

“Bina, I've been thinking about how much you wanted them. Slipped my mind you're still pregnant. Just save them for after the baby comes. No rush.”

“And that gift you sent me the other day, I really liked it. Don't go to the trouble anymore, though. Just focus on taking care of the baby.”

He set the box aside and reached over, pressing his palm against my stomach, trying to feel for the baby.

My blood went cold. He had never even opened that package.

I stepped away without making it obvious, head down, fingers crushing the fabric of my skirt：

“I'm glad you liked it.”

He stood there, awkward, and changed the subject：

“You called me the day before yesterday. I was busy. Was it something important?”

I made that call while I was bleeding out on the table, pad after pad soaking through red beneath me, sure I was going to die.

The only reason I called him was to ask him to bury me with the baby.

Dozens of calls. It never went to voicemail. He simply chose not to answer.

Just like the miscarriage papers I'd mailed him. He didn't want to know.

But of course. I had only lost half my life and a child. Why should that get in the way of him and Lorna?

“It was nothing.” I lowered my eyes. There was nothing left inside to feel.

He opened his mouth to say something else, but a ringtone cut in, some cutesy, whiny sound that didn't belong to any work contact.

Duncan killed the call immediately and cleared his throat：

“Bina, something came up with work. Gotta handle it.”

He ducked into the bathroom. Muffled laughter seeped through the door.

He hadn't noticed that I could barely stand, or that my lips had gone white.

I picked up my mother's call.

“Go ahead with the wedding however you want to arrange it. I can come back anytime.”

My mother asked：“Don't you want to know who the groom is?”

I exhaled, too tired to care：“Who it is or who it isn't, when have I ever had a say? Just decide for me.”

My mother choked back tears but said nothing, only that this was the best thing for me.

We settled on a date for the family to come get me. One week, and I would be gone.

I was about to say goodbye to Duncan.

He came rushing out with a shopping list in his hand, frantic：

“Go to the market and get some soup bones. I need them now!”

“Right now. Not a second later.”

I watched him panic and felt my mouth twist into a smirk. I already knew why he was so worked up.

Just minutes ago, Lorna had posted on social media, crying about how her dog had tumbled down the stairs and hurt its leg.

And Duncan was ordering me around like this for a dog I had never even met.

He stared at me, waiting, fully expecting me to do what I'd always done.

Rush to the market, pick out the best cuts, and have a pot of rich bone broth ready for him before he could blink.

But I didn't move. I turned and walked back toward the bedroom to lie down.

“The market's closed. If you want bones, go yourself.”

The words flew out of him on reflex：“You're just being lazy. I keep a roof over your head, and you can't even handle something this small?”

I shut the door. Hard. Let the silence answer for me.

For years, all he had to do was mention a craving and I'd rack my brain figuring out how to make it perfect, nicking my fingers on the knife more times than I could count, burning my arms on hot pans.

And all it ever earned me was one label: the freeloader who ate and drank on his dime.

He was about to knock when Lorna called. Her voice came through nasal and thick, all guilt.

“It's all my fault. Don't make Sabina do it. My dog can't compare to the baby in her belly. I'll take care of Lucky myself. Just stay with her, okay?”

His whole expression went soft in an instant, like he was looking at the only person who mattered.

“Don't worry. I've already called the vet.”

“Stay with her? She does nothing but pull faces at me. Forget about it—I'm getting a professional chef to make the broth right now. Lucky's going to be fine.”

He hung up and headed straight for the walk-in closet, digging through my clothes and bags, pulling out the nicest, most expensive pieces and packing them up.

“Lorna mentioned last time that she liked these limited-edition ones. She's upset right now. I'll bring them over to cheer her up.”

I didn't move. I kept my back to him, pretending to be asleep.

Duncan filled a large bag, then kept rummaging, until finally, in the bottom compartment, he found the box of baby clothes.

“You bought so many. The biggest ones can go to Lucky—not like you'll be needing them anytime soon.”

I sat up instantly.

I couldn't believe what I'd just heard.

Duncan was holding up the baby clothes I had picked out piece by piece, each one hand-washed so gently I was afraid to damage the fabric.

For Lorna's dog.

I hadn't thought he could be this heartless. Not a single thought spared for his own child. Everything I'd poured my heart into, every scrap of love in those tiny clothes—handed off to a dog.

