Hailey's POV

Nine years.

That's how long I've been with Caden Wilder.

And in those nine years, I've had ten abortions—for him.

Each time, it was the same performance. Caden would drop to his knees like a man possessed by guilt, his face twisted with shame, telling me how sorry he was, how he failed me, how he failed our baby.

And every time, I let myself believe it.

I let his words wrap around my heart and squeeze just enough to make me forget how exhausted I was.

Because I loved him, God help me, I loved him.

But my love didn't survive betrayal. Not this kind of one.

It happened at one of his company's team-building events.

I wasn't even supposed to be there, but Caden drinks like he has something to forget, and I knew he'd overdo it. I thought I was being responsible and kind by offering to pick him up.

But what did I walk into? It shattered whatever illusions I had left.

My husband was kissing his new assistant. Veronica Steele.

Right there in front of everyone, like I didn't exist.

"Caden, your wife is here. Stop kissing her," one of his friends alerted.

I was not angry, just stunned.

One of his friends tried to nudge him out of it, but he didn't even flinch. Caden just turned to me, drunk and grinning like this was some joke.

"Perfect timing," he slurred. "Hailey, my dear wife, come here and take care of Veronica. She's pregnant with my child. Early stages. She needs someone experienced. You've got the résumé, don't you?"

I swear, for a second, I forgot how to breathe.

Someone in the room murmured, "Caden, your wife just had a miscarriage. That's not funny."

But he just waved them off like it was nothing. "What's the big deal? She's had ten of my kids. All of them aborted. And let's be real, if I don't settle for her, who else is gonna want her?"

And just like that, he said out loud what he'd always made me feel.

Disposable. Pitied. Unwanted.

I didn't respond. I didn't scream or slap him like they do in movies. I just turned and walked away.

Because I finally understood something I should've seen years ago—deep love is what we call it when we're too scared to admit we're settling.

Behind me, I heard one of his friends mutter, "Caden, she's mad. Go after her. She listens to you."

Veronica's voice followed, soft and pathetic. "She's probably upset I'm carrying your child. Maybe I should apologize?"

And then another voice.

He was one of Caden's drinking buddies.

Veronica, your heart is too tender. Her parents are gone. What else does she have but you?"

That's when Caden's voice cut through it all. "Hailey, if you take one more step out that door, don't think you can ever come back."

I froze, and it wasn't because I wanted to obey but because that was the moment I saw him clearly.

Not as the man I loved but as the man he truly was.

I turned around, and sure enough, there he was, smirking while his arms were still around Veronica like he'd already won.

"See?" he said. "She wouldn't dare."

He looked at Veronica. "Veronica is pregnant, and she still has to deal with your drama? Unreal. Go on, Hailey, apologize to her."

That's when something inside me snapped into place.

"We're getting a divorce," I said.

He raised a brow, grinning like I'd just confessed to cheating. "So eager to divorce me, your lover outside can't wait, huh?"

It would've been laughable if it weren't so pathetic. Caden was literally holding another woman, and I was the one accused.

"Fine," he told me. "But before we divorce, let's settle what you owe me."

Then he grabbed my hand like he owned it.

"The ring I put on your finger," Caden continued, ripping it off so fast the diamond cut my skin.

"The earrings I designed for you." He yanked them from my ears, and I felt the cartilage tear.

"The dress." He ripped it without a second thought.

"The lingerie is also something I once loved." He grabbed my hand and mocked, "You're really shameless, talking about divorce but still wearing this lingerie to seduce me behind my back."

People around us whispered and giggled lewdly.

Some turned away. Most didn't.

I shoved him back, trembling, holding what was left of my dress against my chest. "Enough, Caden."

But he wasn't done. Of course not.

"Enough?" he said, mocking. "I owe you. It's time to pay you back."

Caden picked up a bottle from the table, twisted the cap off, and, without hesitation, poured the entire thing over my head.

The liquor was ice-cold.

It ran down my face and into my clothes, soaking everything.

I stood there, shaking, half from the cold, half from the humiliation.

Still, even in that moment, all I could think was: 'This is who he's always been.'

And I'm done pretending otherwise.

Hailey's POV

"You, with your worn-out body… I've disinfected and cleaned you up." Caden's voice cut through the room like glass, sharp and humiliating.

