His eyes found me at last. "Xandra-you never told me what you like."

His hand reached out, but I snatched the divorce papers like a weapon.

"Secrets now?" He arched a brow, but I stabbed back: "Like hiding her three-month bump till I found you at the hospital?"

His face shuttered, flicking to Yara. "We agreed not to-"

"-because you feared I'd leave?" I cut in, laughter sharp as glass.

That's when Yara's tears erupted, a perfect storm of sobs: "

It's my fault that night, letting mom find out... I never meant to break you apart..."

She wilted like a dying flower, all innocence.

Instantly he folded her into his arms, voice dripping honey:

"Don't blame yourself, love."

I couldn't stomach another second-turning on my heel, I fled.

His voice chased me: "Xandra,why are you running away?"

"To end this."

"Wait-it' a storm." He caught up, barking orders to servants: "Yara can't touch cold water. Keep the soup angelica-free-" Every word a nail in the coffin of our past.

In the car, I studied him: this man reciting pregnancy manuals, tucking Yara' needs into every crevice of his life. "You'll make a good father," I said flatly.

His grip on my wrist tightened, voice raw:

"Only our child-you know I had no choice-"

Then his phone shrieked.

Yara' sobs poured through the speaker:

"My stomach-"

His face drained.

"Xandra,Get a cab here," he said, already shifting gears.

"Fine." I stepped into the downpour, the car peeling away before I'd shut the door.

Rain lashed my face, but the laughter building in my throat was hotter than any storm.

The deluge slammed into me, drenching every thread as his taillights vanished. I laughed into the storm-so close, Caleb. A minute more, and you'd have seen me clutching divorce papers, bone-dry in my coat.

Wind tore my umbrella inside out.

I staggered toward the civil affairs bureau, rain blending with tears.

When I shoved the documents across the counter, my voice cracked: "File for divorce."

The clerk' eyes lingered on my soaked form: "One-month cooling-off period."

Stepping out, the storm had cleared.

Sunlight seared the sky, and something in my chest unknotted.

This is how it ends-sun after the tempest.

At the villa, the living room lay empty.

Upstairs, his voice drifted through the walls: "The cindress and the prince..."

Caleb, reading bedtime stories to Yara' belly.

His tone was honeyed, the same lilt he'd used for my midnight cravings.

I collapsed into bed, throat aflame.

"Water-" My croak vanished.

Next door, Yara' sigh floated through: "I hope the baby' just like you."

Silence answered me.

Only the rise and fall of his voice, weaving dreams for a family that had no room for me.

The fever took hold, but I smiled into the pillow-let him build his fairytale.

I'd already signed my exit from the story.

I lunged for the water glass, but my hand spasmed-the cup exploded on the floor.

As I crouched to pick up shards, darkness swallowed me.

Blood beaded from my palm, but the laughter next door never paused.

I crawled back to bed, remembering in the past when I had fever, he accompanied me in the bed for three days, red-eyed: "Your pain is mine."

When I opened my eyes again, his palm on my forehead felt like a stranger's.

"Why didn't you call and told me you're weak?" he crooned, kissing my hair.

I gave a forced smile.

"Wants to the track?" He zipped my leather jacket, but my smile was a trigger cocked as he pulled me out.

As we reached the garage, Yara waddled over, hand on her belly: "Can I ride too?"

Caleb' tone sliced: "You're pregnant."

But his knuckles whitened on the helmet rack-already wavering.

Her lip trembled: "The exhaust fumes here... it' stuffy for the baby."

I turned on my heel.

His sigh trailed: "Fine, but stay behind me."

In the Porsche, I watched him strap her into the sidecar like a porcelain doll, his voice a constant drone:

"Hold on tight. Mind the kickstand."

At the track, I revved the Ducati-skills he'd drilled into me.

Flashback: 18th birthday, him yelling over the engine, "Lean with the bike, Xandra!"

Now he knelt before Yara, adjusting her passenger harness, his eyes glued to her belly.

He kept her sidecar' reins in his grip, until his phone rang. "Go take it," she purred.

The second he turned, her smile turned feral: "Mrs. Huxley-ever seen two bikes collide?"

Her boot twitched toward my rear tire, diamond studs glinting on the ankle bracelet he'd bought her.

Before I could swerve, her sidecar rammed my tailpipe.