Something surged through my body, some strength I didn't know I had left. I was on my feet, blocking his path, snatching the clothes out of his hands and pressing them to my chest.

“Take everything else I own. I don't care. But you do not touch the baby's things.”

These were meant for the seventh-day burning—every last piece sent to my baby as an offering.

He never got to see this world. He left in pain before he ever opened his eyes. Did he not even deserve a set of clothes?

Duncan's brow twisted with impatience, and he reached out to shove me aside：

“It's a few outfits. Why are you being so petty? I'll buy more later.”

He grabbed the clothes from my arms anyway. When he saw I wouldn't let go, something flickered across his face, half irritation, half embarrassment.

“Sabina, do you really think throwing a fit over a dog is worth it?”

“They're just some cheap baby clothes. Once the baby's born, you can buy as many as you want!”

I looked up at him, ice cold. ：“Duncan, I'm not about to get angry over a dog. I said no, and no means no.”

Duncan froze for a second, then a sneer curled at the corner of his mouth：

“Oh, I know. You're mad about Lorna. How many times do I have to say it? I'm with her because I want to be. That's not her fault.”

He wrenched the baby clothes out of my hands, that mocking smile still hanging on his lips.

“Don't think I don't know. That call you made to your family the other day, going on and on about giving me a hundred chances.”

“If I'm counting right, there's still one left. Be a good girl and wait at home for me, and you'll still get to be Mrs. Delgado.”

The blood drained from my face. I hadn't imagined he could hurt me so matter-of-factly, as if he had every right.

He slammed the door on his way out.

Start to finish, he never noticed my flat stomach.

I stared at his retreating figure until it disappeared, whispering：

“Duncan, there is no hundredth chance. I'm leaving.”

But he was already too far away to hear.

The next few days, Duncan and I were each busy with our own things. I was busy with the paperwork to escape him.

He was busy finding excuses not to come home.

One night it was entertaining some executive, the next he had to fly out to close a deal.

He thought I'd pry like I used to, demanding to know where he really was.

I didn't reply to a single message. I was busy resigning.

That seemed to unsettle him. He texted asking where I was.

I swiped his message away while sitting in the HR office, filling out my resignation paperwork.

Behind her glasses, the HR clerk's impatience was plain as she asked again：

“You really want to resign?”

As if she was certain I couldn't survive without Duncan.

I nodded for the fifth time, my voice steadier than ever：

“Yes. I'm resigning.”

“Tch.” She clattered away at her keyboard：

“You haven't hit five years on your contract. Voluntary resignation means a three-month salary penalty, and all bonuses are forfeited.”

She finished speaking and looked me up and down with open amusement：

“Though I'm guessing money isn't exactly a problem for you, Ms. Pruitt?”

I said nothing, quietly tucking a loose thread back into my hem, thinking to myself.

It was. Very much a problem.

Everyone at the company assumed I was Duncan's kept woman, his little songbird locked away in a gilded cage.

But only I knew the truth. I loved him, genuinely, so after college I asked for nothing and took a low-paying job at his company like any other employee.

He never once corrected anyone about what we actually were.

Even when his hand drifted to my waist in the office and someone walked in, he'd instinctively push me away.

Afterward, when I asked him why, hurt plain on my face,

he just said that a man in his position couldn't put personal matters on display.

I believed him. So I stayed, year after year, with no title and no promise.

Even groceries and daily expenses were split fifty-fifty.

And still, I'd lost count of the times I overheard people whispering in the break room about how calculating I was.

Already living under the Delgado roof, already Duncan's hidden bedmate.

And still playing the humble, too-good-for-this-world act.

I didn't want to explain anymore. I just said：

“I'll pay.”

All the deductions added up to a little over a hundred thousand.

I opened my account, looked at the five million in lavish engagement gifts wired from overseas, and spent it anyway.

I told myself I'd pay back every cent to this fiancé I'd never met.

The HR clerk seemed genuinely surprised by how easily I let it go.

Clearly nothing like the gold-digging, sleep-your-way-to-the-top image she'd had in her head.

I was about to sign when something occurred to her.

“Your……status here is a bit special. Let me run it by Mr. Delgado first.”