The glass doors of Damien Group headquarters slid shut behind me, sealing out the city noise. I pressed my left hand over my stomach. A dull ache still throbbed low in my pelvis, a brutal reminder of the threatened miscarriage just an hour ago. The cotton bandage on my right arm pulled tight against my skin with every step. Inside my worn leather purse, the yellowed edges of my marriage agreement brushed against my knuckles.

I walked toward the elevators. A receptionist stepped out from behind the massive marble desk, throwing her arm out to block my path.

"Do you have an appointment?" she asked.

"I'm here to see Damien," I replied.

She looked me up and down. Her gaze snagged on my plain wool coat and unbranded bag. A smirk touched the corner of her mouth. "Mr. Damien is entertaining an important guest. You cannot go up without clearance."

Whispers rippled through the nearby cluster of employees lounging in the waiting area.

"Isn't that Mrs. Damien?" a man in a gray suit murmured, pointing his coffee cup in my direction.

"I heard she was sent to the hospital after donating blood today," a woman replied. She didn't bother lowering her voice.

"So what? Mr. Damien still left with Miss Monroe."

"Look at her. She doesn't even look like a CEO's wife. More like a hired blood bank for the Damien family."

Laughter echoed off the high ceiling. I kept my mouth shut. I squeezed the strap of my bag. They mocked my cheap clothes, completely unaware that the luxury gowns and diamond sets they worshipped in magazines were drafted by my own hands. I never cared for brands, only comfort.

The silver elevator doors chimed and parted. COO Victor Thorne strode into the lobby, trailed by three senior executives. He spotted me standing near the desk and immediately slowed his pace.

"Married for two years, and Mr. Damien has never acknowledged her publicly," Victor said to his team, projecting his voice across the marble floor.

"I heard she married him just to pay her father's hospital bills," one of the executives chimed in.

"Exactly. Once Miss Monroe recovers, she'll be out on the street where she belongs."

Victor veered slightly to his left. As he passed me, he slammed his shoulder directly into mine.

My knees buckled. Weak from the severe anemia, I staggered backward. My purse slipped off my shoulder, hitting the floor. The clasp popped open, spilling its contents across the polished tiles. My pregnancy report fluttered down next to an old, faded photograph.

In the picture, a ten-year-old girl stood in front of a sprawling manor, wearing a silver iris necklace. Only half of a man's figure remained visible beside her.

Victor stopped. He glanced down at the scattered items. He let out a harsh scoff. "Another fantasy of climbing the social ladder?"

He planted his leather shoe directly onto the edge of the photograph.

The temperature in my veins dropped to freezing. I knelt on the hard floor and grabbed the picture. I pulled it out from under his heel, wiping the dusty shoe print away with my thumb.

"Move your foot," I demanded.

Victor blinked. He stared at me, momentarily paralyzed by the absolute fury in my eyes.

Camera shutters clicked around us. Employees held up their phones, recording me crouching in the dirt.

The main entrance slid open again.

Damien walked in. Celeste walked right beside him. She wore a flowing white dress, enveloped in Damien’s oversized suit jacket. Though pale, she looked radiant, completely untouched by the chaos of the hospital.

The entire lobby stood at attention.

"Good morning, Miss Monroe," the employees chorused.

Bouquets of flowers appeared from behind the reception desk. Applause broke out. They treated her like the true mistress of the Damien empire returning to her throne.

Celeste walked past the clapping crowd and stopped in front of me. Her eyes darted to the old photograph in my hand, then to the silver iris pendant resting against my collarbone. Panic flashed across her features. She swallowed hard, quickly replacing the fear with a sickly sweet smile.

"Aria, are you feeling better?" Celeste asked. "I've been so worried about you."

I stood up, clutching the photo to my chest. "Are you worried about me, or worried you won't have a blood supply later?"

Tears instantly welled in Celeste’s eyes. She bit her lower lip, trembling as if I had struck her.

Damien stepped between us. His jaw tightened.

"Aria," he warned.

It was the first time he looked directly at me since we left the emergency room. "Don't start."

He wrapped a protective arm around Celeste’s shoulders. The sight extinguished the very last ember of warmth in my heart.

***

Thirty minutes later, I stood in the center of the CEO's office.

Eleanor sat on the leather sofa, her legs crossed. She pushed two thick folders across the glass coffee table. One was the long-term medical authorization. The other read *Early Termination of Marriage Agreement*.

"Tomorrow night is the Damien Foundation Charity Gala," Eleanor announced. "Celeste will attend as Damien's partner."

I opened the second folder. The bold text demanded I move out of the Damien estate immediately after the gala. It also stripped away all my custody rights to the baby.

My fingers dug into the paper. "What about me?"

Eleanor laughed. The sound grated against the quiet room. "You? Your job is to kneel and apologize to Celeste in front of all the guests. You will admit you refused to donate blood and worsened her condition. Then you will sign the papers and leave quietly."

I dropped the folder. I turned my head to look at my husband. He stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, bathed in the afternoon sun.

"You called me here just to force me to give up my child?" I asked.

Damien shifted his weight. He looked at the city skyline instead of my face. "The child is the Damien heir. Your health is poor. Staying with the family is safer for him."

A dry laugh tore from my throat. My eyes burned, but I refused to let a single tear fall. "Then what am I?"

Damien remained quiet. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.

"Our marriage was always a transaction," he finally replied.

The words hit me like a physical blow. Two years of devotion. Two years of acting the perfect wife. To him, my love was just a worthless bonus attached to a business deal.

I closed the folder. I didn't pick up a pen. Instead, I reached into my bag and pulled out my original marriage agreement.

"Fine," I said. "I'll attend the gala."

I turned toward the heavy oak door. My hand hovered over the brass handle.

"But after the gala," I said, glancing back at Damien one last time, "we are completely finished."

I walked out of the office and pulled my phone from my pocket. I dialed a number I hadn't called in two years.

"It's Aria," I whispered into the receiver. "I'm ready to come home."