I can’t recall much from the moment I lost consciousness. Just fragmented glimpses. Waves of pain. Overhead lights glaring like the sun. A hand holding mine—firm and insistent—begging me to stay awake, to fight.

When I finally opened my eyes, the sound of machines softly beeping greeted me. The acrid scent of disinfectant filled the air, sharp and intrusive. The hospital room was bathed in too much white, sterile and clinical. An eerie silence pressed in from all sides. My body felt wrecked, like it had been shattered and stitched together by someone guessing the pieces.

A doctor came in eventually, his expression heavy with a sorrowful kind of compassion I couldn’t bear to see.

“You were losing blood at a dangerous rate,” he began gently. “We did all we could... but to save your life, we had no choice but to terminate the pregnancy.”

I stared blankly at him, waiting for something more. An explanation. A miracle. But there was nothing.

Slowly, my hand drifted down to my belly—once full, now hollow. My stomach was flat. Lifeless.

Gone. Both of them.

My children.

Something deep inside me gave out. It wasn’t dramatic. It didn’t scream. It was quiet—silent, like a frozen lake cracking under unseen pressure. A depth of pain that didn’t spill tears—it just sank.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t argue. I picked up the pen they gave me and signed the forms. My hand shook, but I managed to scrawl my name across the page.

All the while, as I lay grieving in a bed too white, too cold… they were rejoicing. Kenji. And Chloe.

Maybe that’s what pushed me to reach for my phone, fingers numb but moving on their own. I unlocked it and tapped into the hidden surveillance app I had installed days earlier.

What came up on the screen shattered whatever was left of me.

There they were—in my bedroom.

Fucking like animals. Desperate. Shameless.

On my bed. Tangled in my sheets. The same ones Kenji and I picked out together. The ones that still carried traces of my perfume. Chloe's legs were wrapped around his waist, her head thrown back in laughter. She wore my silk robe. The exact one that had gone missing after her last “visit.” Smudged with the shade of lipstick I had been searching for for weeks. Now I knew why it had vanished.

“Damn, baby, you’re so much better than she ever was,” Kenji moaned, gripping her tightly. “You’ve got me losing my mind over and over again.”

“She was always so… delicate,” Chloe gasped, raking her nails down his back. “Too sweet. Too gullible. It made me want to puke.”

Kenji groaned louder, his rhythm picking up. “She was too simple. This? This is raw. This is real.”

They eventually collapsed, slick with sweat, panting. Chloe rolled onto her side and lit a cigarette like they hadn’t just desecrated my world.

I watched, frozen in disbelief. Then, with hands that barely functioned, I pressed "Save." The video slid into a secure folder—hidden, protected, labeled, dated.

I wasn’t going to use it today. Maybe not even next month. But the time would come.

And when I returned? I’d make sure they remembered exactly what they did. Every second of it.

---

The next time I opened my eyes, the room was calm. Bathed in golden sunlight. The sterile air still clung to me, but something felt changed.

There were flowers—dozens of arrangements placed with care. A bowl of fresh fruit sat untouched near the window.

And a warm hand was holding mine.

I turned my head, slowly.

Not Kenji.

Zion.

My lungs forgot how to work. My heart clenched. The last person I ever imagined seeing again. The only person I had ever truly loved.

He looked a little older, more defined in the face, but the essence of him hadn’t changed. The same steady warmth in his dark eyes. The same quiet strength that once made me believe the world wasn’t entirely cruel.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice like a blanket. “You’re safe now.”

My lip trembled. I tried to smile, and before I knew it, tears were streaming down my face.

The last time I saw Zion was at the orphanage. We had been just kids—teenagers clinging to each other in a place that had no time for softness. He was the son of the organization’s CEO, always dressed immaculately even in the dust and noise. But behind closed doors, he was mine. We created a secret world together—fragile, beautiful, and real.

We had fallen in love.

Until he vanished.

His parents whisked him away overseas—without so much as a goodbye. One day he was there, the next, gone.

Years later, he returned. But by then, I wasn’t there anymore. My birth family had come for me, and I had been taken before he ever came back.

“I thought I’d lost you forever,” I whispered.

He leaned in and wrapped his arms around me gently, like he thought I might shatter. I pressed my face to his shoulder, weeping in silence as something inside me began to mend, piece by fragile piece.

But it wasn’t only heartbreak I carried anymore.

It was fury. Pure, blinding truth.

They had taken everything. My children. My peace. My trust.

Kenji. Chloe.

And I wasn’t going to just lie down and accept it. I would make them pay.

When the hospital finally discharged me, I thanked Zion and we parted ways. That same night, I booked a plane ticket. Told Kenji I needed a break—a short trip away to clear my head. He kissed me on the forehead like he meant it, totally oblivious to what I had witnessed.

I nearly left without a trace.

Until I saw it.

A crimson lace bra and matching thong tossed casually across the bed. Not mine.

Hers.

Left behind on purpose. A final insult. A reminder.

I didn’t cry. Didn’t scream.

I zipped up my suitcase, lifted my chin, and walked out like the house still belonged to me.

Because one day soon… it would.

---

The moment my plane touched down, I barely had time to think before I spotted them—my parents waiting just past the arrival gate. My mother’s eyes shone with unshed tears. My father’s jaw was tight, his expression unreadable.

