Elaris’s POV

“Oh, Seraphina, you’re back,” Nyra said, smiling at me with that false, sugary sweetness that had begun to make my skin crawl.

I stopped in the doorway, confused.

I had rushed back to the estate, thrown open the door to our bedroom, and braced myself for the worst.

But instead of what I had imagined, I found Nyra curled up against my husband’s chest.

They were fully clothed.

Across the room, the television flickered with shadows, and the breathless moans I had heard outside were coming from the scene playing on the screen.

For a moment, my mind simply stopped.

“What... what is going on here?” I asked.

Nyra had sent me that image of herself in Draven’s arms. But what I was seeing now looked nothing like it.

At once, Nyra’s face crumpled, and tears rushed to her eyes.

“Oh, Draven,” she said shakily, “I knew we should’ve spoken to Seraphina first. I feel awful. Just let me go back to the townhouse.”

I frowned, still trying to understand what kind of game she was playing.

The scene on the television changed, and the moaning stopped.

“You just can’t stand seeing Nyra at peace, can you?” Draven snapped.

I turned to him in disbelief. “What did I do? I only just came back.”

“Nyra can’t stay in the guest room,” he said coldly. “The bed in there makes her dizzy and sick. The bed in our room is softer, more comfortable for her, so I moved her here. And now you come in with that look on your face and upset her.”

I stared at him, struggling to make sense of his words.

“Wait,” I said slowly. “I don’t understand. Nyra moved into our room? Our bedroom?”

Draven frowned, kissed Nyra’s forehead, and murmured, “Rest. Don’t worry about this. I’ll handle Seraphina.”

Nyra nodded and lowered her lashes obediently.

Then Draven crossed the room, grabbed my arm, and dragged me into the hall.

His grip was so tight it made me wince.

“You’re hurting me,” I gasped.

He loosened his hold, but only barely, and let out an impatient breath.

“Listen, Seraphina. Nyra has been through enough. The last thing I want is for her to be uncomfortable.”

“She can be comfortable somewhere else,” I shot back, glaring at him.

“No,” Draven snapped. “It’s just a room, Seraphina. If it matters that much to you, I’ll have another suite prepared for you.”

I stared at him.

“But that’s our room,” I whispered. “Ours. So what now? The three of us share it?”

“For God’s sake, no,” he scoffed. “Nyra will stay there. I had your things moved to the guest suite. It’s only temporary, until she gives birth.”

I nodded once, biting the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood.

My husband had taken my things out of our room and made space for another woman.

“So where will you sleep?” I asked.

Draven rubbed at his jaw and looked away for a moment. “Don’t make this difficult, Seraphina. You know Nyra still wakes up screaming from nightmares because of what her ex-husband did to her. I’ll stay with her whenever I’m home.”

A bitter laugh broke out of me.

“So you throw me out and move your first love into our bed?”

“It’s not like that,” Draven said tiredly. “Stop being difficult. Nyra is pregnant. You don’t know what that feels like, so at least try to understand.”

That broke something inside me.

A tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it.

“Of course I don’t know what that feels like,” I said.

Then I turned and walked away before he could see my face fall apart.

I shut myself inside the guest suite, curled up on the bed, and cried until my chest hurt and my eyes burned.

At some point, I fell asleep like that.

---

I woke with a violent start.

My heart was pounding, and my body was drenched in freezing water.

I shoved myself upright, gasping, and found Nyra standing beside the bed with an empty bucket in her hands and a smirk on her lips.

“Nyra?” I stared at her. “Did you throw water on me?”

She scoffed. “What do you think? It’s morning. Get your lazy ass out of bed.”

I frowned, still shivering, and looked around the suite I had been thrown into.

“Excuse me?” I said. “You don’t decide when I sleep or wake in my own house.”

Nyra gave a light, mocking laugh.

“After yesterday? And seeing as you’re the one sleeping in the guest suite?” She tilted her head. “Are you sure this is still your house?”

My glare sharpened. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” she said lightly. “Only that your husband is mine. And the photo I sent you yesterday? That was very real.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I said coldly. “Draven only pities you. He’s trying to help you.”

Nyra laughed under her breath.

“You still don’t understand, do you, Seraphina?”

“Get away from me, Nyra. I don’t want to start my day looking at your face.”

I swung my legs off the bed and stood.

Nyra’s smile only widened.

“Oh, poor Seraphina,” she cooed. “Crying herself to sleep in the guest suite, and she still knows nothing.”

I turned back sharply. “What are you talking about?”

She stepped closer.

“What do you think Draven would do,” she asked softly, “if both of us were in danger?”

My brows drew together. “What do you mean?”

I barely got the words out before she shoved me.

Hard.

I fell backward and hit the edge of the bed with my lower stomach.

Pain exploded through me.

A sharp, sickening pain deep in my abdomen.

I sucked in a breath, unable to scream.

But before I could even recover, Nyra let out a piercing cry.

“No, Seraphina, stop!” she screamed. “I’m sorry!”

I looked up in shock just as she threw herself onto the floor, clutching her stomach and writhing as though she were the one in agony.

My mind went blank.

“What... what are you doing?” I managed through clenched teeth, one hand pressed to my aching stomach.

Then the door flew open.

Draven stood there, eyes wide, face stricken.

He looked from Nyra on the floor to me beside the bed.

“What the hell is going on here?” he demanded.

Elaris’s Pov

“Draven—” I tried to speak, but Nyra’s loud sobs sliced straight through my words.

“Draven, please don’t blame Seraphina,” she cried. “You told me to wake her, and she got angry and shoved me.”

My eyes widened.

I was crumpled on the far side of the room, one arm wrapped around my lower stomach, barely able to breathe through the pain tearing through me.

“That’s not true,” I gasped. “She pushed me, Draven!”

Draven let out a cold scoff while Nyra trembled in his arms like some delicate, injured thing.

“You expect me to believe a pregnant woman shoved you?” he said. “Why are you always so vicious toward Nyra? Why do you keep playing these ugly games?”

“It hurts, Draven,” Nyra whimpered, clutching her stomach. “Please don’t blame Seraphina. I’m sure she’s only upset because she had to sleep in the guest suite. If I were in her place, I’d be upset too.”

Draven’s face hardened as he looked at me.

“How heartless can you be, Seraphina?”

Tears spilled down my cheeks as the pain in my abdomen worsened.

“I swear I didn’t touch her,” I cried. “She pushed me, Draven. I’m bleeding. Why won’t you believe me? I’m your wife!”

“Draven,” Nyra whimpered again, pressing her hand more tightly over her belly. “It hurts.”

At once, Draven bent and lifted her into his arms.

“You want the room, Seraphina?” he said without even looking at me. “Fine. Keep the whole estate. I’ll have another place prepared for Nyra, and I’ll stay with her until she gives birth. Pray nothing happens to her.”

My breath caught.

“No, Draven, please,” I begged. “Help me—”

“Deal with it yourself,” he snapped.

Then he turned and walked out with Nyra in his arms.

As they passed through the doorway, Nyra looked over Draven’s shoulder and gave me a slow, smug smile.

Her lips moved silently.

He’s mine.

Then they were gone.

I didn’t know how long I stayed there on the floor.

Bleeding.

Crying.

Realizing, little by little, that Draven hadn’t come back because he simply didn’t care enough to.

Three years of marriage, and he still didn’t trust me.

All it had taken was the return of his first love for every promise, every tenderness, every scrap of devotion he had once given me to vanish like smoke.

By the time the pain eased enough for me to move, I had nothing left in me except one last humiliating thread of hope.

I dragged myself to the bedside table, grabbed my phone, and tried to call Draven.

It rang once.

Then the line died.

Blocked.

I tried again.

And again.

Seven times I called him, and seven times he shut me out.

At last, trembling and half-blind with pain, I reached for the emergency line connected to the Greymark medical network, the one reserved for shootings, stabbings, and family emergencies.

By the time the medical team arrived, dark spots were already swimming across my vision.

Hands lifted me.

Voices blurred.

The room tilted.

Then everything went black.

---

“How do you feel, Mrs. Greymark?”

The voice pulled me slowly out of the dark.

I blinked, and the room finally came into focus.

White walls.

The bitter scent of antiseptic.

The soft beeping of the monitor beside the bed.

It was the same doctor from before.

My ears rang.

“Doctor,” I croaked, my throat raw, “what happened?”

“That’s what we were hoping you would tell us,” he said, frowning slightly.

“What do you mean?” I asked, trying to push myself up.

The instant I moved, pain ripped through my body, and I cried out.