The look in his eyes reflected pure disgust, as if I were something beneath him, something used.

His friends howled with laughter, the sound thick with mockery.

I reached for my coat, trying to cover what little dignity I had left, but Caden moved faster.

He picked it up with a flourish, then turned and draped it over Veronica like he was playing some twisted hero.

"The weather's cold," Caden said softly to her. "Don't want my big baby and baby catching a cold."

His hand moved to her stomach like it was something sacred. She giggled and leaned into him like they were the center of some beautiful love story.

He swept her off her feet, carried her out the door, and didn't even glance back at me.

Like I wasn't standing there, soaked in alcohol, humiliated, bleeding.

Then came the parting blow.

"Don't forget the contract we signed in Holland. Unless we both agree to a divorce, you'll never leave me." His voice was casual, almost lazy.

I didn't even flinch. The wind outside bit at my skin, but it couldn't compare to the cold spreading in my chest.

Looking back over his shoulder, Caden paused, "I'll give you a chance. Be home before midnight, and I'll agree to the divorce."

Then the car door slammed shut.

Just like that, he was gone.

His friends stayed behind, still laughing.

One of them said, "Hey, Hailey, spend the night with me, and I'll take you home."

Another scoffed. "Don't be dumb. Caden posted about it. Anyone who helps her is off Riverford's list. You'd be risking your life."

I closed my eyes and let out a bitter laugh. Not because any of this was funny, but because I was starting to see the pattern.

The cruelty wasn't random. It was practiced.

An hour ago, I was lying on an operating table.

I stared at the tiny, lifeless form on the tray, tears falling uncontrollably. My body was still shaking from the pain of losing yet another baby—our baby.

Then I got a message from one of Caden's friends:

[Hailey, Caden's been drinking all day. No one can stop him.]

I thought Caden was heartbroken, too. I thought maybe he was spiraling because we lost the child. So I ignored the nurse's orders, pulled the IV from my arm, and left the hospital to bring him home.

But it wasn't grief. It was a celebration for the woman he actually loved.

"I'm sorry, Hailey," one of his friends murmured now, his voice low, apologetic. He looked away, then took off his coat and wrapped it gently around me. "Back then, Caden would've done anything to be with you. What happened?"

He sounded more confused than judgmental.

More heartbroken than I felt.

And for a second, I was just as dazed.

Caden had once chased me like I was the only thing that mattered. I'd rejected him so many times. Out of all the men who wanted me, he was the one I avoided the most—loud, impulsive, reckless.

I knew he loved without brakes, without boundaries. And deep down, I always feared that kind of love could turn violent.

I wasn’t wrong.

I remembered the day of the accident.

Smoke everywhere. The smell of gasoline choked the air. My legs were pinned under the seat. Flames were climbing up the frame of the car.

And then, there he was, Caden Wilder, tearing through the fire like a madman.

Blood dripped down his face as he smashed the glass, trying to reach me.

I was trapped under the crushed car seat, and the car was going to explode, so I pushed him out of the way.

"Get out of here, Caden! You'll die with me," I cried out.

"Hailey!" he screamed. "I'm willing to die with you! If we burn, let my brothers bury us together and tell the world I died for you!"

In the middle of all that smoke and noise, I looked at him so fiercely and so broken that I wasn't scared anymore.

"I'll marry you," I whispered.

Now I shook my head at the memory, like it belonged to someone else.

Someone naive.

Someone desperate to believe in something called forever.

"Guess true feelings really don't last, huh?" I whispered to no one.

I clutched the borrowed coat around my torn dress and started walking.

The winter night stretched out before me, cold and dark. Cars passed in the distance, their lights lighting the way as though they were watching over me.

My feet kept moving until the world started to spin. Everything went black.

I collapsed in the snow.

...

When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed.

The doctor looked down at me as he said gently, "You had a miscarriage, Mrs. Wilder. You didn't rest. You went out in the snow. When they brought you in, you were hemorrhaging. We almost couldn't save you."

I didn't say anything.

My eyes fluttered shut, and I let the tears come.

"Sorry..." I whispered.

I wasn’t even sure who I was apologizing to. Maybe it was to myself?

For staying too long. For believing too hard. For surviving something that didn't feel like living anymore.