They pulled me into a hug, clinging to me like they were afraid I might vanish again.

“It’s good to have you home,” my father said, voice thick with restraint.

My mother gave a small, tense smile. “We know this is sudden, but the engagement meeting is happening today. We just… we wanted you here before it all gets finalized.”

I gave a quiet nod.

I didn’t care who the man was.

Not until my brother Tristan strolled up, grinning like he was in on the cruelest joke ever told.

“You’re gonna lose it,” he said, nudging me. “Your fiancé? He’s already here. Flew in from Italy this morning.”

I turned, barely hearing him—until my eyes met his.

Zion.

My first love.

The boy who had once held me in the dark.

The man who had just saved my life…

was going to be my future husband.

I completely cut off contact with him.

Kenji.

After everything he’d done—ripping my heart in two, betraying every ounce of trust, and defiling our bed with her—he had the nerve to act like he was the one wronged.

As if he were the victim.

My phone lit up endlessly. Missed calls. Streams of messages. Voicemails stacking up one after another.

He just wouldn’t stop.

And the moment Tristan sent out the invitations for the wedding—my wedding to Zion, just a week away—that’s when Kenji finally lost his mind.

It started with the confused messages, sounding almost innocent:

Kenji:

“What’s with this invite?”

“You’re seriously getting married? Who’s the unlucky guy?”

“This has to be a joke, right?”

“Wait—is it April Fools? Is this you and Tristan pulling some twisted prank again?”

“Okay, funny. You got me.”

Then, his tone changed. He became desperate. Clingy. Like the past half-year hadn’t happened.

Kenji:

“Hey, when you’re back, can you cook that spicy shrimp dish I’m addicted to?”

“I’ve been missing your food… your scent… everything.”

“Come home soon, alright? Please.”

“Celeste. Babe. Talk to me.”

As though I had just taken a short break and forgotten to bring him back a souvenir.

I didn’t even bother replying. I turned my phone off and buried it deep in a drawer, far enough that even the faintest buzz wouldn’t reach me.

He didn’t deserve space in my thoughts anymore. Or in my chest. Or my soul.

Yes, I had once loved him—so deeply it felt like my ribs might crack from the pressure of it.

Yes, there had been a part of me that imagined a forever with him.

But that part of me?

She was gone now. Buried in silence, right beside the two little hearts I never got the chance to know.

---

Kenji’S POV

I had tried calling her twenty-seven damn times.

Twenty-seven.

Each time went directly to voicemail. Not even one ring to give me hope.

“Pick up the damn phone!” I snarled, pacing my place like a lion in a cage. In one furious move, I hurled my phone against the wall. It shattered. Fine. Who cared? I could buy a dozen more by sunset.

But what I couldn’t buy back?

Power.

Celeste was gone—and not just in the physical sense. She’d evaporated. Disappeared from my world. No replies. No posts. No signs. Just a vacuum of silence.

And that silence? It was more painful than any screaming match we’d ever had.

I tore open the fridge in frustration. Leftover takeout. That ridiculous chili paste she loved on everything. I slammed it shut with a curse.

This was so her. Drama queen. She always loved big gestures. Always overflowing with emotion like some kind of bleeding romantic. Yeah, I messed up. A few times, maybe more. So what?

What woman doesn’t eventually forgive the guy who knows exactly how to tear her down and patch her back up again?

She’d come crawling back. She always did.

That was Celeste’s entire personality—codependent, obsessive, overly attached to her favorite poison.

Me.

She used to look at me like I held every answer in the world. Like I was her personal fairytale. Her once-upon-a-time and happily-ever-after all rolled into one.

She called it love.

I called it... convenience.

It worked out, didn’t it? I tossed her scraps, and she handed me the world.

Hell, she practically paid my way through everything. Old money. Loaded. She covered every bill and never blinked. And I? I lived off it. I even bought gifts for Chloe using Celeste’s credit cards.

Why not? That was Celeste’s whole vibe—blind devotion.

And me?

I never pretended to be perfect. Never claimed I was anything more than selfish.

Chloe? She matched me. She was chaos in heels. She didn’t beg for my heart. She just wanted my time, my body, and the thrill.

Celeste?

She wanted the whole damn soul.

And I gave her none of it.

Until she finally broke.

That’s when I noticed something odd. A piece of paper sticking out of the drawer near the hallway console. Curious, I yanked it out, expecting it to be one of her lists or maybe some grocery receipt.

But the title at the top hit me like a sledgehammer:

“Emergency Surgery Report – Post-Miscarriage Intervention.”

My stomach dropped. I read through the details, my vision swimming.

Blunt trauma. Internal bleeding.

Pregnant.

With twins.

Neither survived.

Her name. Her signature. The date. The time. It was all there, staring back at me like judgment incarnate.

Twins.

I never knew.

She never told me.

Because I never cared enough to ask.

I stumbled backward, winded. My chest tightened, a sick twist forming in my gut.

The paper was still in my shaking hand when Leo barged into the room, oblivious and hyped. “Bro! Kenji, man—yo, you need to see this!”

“Not in the mood.”

“Dude, yes now. Tristan just dropped the link in the group chat—it’s happening. Live.”

“What’s happening?”

He thrust a tablet at me. “The wedding, man.”

I frowned, confused. “What wedding?”

Leo beamed. “Celeste’s. She’s getting married.”