“Easy,” he said quickly. “You’ve only just woken up from surgery.”

I stared at him. “Surgery? What happened?”

“You were brought in with severe internal damage,” he said carefully. “The bleeding wouldn’t stop. You had already lost a dangerous amount of blood, and we had to operate immediately. We reached your husband through his private line. He told us to do whatever was necessary.”

At the mention of Draven, bile rose in my throat.

I swallowed it down and said nothing.

The doctor hesitated before continuing.

“After the operation, you slipped into a coma. We kept trying to contact your husband through his office, his security team, and the family channels after he stopped taking our calls. He told us not to disturb him. He said you were pretending.” His mouth tightened. “You were in a coma for one full week, Mrs. Greymark. Your husband never came. Not once.”

A bitter smile touched my lips.

“So I’m alive?” I asked quietly.

The doctor sighed. “For now, yes. But we still need to monitor you closely, and there’s something important I need to tell you.”

I nodded once, though my heart already felt as if it were being crushed in a fist.

As I had lain on that floor in my own blood, I had already known, deep down, that if help didn’t come, Draven would leave me there to die.

But hearing the doctor confirm that he had ignored me for an entire week made the truth colder.

Final.

The doctor studied me for a moment before asking, “Seraphina... are you safe in your own home? Does your husband hurt you? Do you need help?”

A dry laugh escaped me.

“Only a lawyer.”

He nodded solemnly.

“I’ll arrange it,” he said. Then his face grew graver. “But you need to understand something. During surgery, we had no choice but to remove both of your fallopian tubes. The bleeding would not stop. If we had waited any longer, you would have died.”

For a moment, I could only stare at him.

My pulse began to race.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

He looked at me with open regret.

“If you had been brought in sooner, we might have avoided it. But as it is...” He paused. “The loss of both tubes makes conception far less likely. It’s possible... you may never be able to carry a child again.”

The room spun.

A bitter laugh escaped me before I could stop it.

“First my baby,” I whispered. “And now this.”

“You’re not completely without hope, Mrs. Greymark—”

“Seraphina,” I cut in sharply. “My name is Seraphina. Not Mrs. Greymark.”

Silence fell for a beat.

Then I said, colder, “Get me a damned lawyer.”

For the rest of my stay in the hospital, I tried not to think about his words.

I focused on healing instead.

On eating when they told me to eat.

Sleeping when they forced me to rest.

Walking when my body screamed at me not to.

Draven never called.

He never came.

Not once.

By the day I was finally discharged, the lawyer the doctor had arranged stood beside my bed, papers in hand and sympathy in her eyes.

“So once you leave, I’ll have these delivered to your husband’s office?” she asked.

I nodded. “Yes. And make sure he signs them.”

She hesitated. “Are you sure this is what you want, Seraphina?”

A cold laugh escaped me.

“To divorce the bastard who made me lose my baby and left me bleeding on the floor?” I said. “Yes. I’m sure.”

The lawyer nodded slowly.

“What will you do now?”

I looked toward the window.

“What I should have done three years ago.”

“Take care of yourself, Seraphina,” she said softly before leaving.

A little while later, the doctor returned.

“I take it you’ve finished with the lawyer?”

I nodded. “Thank you, Doctor. I won’t forget what you did for me.”

He studied me for a long moment, then gave me a faint smile.

“Don’t give up all hope, Seraphina. Medicine has changed a great deal. Miracles happen.”

I looked away. “Thank you. Please call me a car to the airfield.”

He nodded and left.

A moment later, my phone lit up with an unfamiliar number.

Unknown.

I accepted the call and listened in silence.

“Yes,” I said at last. “I’ve been discharged. I’m coming home today.”

I ended the call and looked slowly around the room.

Three weeks.

Three weeks of pain, grief, and healing.

Three weeks to finally accept what I had refused to see for far too long.

Draven had chosen Nyra.

Not once.

Not by accident.

Not in confusion.

He had chosen her again and again while I bled.

I rose from the bed, slower than I once would have been, but steadier too.

For the first time in three years, I felt something close to freedom.

I walked out of the hospital and toward the waiting car that would take me to the airfield—far away from Draven, far away from Nyra, far away from the life they had poisoned.

They had changed me.

They had taught me exactly what love without dignity costs.

Now it was my turn.

And this time, they would pay for every piece of me they had destroyed.