Hailey's POV

"Why are you apologizing to us?" The doctor asked in concern.

The nurse beside him glanced at him before chiming in, "The one you should be apologizing to is yourself, Mrs. Wilder. If you don't take care of your body, your uterus might not recover."

I froze.

Their words dropped like stones in my chest. For a moment, I couldn't breathe.

And then, I remembered something.

"Who… brought me to the hospital?" I asked.

"The man who said he was your husband," the nurse answered. "We scolded him pretty hard for what happened."

My throat tightened. I bit down on the inside of my cheek to hold back the emotions clawing their way up.

The door creaked open, and I instinctively braced myself, half-expecting Caden's shadow to fill the room.

But it wasn't him.

It was someone I hadn't seen in a decade—Killian Maxwell, my stepbrother.

I blinked in disbelief. "Killian, brother, it's been so long. What are you doing back in the country?"

He stepped in casually, hands in his pockets, as if he hadn't just walked in on my disaster of a life.

"I'm here for an international conference," Killian said. "Didn't expect to see you. I was on my way to the winery."

That was it. The car I saw through the snow—it had been his.

He walked over to me and gently placed a warm hand on my head. The comfort of his touch made my throat ache even more.

"If you're tired," he said softly, "come back with me. Mom's gone. You don't have to stay here—don't stay with someone you don't love to avoid me. I told you before. I'll always be here for you."

I stared at my blanket, unable to look him in the eye. "I chose Caden… because I loved him."

Killian exhaled, a sigh laced with both pain and patience.

Then he reached into his coat and pulled out a plane ticket, placing it carefully on my bedside table.

"It doesn't expire. Any time, take this to the airport, and a private jet will take you to me. Save my number. If you ever need me, just call."

And then he turned and walked out without asking for anything in return.

I stared at the ticket for a long moment. My fingers curled around it and then slowly let it fall back to the table.

I didn't know what I was holding onto anymore.

Pride? Grief? Habit?

After he left, I pulled out my phone.

My hands trembled as I booked the first available flight. Then I dialed the number for the legal office in Holland, the one that had processed our marriage certificate.

The woman who answered sounded cold and clinical. "If you're requesting a unilateral divorce, you'll lose all your assets to your husband. You'll also face up to one year in prison for breach of contract. I suggest you think carefully."

I didn't hesitate. "This marriage is already a prison. I'll give up everything. I just want out."

There was a pause. Then her voice returned, "One week from now, your marriage will be dissolved."

I hung up, the silence around me as sharp as broken glass.

A notification pinged on my phone.

An anonymous message. There were no words, just a series of screenshots.

They were all from Veronica's social media.

The timeline began the night I collapsed in the snow.

Post after post—more than ten in total—documented their tropical vacation.

The first showed Caden and Veronica on a beach, their fingers intertwined, silhouetted against the sunset.

Another had them cut a cake together, and the gender reveal caught mid-slice—blue frosting.

In the comments, people were starting to notice:

[Caden Wilder is still married. What is Veronica doing flaunting her position like this?]

Veronica didn't reply.

But Caden did:

[The one who isn't loved is the mistress.]

That line hit harder than anything else.

It didn't matter that it wasn't true. It didn't matter that I had been his wife in every legal and emotional sense.

All that mattered was that I'd been erased, and he wanted the world to know.

I stared at the screen until my vision blurred.

My heart ached dully, despair crested, and I could only smile weakly.

...

That afternoon, I checked myself out of the hospital without waiting for permission.

While they were away playing house on some tropical island, I went home to pack my things.

The moment I opened the front door, I gagged.

The smell hit me like a wall—musty, rotting. And scattered across the floor were dozens of tiny plastic Smurf figurines.

Some were broken. Some had bite marks. All of them seemed to leer at me.

I forced myself to move upstairs.

The master bedroom was gone.

In its place: a nursery.

The walls were plastered with photos—Veronica grinning, her pregnant belly cradled by Caden's hands—pictures of him kissing her forehead, painting the baby's room, holding up tiny clothes.

Every inch of space that once belonged to me had been overwritten.

My closet? Empty.

My things? Gone.

They were all in the backyard, buried beneath trash and rainwater.

Then, I found our wedding photo.

Our once-treasured photo, which used to hang above our bed, now lies discarded amongst the filth.