Aliza's POV:

The sterile scent of the hospital room filled my nostrils, a stark reminder of the void that had suddenly opened within me. Miscarriage. The word still felt foreign, a cruel punchline to a joke I hadn't understood until now. I reached for my abdomen, a phantom ache blooming where life had briefly, secretly, resided.

The nurse, a kind woman named Sarah, gave me a small, sad smile. "You're going to be okay, Mrs. West." Her voice was soft, but the words felt like sandpaper against my raw soul. "Your husband has been informed."

As if summoned, the door creaked open. Dax stood there, tall and imposing, yet for a split second, I saw a flicker of genuine concern in his eyes. But then, Frida materialized beside him, her arm linked through his, a bandage neatly wrapped around her temple. She looked pale, but undeniably radiant, basking in his undivided attention. She offered me a sympathetic, yet oddly triumphant, smile.

"Oh, darling, I'm so terribly sorry to hear about your... unfortunate incident," Frida cooed, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. She pressed her free hand to her chest. "Dax was so worried, rushing to my side after my little bump. Imagine, you were in an accident too! What awful luck."

Dax's arm tightened around Frida's waist. He didn't look at me, his gaze fixed on Frida's face, his concern palpable. "Frida, are you sure you should be up?" he murmured, ushering her gently back towards the door. "You need to rest."

"But Aliza, my dear, I just had to see you," Frida insisted, casting a fleeting glance at me, a mirage of compassion. "We'll leave you to recover. Dax has been such a rock for me."

And then they were gone, the door closing softly behind them, leaving me in the suffocating silence once more. My throat tightened, a bitter, metallic taste filling my mouth. "Unfortunate incident." "A little bump." That was all my loss amounted to, a footnote in their drama. He hadn't even stayed. He had chosen her again. The crushing ache in my chest intensified, a slow, agonizing burn.

My phone, lying forgotten on the bedside table, suddenly rang. It was Dr. Aris. I fumbled for it, my hands trembling.

"Aliza, what on earth happened?" Dr. Aris's voice was tight, strained. "You missed the Chimera project kickoff. The board is furious. They see this as a huge red flag for your commitment."

"Dr. Aris, I... I had an emergency," I stammered, my voice cracking. "I was in the hospital. I just had a miscarriage."

A heavy silence stretched between us. Then, Dr. Aris sighed, a long, weary sound. "Aliza, I'm so sorry to hear that. Truly. But this project... it's high stakes. We needed you there. The board is already questioning your stability. Especially after... well, after the company has already invested so much in you."

"But it wasn't my fault," I pleaded, tears stinging my eyes. "Dax was driving me there, and then Frida's accident happened, and he just... he took me here instead."

Another sigh. "Aliza, I understand you're going through a lot. But this isn't making things easy. The decision has been made. You're off the project. Effective immediately." Her voice was firm, leaving no room for negotiation.

The phone slipped from my numb fingers. Off the project. My dream. Gone. In a single, horrifying day, I had lost everything. My child, my career, and the last shred of my belief in Dax's love. The room spun. I closed my eyes, a silent sob escaping my lips.

That evening, Dax returned to the hospital room alone. He carried a bouquet of white lilies, their scent cloying in the air. "Aliza," he said, his voice a little softer than before. "I'm sorry. About... everything." He placed the flowers on the bedside table, careful not to look directly at me. "Frida is resting at home. Minor concussion, nothing serious."

My gaze was fixed on his face, searching for something, anything. "And me?" I whispered, my voice barely audible. "What about me, Dax?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "I told you, Aliza. I'm sorry." He reached for my hand, but I pulled away, recoiling from his touch. "It was an accident. These things happen."

"These things happen?" The words were ice on my tongue. "You left me. You abandoned me in the car to rush to her. And now... I've lost our baby. And my job. All for her 'minor bump'?" My voice rose, raw with grief and anger. "Why, Dax? Why is she always more important?"

His jaw tightened. His eyes, usually so guarded, flashed with something akin to annoyance. "Aliza, don't you dare accuse me of that. Frida needed me. She was terrified. And as for the baby, it's unfortunate, but we can try again." He paused, then his voice dropped, a warning underlying his words. "And don't forget your place. You are my wife. You will not question my loyalty."

