Elyse POV:

Dalton' s office was a blur of papers and hushed tones. He had found a small, discreet apartment for me. It wasn't fancy, just a two-bedroom unit in a quiet part of town. I didn' t care about the amenities. All I needed was a place to be alone, a place where I could breathe. "Just get me in tonight," I'd told him, my voice raspy. "I don't care about anything else."

It was already evening when I returned to the mansion, the huge house feeling colder and emptier than ever. Each step was an effort, my body heavy with the advanced pregnancy. I went straight to the kitchen, a familiar routine. Grayson would be home late, as always. He liked my cooking, or at least, he used to. I started preparing his favorite salmon, seasoning it just the way he preferred, brushing it with orange glaze. The aroma filled the kitchen, a bittersweet scent. It was automatic, this desire to please him, a habit deeply ingrained after seven years. I sighed, realizing how much of myself I had lost, how much I had tailored my life to his preferences.

Hours passed. The salmon sat under a warming lamp, then in the oven, then back under the lamp. I reheated it twice, three times. Each time, a fresh wave of despair washed over me. He wasn't coming. Or he was, just much, much later.

The front door finally creaked open well past midnight. I heard his heavy footsteps, then the faint scent of foreign perfume. Not mine. Kira's. It clung to him, sweet and cloying. My stomach churned. I felt a cold dread settle in my chest, confirming every suspicion. My eyes darted to his neck. A faint red mark, almost imperceptible against his tanned skin. My breath hitched.

He stumbled into the kitchen, his eyes glazed, reeking of alcohol. He barely registered my presence. He saw the plate of salmon. His lip curled. "What is this? Trying to play the dutiful wife again, Elyse? Fishing for sympathy?"

He pushed past me, his shoulder brushing mine, and headed for the stairs. He didn't even wait for an answer. My gaze fell to his left hand. His ring finger was bare. Completely. No tan line. No indentation. As if he had never worn a wedding ring at all. My heart shattered into a million pieces.

"Grayson," I whispered, my voice hoarse, barely audible. He paused, one foot on the first step, then turned, his expression unreadable.

"The divorce papers," I continued, my voice gaining strength. "They're on your desk. Sign them. Please."

He chuckled, a dark, humorless sound. "Divorce? What, did you find another document? Another 'misunderstanding'? " He scoffed. "And here I thought I was still alive." He laughed again, a harsh, grating sound that made my skin crawl.

Then he lit a cigarette, the acrid smoke filling the air, despite my obvious pregnancy. He didn't care. He never did.

"Let's not forget, Elyse," he said, taking a drag, his eyes narrowed. "You were simply a girl from a charity event. A project. You should be grateful I even looked at you." He blew a plume of smoke, watching it dissipate. "The will, as you so delicately put it, is just a formality. Kira has a weak heart. She's fragile. It's to ensure she's cared for, should anything happen to me. A contingency, as I said."

He sounded so sincere. So concerned. My mind replayed the scene at the clinic, the doctor's kind face, the healthy image of my baby on the screen. My hand instinctively went to my belly. He worried about Kira's fragile heart, but what about mine? What about the child growing inside me?

A decade. Ten years ago, he was just a desperate young man, clinging to life. I had found him, bleeding, after a hit-and-run. I pulled him from the wreckage, ignored my family's pleas to leave him to the authorities, and stayed by his side through weeks of recovery. I had even taken a knife for him during a gang confrontation, a memory that still sent shivers down my spine.

In the hospital, his voice had been thick with emotion, his eyes full of promises. "Elyse," he'd choked out, gripping my hand, "I swear, if I survive this, I will make you the happiest woman on earth. I will inherit my family's legacy, and I will give you everything. My life. My love. My fortune." He had even sworn, "If I ever betray you, may God strike me down."

He did inherit the legacy. He built an empire. But the happiness? That went to Kira. My wedding was a low-key affair, a courthouse ceremony. My dress was rented. My vows were exchanged with the cold, unyielding reality of a prenup.

I laughed, a dry, bitter sound that hurt my throat. My eyes burned, but no tears came. "And those vows, Grayson?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. "Do you remember them? Or did you forget those too, along with everything else?"

His face went rigid, his eyes turning cold and dangerous. "Don't bring up the past, Elyse. It's done. Over." He took another drag from his cigarette, then crushed it in a nearby ashtray. "What do you want, then? How much money will it take for you to disappear?"

My heart plummeted, the last vestiges of hope crumbling to ash. He thought everything could be bought. Everything had a price. And my love? My sacrifice? It was just another commodity to him.

"Nothing," I said, my voice barely audible, forcing the word out. "I want nothing from you. Just sign the papers. Let me go. Peacefully."

I turned, my back to him, and started to walk away. His voice, hoarse with sudden rage, cut through the silence. "You'll regret this, Elyse! You'll regret walking away from me!"

I didn't look back. There were no more tears left for him. Only for the girl I used to be, the one who believed in a love that never existed.

Elyse POV:

The front door slammed shut so hard, the whole house shook. I heard the roar of his car engine, then silence. He was gone. Again.

I walked back into the living room, my eyes falling on his desk. The divorce papers were gone. Replaced by a crumpled mess in the wastebasket. He had torn them to shreds. Why? Why couldn't he just let me go? What was left for him here?

My phone buzzed, vibrating against the polished wood of the table. A message. From Kira. Again.

It was a photo. Kira, smiling, her head nestled against Grayson's shoulder. His arm was around her, possessive. The caption read: "Grayson is finally mine now. You really tried, honey. But some things are just meant to be."

My stomach clenched. This wasn't new. For months, sometimes even years, she' d been sending me these little 'updates.' Casual photos of them at dinner, a subtle mention of a weekend getaway, a childish doodle he'd drawn for her. She always played the innocent, fragile artist, but her messages were laced with venom. She' d even tried to 'vent' to me about him once, pretending to be my confidante. "He's so demanding, Elyse," she'd whined, "always putting his work first. I wish he'd just relax, be more fun, like he is with me."

The phone buzzed again. Another message, another photo. This one, a close-up. Grayson, asleep, his head on her pillow. And he was wearing… my silk pajamas. The ones I' d bought for him, for our anniversary, just last month.

"He's so sweet when he sleeps," Kira's message read. "And so protective of me. Don't worry about the will, Elyse. It's just a silly little thing Grayson did to make me feel secure. He loves me. He's always loved me." Then, the lines that sent a jolt of ice through me. "He said you have dimples, just like I do. And our baby... he hopes the baby has a dimple too. For me."

My blood ran cold. Dimples. My distinctive dimples. The ones Grayson had always admired. The ones he said made my smile light up a room. It wasn' t about my untamed spirit, or my charming smile. It was about my dimples. Because Kira had them too. He wanted a child with my dimples, for her.

My stomach heaved. I ran to the bathroom, clutching my mouth. I threw up, bile burning my throat. But it wasn't just physical nausea. It was pure, unadulterated disgust. