I'm pregnant.

Before I even had the chance to tell Jackson, I walked in on him and the intern, Chloe, kissing by the pool of our Hamptons villa.

"Jackson, I love you, I really, really love you."

"Chloe, I love you, too."

The shameless pair were wrapped around each other on our favorite lounge chair.

I slammed the divorce papers onto the table, the secret of my pregnancy locked away inside me, and fled.

When he finally found me, he was on his knees in the pouring rain, his eyes raw and red from crying.

————————

1

"Jackson, who is she?"

The positive pregnancy test in my hand felt like a death sentence.

Five years.

I had been married to Jackson for five years.

But he was like a block of ice I could never melt, no matter how hard I tried. Just when I was about to give up, I got pregnant.

There wasn't a trace of an apology on Jackson's face.

He murmured something to the woman in sunglasses beside him, and she slipped away.

On the drive back to the city, he didn't say a single word of explanation.

The moment we got home, his phone rang.

He was frantic to leave. As he headed for the door, I called out to him.

"Jackson, I'm pre—"

"Chloe's having a meltdown. You're good at dealing with this stuff—go talk her down. And you need to finish her design. She's in no state to work."

He tossed the order over his shoulder and left, his face a mask of worry.

I refused.

The moment I did, Jackson accused me of being unreasonable. In the heat of our argument, he swept a crystal decanter off the bar in a fit of rage.

A shard of glass sliced open my forehead.

Blood dripped onto my hand.

But he didn't even notice. He snatched my car keys from my hand. "Get out of my way."

He rushed out to comfort Chloe.

He was a different person whenever Chloe was involved. His cold expression would vanish. To an outsider, she might as well have been his wife. I had asked him about it once, and he’d just said I was being ridiculous. He said he only saw Chloe as an employee.

I've lost count of how many times he's dropped everything for Chloe.

In the beginning, I didn't want to marry him either. He was the one who knelt at my family's front door for a day and a night. My parents, won over by his apparent sincerity, agreed on my behalf.

When we were first married, I still clung to the fantasy that love would grow over time. But I soon discovered that no matter how devoted I was, our marriage felt more like a business arrangement.

He would only touch me when he was drunk.

One time, he was drunk and crying out her name: "Chloe."

That was when I first learned of Chloe's existence. I wanted a divorce right then, but my parents told me I was making a big deal out of nothing, that a name didn't mean anything...

In truth, I don't even know when I started to fall in love with him. Gradually, I began to take my parents' words to heart.

A year ago, my parents passed away. Their dying wish was for Jackson and me to be happy together, and he promised them he would take care of me.

I watched him go in a daze, stunned into silence.

The moment broke. I couldn't bear to watch any longer. I fled, my heart fracturing.

If I hadn't seen his tenderness for another woman with my own eyes, I might have believed he was just a cold man by nature.

His words echoed in my mind, the memories of the past five years a gut-wrenching roller coaster. I felt like a fool.

I had been so naive, thinking that if I was just devoted enough, one day he would love me back.

The more I thought, the more my heart ached. I collapsed onto a bench in Central Park and sobbed.

I don't know how long I cried. My body trembled, and my voice was too raw to make a sound.

Just then, my phone chimed.

It was a text from Jackson.

"I'll be with Chloe for the next few days. Get the first draft of the design done in three days. She needs it for a competition."

I didn't reply.

The acceptance was a crushing weight. I was unloved.

Suddenly, I felt a faint flutter in my abdomen.

Wiping away my tears, I gently touched my belly. "That's right. I still have you, my baby."

Jackson didn't come home for a week.

But he texted me every day, hounding me about the design.

A week later, he returned.

I'd done a lot of thinking while he was gone.

Perhaps it was time for me to walk away.

But the child...

"You look terrible. Have you even looked in a mirror? You should learn a thing or two from Chloe..."

His words tore my heart to shreds.

The word "pregnant" was a shard of glass I'd swallowed, lodged in my throat.

I stared at him blankly for a few seconds. "Okay."

That night, I went to bed early.

I slowly opened my eyes to the reek of alcohol mixed with a strange perfume on him. The next second, his mouth crashed down on mine. Before I could resist, he had me pinned.

He took from me ravenously, until a sharp pain shot through my body.

"Chloe, Chloe..."

As he slurred her name, he collapsed on top of me and went still.

A single, hot tear slid from the corner of my eye.

And that unfamiliar perfume on him was so piercing.

I felt filthy.

The thought was nauseating: I was sharing my husband with another woman.

I scrambled out of bed and into the bathroom, letting the scalding spray wash away every trace of his touch.

My mind was chaos. I had to get out. Now.

I packed a bag and left before dawn.

I checked into a hotel.

In the mirror, the faint scar on my forehead brought the memory of that night flooding back.

I had scrubbed my skin raw, but I could still feel the ghost of his touch.

I shook my head, trying to banish the feeling.

All day, he didn't make a single phone call. He couldn't even be bothered to send a single text.

Fine. This was for the best.

It was bound to end this way sooner or later.

That evening, he finally called.

When I answered, I already knew what he would say but couldn't stop myself from asking, "Jackson, do you love me?"

He paused for a second.

Then he said impatiently, "Ava, I don't have time for this nonsense. If you don't want to be married anymore, let's just get a divorce."

Beep... beep... beep...

He hung up without a second thought.

It wasn't that our marriage had been completely loveless over the years.

Even with his cold demeanor, he used to have his own ways of showing he cared—unlike now, where he only had eyes for Chloe.

But everything changed in our third year of marriage, after Chloe appeared.

That night, I was about to get some rest when he called again.

"Ava, where did you go? Get back here, now."

His tone was urgent. Worried something had happened, I threw on a jacket and rushed home.

I opened the door, about to ask what was wrong, when I saw Chloe sitting on our sofa, wearing my silk robe.

"I can't find that file. Tell me where you put it."

"You called me back just for this?"

I don't know why, but tears started streaming down my face.

A sob of pure, undiluted grievance tore from my throat.

He seemed surprised that I was crying so hysterically. A flash of shock crossed his face before it hardened into coldness. "Fine, if you don't want to say, then don't. And stop crying. I'll find it myself."

He started to rummage for the file.

"Ava, can you stop being so willful? Chloe is still waiting."

Seeing the worried look on his face as he stared at Chloe, my rage finally boiled over.

Crash!

I swept all the whiskey bottles off the bar and onto the floor.

Jackson, standing nearby, froze, looking at me in disbelief. "Ava, have you made enough of a scene?"

"Not even close."

I screamed, all my pent-up frustration finally erupting.

"Get out. Get the hell out!"

He didn't hesitate. In front of Chloe, he threw me out of my own home.

A contemptuous smirk played on Chloe's lips, mocking my utter defeat.