His words, cold and dismissive, plunged a dagger into my already wounded heart. My place. He saw me as a possession, a status symbol, not a partner, not a woman who had just lost his child. I felt a profound emptiness, a cold, hard space where my love for him had once resided. The expectations I had carried into this marriage, the naive hope that my devotion would eventually melt his icy exterior, crumbled into dust. I had envisioned a life of mutual respect, of shared dreams, of a family. Instead, I had found a gilded cage, and a husband whose heart belonged to a ghost.

A few days later, back in the sprawling, silent mansion, my parents came to visit. My mother, seeing my hollow eyes, wrapped me in a tight embrace. "My poor girl," she murmured, stroking my hair. My father, usually stern, patted my shoulder awkwardly. They were worried. Dax, ever the dutiful husband in public, had arranged for me to be brought home, ensuring all appearances were maintained.

That evening, Dax walked into the living room, a rare smile on his face. "Aliza," he said, holding out a glossy brochure. "My mother insisted we start planning. For the nursery." He pointed to a picture of a lavish, pastel-filled room. "She thinks we should go with a classical theme. What do you think?"

I stared at the brochure, then at him. The thought of another child, of filling that empty space, was a terrifying prospect. My voice was a whisper. "Dax... will you be a good father?"

He paused, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. Then, he smiled, a real smile this time, though it felt forced. He knelt before me, pulling out a small, velvet box. "Aliza, I promise you, I will be the best father." He opened the box to reveal a glittering diamond pendant, shaped like a tiny star. "This is for our future. Our new beginning." He closed the box, opened his palm, and with a childish grin, placed my hand on his. "Pinky promise?"

A strange lightness, fleeting and fragile, touched my heart. It was a childish gesture, so unlike the stoic CEO, yet it offered a momentary reprieve from the crushing weight of my grief. It reminded me, vaguely, of another promise, long ago, in a different lifetime. A promise of safety, of forever. I almost believed him. Almost.

I nodded, a weak smile playing on my lips. "Okay, Dax," I whispered. "Pinky promise."

That night, alone again in our bedroom, I stared at the star pendant. The memory of the Chimera project, my dream job, flickered in my mind. I couldn't let everything go. I had to reclaim some part of myself. I picked up my phone. I would call Dr. Aris again, beg for another chance, anything. I wouldn't just be "Mrs. West," a grieving woman whose only purpose was to bear an heir. I was Aliza Hayes, biochemist. And I would fight for that.

The next day, armed with renewed determination, I dressed in my sharpest suit and headed to the university. Dr. Aris was hesitant but agreed to give me a chance to present my case to the departmental board. As I walked down the familiar hallway, my heart thumped with a mix of hope and anxiety. I pushed open the door to the research lab, only to freeze.

Frida Brennan was there. In a lab coat two sizes too big, striking a pose for a camera crew. She was laughing, her high-pitched giggle echoing through the usually sacred space. "Oh, the wonders of science!" she chirped, holding up a test tube for the camera. "So fascinating!"

My blood ran cold. What was she doing here?

She spotted me. Her smile faltered for a microsecond, then brightened, becoming even more saccharine. "Aliza, darling! What a surprise! Dax said you were... recovering."

"Frida," I said, my voice tight. "What are you doing in my lab?"

She batted her eyelashes, feigning innocence. "Oh, didn't you hear? Dax pulled some strings. West Enterprises is a major sponsor of this project now, and I'm joining the team as a 'celebrity ambassador' to raise awareness! Isn't it just fabulous?" She winked at the camera.

My world tilted. Dax. He had done this. He had not only ensured I lost my original position but had now inserted his precious Frida into my project, making a mockery of my life's work. The rage that surged through me was cold and pure.

Just then, my supervisor, Dr. Aris, walked in, looking flustered. "Aliza, perfect timing. We just finished the orientation for our new... team member." She gave me an apologetic glance that spoke volumes.

"Team member?" I scoffed, my voice laced with venom. "She's an actress, Dr. Aris. What does she know about biochemistry?"

Frida pouted dramatically for the cameras. "Oh, Aliza, don't be such a naysayer! I'm here to learn, to inspire! Dax thinks it's a brilliant idea!"

"Dax thinks it's a brilliant idea," I repeated, the words burning on my tongue. He hadn't just neglected me; he was actively sabotaging me, for her. The last threads of my naive hope snapped.

Suddenly, Dax appeared, striding confidently into the lab, a proprietary hand landing on Frida's shoulder. He looked at me, a flicker of defiance in his eyes. "Aliza. I assume you're here to apply for a research assistant position. This project is vital, and Frida's involvement will ensure maximum public interest."

He said it so casually, as if demoting me from team leader to assistant, and replacing me with a b-list actress, was a perfectly normal, acceptable action. His hand stroked Frida's arm with a tenderness he reserved only for her. Then he leaned down, whispering something in her ear that made her giggle, her eyes sparkling with delight.

My heart shattered, not into a thousand pieces, but into a fine, bitter dust. The pinky promise, the star pendant, the faint hope for a family-all of it felt like a cruel joke. He wasn't just emotionally distant; he was a walking, breathing betrayal. The man I had loved for a decade, the boy who had once filled my dreams, was a stranger. And worse, he was my enemy.

Aliza's POV:

Dax' s hand lingered on Frida' s arm, a touch so tender it twisted a knife in my gut. He bent his head, murmuring something to her, and she giggled, her eyes sparkling. It was an intimacy I had spent a year yearning for, an affection he reserved solely for his "beloved" ex-girlfriend. The sight made my stomach churn, a sickening blend of jealousy and despair. I watched him, this man I was married to, whose gaze was now solely on another woman, a woman who reveled in his attention like a spoiled child.

A cold, suffocating pressure crept up my throat. I felt like I was drowning in a sea of his indifference and her calculated charm. My lungs burned, starved for air. I wanted to scream, to lash out, to rip that smug smile off Frida's face, but I couldn't. Not here. Not in front of the camera crew, who were still dutifully filming Frida's every pout and pose.

I swallowed hard, forcing the hot tears back. My professional reputation was on the line, the very thing I had fought so hard to reclaim. I straightened my spine, pushing down the tidal wave of humiliation and betrayal. "Dr. Aris," I said, my voice surprisingly steady, "I'm here for the research assistant position. I understand the project's importance." My eyes flicked to Dax, a silent challenge in their depths. "And I assure you, my commitment is unwavering."

Dr. Aris looked relieved, though a shadow of concern still lingered in her eyes. "Excellent, Aliza. I'm glad you're on board. This is a critical moment for the project. Last chance, mind you." She stressed the last part, a clear warning.

I nodded, acknowledging the unspoken pressure. This wasn't just a job; it was my lifeline, my identity. I wouldn't let him, or her, take that from me. I presented my detailed research proposal, outlining groundbreaking methodologies, my voice firm and clear. I spoke with passion, with conviction, about the potential of Project Chimera. The science, the hope it offered for humanity, flowed through me, momentarily eclipsing the bitter reality of my personal life.

The board members, initially skeptical, began to nod. Dr. Aris's expression shifted from concern to pride. My proposal was sound, my expertise undeniable. They couldn't deny my qualifications, even with Dax's blatant interference. When the final vote was cast, it was unanimous. I was in. As a research assistant, yes, but I was in. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

A fragile sense of triumph bloomed in my chest as I left the campus. I had done it. I had fought for my place, for my passion. My steps felt lighter, a glimmer of hope returning.

As I approached the mansion, I noticed a flurry of activity. Boxes, ribbons, and baby decor were being carried inside. My heart gave a strange lurch. They were setting up the nursery. Dax's assistant, Mrs. Evans, met me at the door, her face wreathed in a warm smile.

"Mrs. West, welcome home! Mr. West wanted to ensure everything was perfect for the baby's room. He's been so particular. He even sent over sketches himself." Her words, meant to be comforting, felt hollow.

I forced a smile, my joy from the project approval suddenly overshadowed by a familiar dread. Dax, particular about a nursery? The man who couldn't even remember my favorite color? A cynical laugh caught in my throat. This wasn't for me. This was for the image, for the West legacy.

Later, as I walked through the half-decorated room, the pastel colors and tiny furniture felt alien, suffocating. A tiny, irrational fear gripped me. A child. His child. I had lost one, and now the prospect of another, of bringing a new life into this fractured world, felt terrifying. My own childhood, a blur of emotional neglect and unspoken resentments, flashed before my eyes. My parents, caught in their own silent war, had offered little warmth. I didn't want to repeat that cycle. Not for an innocent child. Not with Dax.

The ringing of my phone startled me. It was Dax. "Aliza," his voice was clipped, urgent. "The media got wind of your... condition. It's everywhere. We need to control the narrative."

My heart sank. "What do you mean?"

"They're painting you as a calculating gold-digger, trying to trap me with a pregnancy. And of course, there are whispers about Frida's accident and your sudden job loss. It's a mess." His tone was devoid of sympathy, filled only with annoyance at the PR nightmare. "We need a united front. There's a press conference tonight. Be ready."

"A press conference?" My voice was weak. "Dax, I just lost a baby. And my job. I'm not ready for this."

"You will be ready," he snapped, his patience wearing thin. "This isn't about your feelings, Aliza. This is about West Enterprises. This is about protecting our image, and more importantly, protecting Frida from further scrutiny. A baby is a powerful tool for public perception. It shows stability, commitment."

His words were a bitter chill. A baby, a tool. Not a miracle, not a new beginning, but a PR strategy. The last vestige of warmth in my heart withered and died.

That evening, I stood beside Dax on a brightly lit stage, a forced smile plastered on my face. The cameras flashed blindingly, a hungry horde of reporters shouting questions. My hand rested on my still-flat stomach, a gesture I hoped conveyed a serene, expectant mother. It was a performance. Our marriage was a performance.

"Mr. West," a reporter called out, "There are rumors you gifted Ms. Brennan a rare diamond necklace just last week. Is it true your wife received a similar, even more extravagant, piece of jewelry as a token of your enduring love?"

Dax's grip on my hand tightened, a silent warning. He smiled charmingly. "Of course. My wife means the world to me. She deserves nothing less than the best." He turned to me, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "Isn't that right, dearest?"

The lie tasted like ash in my mouth. I hadn't received a single piece of jewelry from him since our forced engagement ring. The "star pendant" was a flimsy prop in his childish promise, a cheap bauble compared to the diamonds that adorned Frida. Yet, I smiled, a chillingly perfect imitation of his own. "Absolutely," I murmured, my voice saccharine. The bitterness, however, was mine alone.

Another reporter chimed in, his question sharper. "Mrs. West, some tabloids are suggesting your relationship with Ms. Brennan is strained, particularly after her recent accident. How do you feel about Ms. Brennan's involvement in the Chimera project, given her previous relationship with your husband?"

Dax's hand squeezed mine, almost painfully. My gaze met his. His eyes held a silent threat, a clear command to play along. But something inside me snapped. The years of neglect, the constant humiliation, the fresh wound of my miscarriage, and now this blatant disrespect. It was too much.

I took a deep breath, my smile unwavering, even as my heart pounded a frantic rhythm against my ribs. "Frida Brennan is a talented actress," I began, my voice clear and calm. "Her involvement brings valuable public visibility to important scientific research." I paused, letting my gaze drift to Dax, then back to the reporter. "As for her past relationship with my husband, that is precisely what it is-the past. My husband and I are focused on our future. And our child."

A ripple went through the reporters. Dax's eyes widened, a flicker of surprise, perhaps even grudging respect, in their depths. He hadn't expected that. He had expected me to crumble, to stutter, to confirm their suspicions. But I had played his game, and I had won. For now.

Back in the mansion, the silence felt heavier than usual. Dax sat across from me in the living room, scrolling through his tablet. The comments section of a news article flashed on the screen: Gold-digger. Home-wrecker. She clearly drove Frida away. Just look at how smug she is. The internet was a cesspool of hate, fueled by Frida's carefully crafted victim narrative.

Dax cleared his throat. "I'll have my team deal with this. It will blow over." His voice was flat, devoid of real comfort.

I looked at him, my heart a hollow ache. "Do you believe them, Dax?" My voice was barely a whisper. "Do you think I'm a home-wrecker? That I drove Frida away?"

He didn't answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the screen, then shifted to the flickering fireplace. "Aliza," he said, his voice laced with a familiar weariness, "you knew what this marriage was. A pact. A merger. Your family's struggling biotech firm, my family's empire. There were... expectations." He finally met my gaze, his eyes cold, distant. "Frida and I... we had a history. A long one. You were aware of that."

The words were a brutal affirmation of my deepest fears. He didn't deny it. He didn't defend me. He simply reiterated the terms of our loveless contract. I was the inconvenient truth, the outsider who dared to disrupt his carefully constructed narrative. My chest tightened, a fresh wave of grief washing over me. I had foolishly hoped, even after everything, that he might, just might, see me as more than a business arrangement. But he didn't. He never would. The silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken accusations and the bitter taste of a love that was never truly reciprocated.

Aliza's POV:

Dax's evasive answer hung in the air, a suffocating blanket woven from his indifference and my desperation. He didn' t deny the accusations, didn' t defend me. He never did. He just sat there, impassive, as if the pain tearing through me was an inconvenience, a minor bug in our carefully choreographed charade. The words "you knew what this marriage was" echoed in my head, each syllable a hammer blow against my fragile hope. My breath caught in my throat, a suffocating tightness.

"Do you even care, Dax?" I managed to whisper, my voice raw with anguish. My gaze, filled with unshed tears, pleaded with him. "About any of this? About losing our baby? About me?"

He finally looked at me, his eyes devoid of warmth, like chips of ice. "Of course, I care, Aliza," he said, his tone flat, a practiced response. "It's… unfortunate. But life moves on. We will try again. We have a legacy to continue." His gaze held no comfort, only a chilling pragmatism.

My heart felt like a hollowed-out shell, utterly devoid of feeling. Unfortunate. Legacy. Those were his words for the life that had flickered and died inside me. The stark contrast between his words and the deep, aching void in my soul was a chasm I couldn't bridge. I closed my eyes, a tear finally escaping, tracing a cold path down my cheek. The emptiness was absolute, crushing.

A sudden, insistent ring from the doorbell shattered the oppressive silence. Mrs. Evans, Dax' s assistant, bustled in, followed by a procession of interior designers, nannies-to-be, and child psychologists. They carried swatches, blueprints, and educational toys. My mother-in-law, Mrs. West Senior, swept in like a storm, her diamond-encrusted hand gesturing grandly.

"Dax, darling! Aliza, my dear!" she boomed, her voice echoing through the mansion. "We must finalize the nursery plans! Time is of the essence. And these experts are here to ensure our future grandchild has the very best of everything!"

Dax's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. A flicker of annoyance crossed his face, quickly masked. He clearly hated his mother's intrusions, but he wouldn't dare challenge her. Not openly. He merely nodded, a strained smile on his lips.

"I need some air," he muttered, standing abruptly. He walked past me without a glance, heading for his study, leaving me adrift in the sudden chaos. Mrs. West Senior, noticing my pale face, rushed to my side. "Aliza, dear, are you alright? You look a bit peaked. This is all very exciting, isn't it?" She patted my hand, her concern genuine, but her bustling energy only made my head ache more. I managed a weak smile, nodding mutely, feeling like a doll, posed and silent.

Later that evening, after the flurry of activity had died down, I found myself wandering towards the study. I needed to escape the suffocating silence of my own thoughts, the empty nursery, the hollow promises. As I passed Dax' s study, I heard voices. His, low and intense. And his mother' s, sharp and accusatory. Curiosity, again, a dangerous siren, pulled me closer. I paused, just outside the closed door.

"You dare, Dax?" Mrs. West Senior's voice was a furious hiss. "After all these years? Frida Brennan again? The tabloids are having a field day! Are you trying to destroy everything I've built?"

Dax' s voice was equally cold, cutting. "Everything you've built? Mother, don' t play the innocent. You were the one who orchestrated all of this. You tore us apart. You lied, you manipulated, all to ensure I married into a 'suitable' family. Well, congratulations. You got your suitable family. Now leave Frida out of it."

My blood ran cold. Lies? Manipulated? What was he talking about? A knot of dread tightened in my stomach.

"Frida Brennan is a leech, Dax!" his mother snarled. "She always was! And I will not have her dragging our family name through the mud again. Not when Aliza is finally providing the heir we need."

"You won't touch her, Mother," Dax growled, his voice laced with a raw protectiveness I had never heard before. "This is my life. And Aliza..." He trailed off, his voice softening, then hardening again. "Aliza is my wife, yes. But Frida... Frida is the past you stole from me. Don't you dare hurt her again."

The words hit me with the force of a tidal wave, dragging me under. The past you stole from me. He still loved her. Not just loved her, but saw her as the great lost love, a victim of his mother's machinations. And me? I was just the "suitable" wife, the bearer of an heir.

My wedding day flashed before my eyes: the vows, the grand reception, the polite smiles. I remembered holding his hand, a foolish hope blossoming in my chest, believing that in time, I could win his heart, mend the wounds of his past. The irony was a bitter, burning taste. He had been mourning his lost love to Frida all along, while I, his wife, stood beside him, a convenient facade.

All of it. The marriage, the promises, even the pinky swear – it was all a lie. A grand, elaborate lie orchestrated by his mother, and perpetuated by his own blind devotion to a phantom love. My love, my hope, my entire future with him, evaporated into thin air. I was just a pawn in a game I hadn't even known I was playing. And I had lost. Completely.

I stumbled back, my legs suddenly weak, the silence of the hallway a stark contrast to the storm raging within me. I needed to get out. I needed to breathe. I turned and fled, not caring if anyone heard me.

The next morning, the world seemed to have drained of all color. I went to the biotech campus, my movements stiff, robotic. Dr. Aris greeted me, her expression serious. "Aliza, we need to talk. The board received some... directives from West Enterprises. They're insisting on a 'collaborative' approach to Project Chimera. Meaning, they're bringing in outside talent." She paused, her eyes softening. "And you, as the lead research assistant, will be working directly with them."

My blood ran cold. "Them?" I whispered, though I already knew.

Just then, the lab door swung open, and Frida Brennan sashayed in, a gleaming, untouched microscope positioned beside her, clearly a prop. She wore a pristine white lab coat, her hair perfectly coiffed, a dazzling smile for the cameras that, unfathomably, were still trailing her. "Aliza, darling! Ready to revolutionize the world of biotech with your new partner?" she chirped, extending a perfectly manicured hand.

Her partner. My stomach churned. Dax hadn't just inserted her into my project, he had made her my direct supervisor, my shadow. My gaze met Frida's. Her eyes held a triumphant glint, a silent declaration of war.

I ignored her outstretched hand, my voice level. "Dr. Aris, what are my duties for the day?"

Dr. Aris, clearly uncomfortable, cleared her throat. "Well, Frida is here to 'observe' and 'contribute creative ideas' to the project. You'll be guiding her through the initial phases of cell culture and genetic sequencing."

"Right." I turned to Frida, my face a mask of professional detachment. "Frida, we'll start with basic sterilization protocols. It's crucial for maintaining aseptic conditions." I handed her a pair of gloves, then pointed to a complex diagram on the whiteboard. "This is the schematic for the bioreactor. Please familiarize yourself with it." I dumped a stack of dense scientific papers onto her pristine workstation. "And these are foundational texts. You'll need to review them."

Frida's radiant smile faltered. Her eyes, which had sparkled with manufactured enthusiasm, now narrowed. She looked at the papers, then at the intricate diagram, a flicker of genuine confusion crossing her face. "Oh, darling, isn't that a bit... much? I'm more of a 'big picture' person." She winked at the camera.

I ignored her, moving to the next workstation. "Let's begin with preparing the culture media." I demonstrated the precise measurements, the delicate handling of chemical reagents. Frida, clearly bored, tapped her fingers on the counter, then picked up a beaker, swirling it carelessly.

"Like this, Aliza?" she asked, her voice too loud, too close to a sensitive piece of equipment. She didn't wait for my answer, leaning in, her elbow knocking against a rack of delicate vials.

The vials clattered. A beaker of highly concentrated acid, used for pH adjustment, tipped precariously. "Frida, watch out!" I shouted, instinctively reaching for it. But it was too late. The beaker crashed to the floor, instantly corroding the tile. A loud shriek ripped through the air.

Frida stumbled back, clutching her arm. A small splash of the acid had landed on her sleeve, burning through the fabric and grazing her skin. She collapsed dramatically, screaming. "My arm! My beautiful arm! Aliza, you pushed me! You sabotaged me!"

The camera crew, ever present, rushed forward, capturing every angle of Frida's theatrical distress. Dr. Aris rushed over, her face pale with horror. The lab was in chaos.

Then, the doors burst open. Dax. He strode in, his eyes immediately locking onto Frida, who was now sobbing hysterically, cradling her arm. He didn't even glance at me, standing amidst the shattered glass and the corrosive fumes. He rushed to Frida, his face a mask of raw anguish.

"Frida! My God, what happened?" he exclaimed, his voice filled with a desperate concern that was so utterly foreign to me. He knelt beside her, gently examining her arm.

"Dax! She... she pushed me! She tried to hurt me! She's jealous!" Frida cried, burying her face in his chest, her voice muffled but theatrical enough for the hovering cameras.

Dax' s head snapped up. His eyes, fixed on me, were cold, hard, filled with a primal rage I had never witnessed. "Aliza," he snarled, his voice barely audible, yet vibrating with fury. "What have you done?"

My chest tightened. The injustice, the blatant favoritism, the utter disregard for my well-being, even as I was still reeling from my own loss – it was too much. I stood there, amidst the wreckage of the lab, and the wreckage of my life, utterly numb. The pain in my abdomen, a dull throb since the miscarriage, flared with a sudden, sharp intensity. I took a step back, my vision blurring again. He blamed me. Of course, he blamed me. For everything. For nothing. The realization was a bitter pill, a final, crushing blow.