Two bikes fishtailed.

My Ducati' rear wheel locked, sending me skidding toward the guardrail.

I saw Yara' body go limp, "falling" from the sidecar.

"YARA!"

Caleb' roar echoed off the track.

He caught her before she hit asphalt, never glancing back as my bike slammed into the steel barrier.

"CALEB-HELP!" My scream was swallowed by the engine' death rattle.

I watched him carry her to the medic tent, her head lolling on his shoulder.

The bike' fuel line burst, gasoline hissing onto the tarmac.

I crawled from the wreckage, knee bones grinding-yet the rip in my chest felt like someone had yanked out my heart with pliers.

Curled on the hot asphalt, I listened to his voice soothing her in the distance, just like he'd once done for me after my first track crash.

He never looked back.

My eyes snapped open on a tide of bone-deep pain.

Sunlight seared my vision, but through the blur I saw Caleb-shadowed eyes, relief crumbling into something else.

"Xandra." He lunged forward, voice raw with a tenderness I'd forgotten.

"Does it hurt-"

But his words crashed into a new sentence:

"Yara's hemorrhaging. Blood clotting disorder. The hospital-"

His fingers dug into my wrist. "Your blood type matches. Just a pint, please."

My pulse turned to ice.

I wrenched free, fractured ribs screaming.

Cold sweat beaded as I stared at him-at the man who'd carried another woman to safety while I broke on the sand, now begging me to save her with my blood.

My voice scraped the air like broken glass: "No."

His face contorted as if I'd spat on a bible.

"For the baby-just this once."

His eyes skated past my bandages, landing anywhere but on me.

A nurse rapped: "Mr. Huxley, Miss Marshall' coding."

He hauled me up like a broken doll. "Xandra, I'm begging-"

He pulled me out despite my resistance.

In the blood room, the needle plunged.

I bit back a scream.

I'm afraid of needles. All these years, every time I had blood drawn, Caleb would hold my hand and press my face into his chest.

Now he paced outside, tapping his watch like a hitman counting down.

500cc later, I felt completely drained.

I trailed him to Yara' ward.

She lay pale, his hand clasped around hers-while on her wrist wearing the talisman beads I prayed for him.

My lungs collapsed.

I fled, ribs grating with each step.

In my room, I curled around the memory of his warmth, now as tangible as smoke.

When the nurse entered next morning, I was still staring at the empty space where his wedding ring used to rest on the nightstand.

"Mrs. Huxley," she said, holding a clipboard.

"Time to sign your hospitalization papers."

I scrawled my name on the form, pen pausing over marital status. With a stab, I stamped "UNMARRIED."

The nurse gaped: "But Mr. Huxley-"

"He isn't."

The door slammed open.

Caleb stood there, shock splitting his face like a cracked mirror.

I looked up, voice flat as a tombstone: "Caleb-we're over."

Silence shattering the room, the nurse fled.

His palm hovered over my bandaged ribs: "Still mad about the blood? It was life or death-"

I flinched away, his fingers dropping like dead weight.

"After this," he crooned,

"Climbing mountain vacation, remember?"

My eyes shut against the lie.

When I opened them, he was studying my IV drip, as if counting the seconds till he could leave.

"When are you discharged?"

"What is it?" I eyed his twitchy jaw.

He coughed.

"Yara wants your yam soup. No one makes it like you."

"Am I your wife or her maid?"

"Xandra-" He reached for me. "Just this once. For the baby."

"Fine." I shrugged off his hand.

"I'll send it after discharge."

His smile cracked like ice.

After I was discharged and returned home, I kept my word and made the soup, then had the driver send it to the hospital.

"Knew you'd understand."

He kissed my forehead, but his lips felt like frost.

Six days later, I packed my suitcase.

The bedside photo-our engagement-faced the wall.

On night, he burst in alone.

"Mountain trip' ready. Let' go."

"Yara' still in hospital?"

"Doesn't matter.

" He grabbed my wrist, bruisingly tight. "We leave now."

In the car, his knuckles whitened on the wheel.

I stared at the scenery rushing past outside the window, my heartbeat getting faster and faster.

The mountain lodge loomed dark as he slammed the brakes.

"Forgot something. I will be back soon."

He vanished into the rain.

I waited. One hour. Three.

Rain wet my coat when my phone finally buzzed.

"Where are you?" Teeth chattering.

"Not coming back." His voice sliced the line.

"Drove off. Walk home if you want."

"What do you mean by that?"

"This is your punishment."

His voice was colder than the rain.

"I told you to bear it until the baby is born, but you put abortion drugs in the soup, Xandra. How could you do such a thing?"

"Punishment?" I screamed into the storm.

"I didn't put drugs in the soup!"

"Who else?" He laughed, cold as ice.

"Yara dreams of that baby. Walk. Reflect."

The call died.

Coat buttoned to the throat, I took a step-

Then the mountain screamed.

The earth split open beneath my boots, spewing a black torrent.

Mudslide-chunks of ice and boulders the size of houses thundered down, swallowing the lodge' last glowing window like a beast gulping fire.

I staggered back as the ground fell away.

I had no time to flee.

The mudslide surged like a black tide, hurling me into the dirt.

A bone-splintering crack shot up my right leg.

Fingers scrabbling through slime, I yanked out my phone.

Ten missed calls later, it connected.

"Caleb-mudslide, I-"

"Hello?" Yara's giggle sliced through.

"Can't hear you!"

In the background, his voice: "Who is it?"

"Wrong number." She cooed.

"Your soup is delish. Ever since someone spiked my soup, I feel safer with you cooking."

The phone slipped from my limp hand, swallowed by the muck.

I remembered his proposal vow: "If I betray you, let me-"

But the mudslide answered for him, smothering every word.

When consciousness snapped back, Caleb hovered over me, eyes bloodshot.

"Xandra-God, the mudslide-I didn't know-"

His hands shook like leaves, clutching mine.

"Hit me, scream-"

Bang.

The door flew open.

Yara burst in, mascara streaking: "Mrs. Huxley, don't blame him! He went mad when he heard-look at his wounds!" She pointed to his bandaged arm, but my eyes fixed on the mud still caked in his cuff.

"Get out." My voice was ice.

"Both of you."

Caleb flinched. "Xandra-"

"Now." I stared at the ceiling, where a drip of mud trickled from his hair onto my pillow.

The same mud that had almost buried me alive.

"GET OUT!"

The water cup shattered against the floor, glass spraying like diamonds.

Caleb flinched backward, Yara cowering behind him.

Days later, he bombarded me with orchids, Birkin bags, even baby photos of himself.

I stared through him like mist.

Discharge day, he blocked my cab, whip in hand:

"If hitting me will help you vent your anger, help you forgive me. hit me as much as you want." He spoke in an extremely low tone, like he was gently trying to piece back something broken. "Today is the family dinner. Don't be mad at me anymore, okay?"

I laughed.

Laughed as he trailed me through the Huxley mansion, prattling about our first date.

Inside, his mother cooed over Yara' belly: "Finally, an heir."

I remember, the night after our proposal, I ran to my best friend' place out of pre-marriage anxiety, too afraid to see him. He searched for me in the rain all night, finally knocking on the door at 3 a.m., drenched and kneeling before me: "Xandra, what did I do wrong?" I sobbed, "I'm scared. scared of pain. of marriage. even more of childbirth."

My mind flashed to our engagement night: him kneeling in the rain, vow ringing: "No kids-blame me." Now his mother' sneer cut deep: "Yara' so sensible."

This woman used to treat me like her own granddaughter.

"Is the temperature just right?"

The man who once swore he "couldn't" have children had now placed all his hopes in another woman' womb.

Their laughter was a razor on my nerves.

I fled to the pool, but Yara waddled over, hand on her belly.

"Mr. Huxley promised me the West Bay villa," she purred, leaning close.

"Know why he slept with me? I wore your white dress. He thought I was you."

Before I could spit back, she shrieked and splashed into the pool.

"Help! My baby-" She flailed in the water, her screams tearing through the night. When everyone rushed over, they saw me standing at the pool' edge while Yara floundered in the water in a sorry state.

Caleb dove in as Mrs. Huxley slapped me-hard.

"Apologize, witch!"

Blood trickled from my lip.

I smiled, grabbed Yara' soaking arm, and shoved her back in.

Then I wrenched off the bracelet she'd given me and hurled it at her feet.

CRACK.

Shards scattered like our vows.

As Caleb howled behind me, I walked into the night, never looking back.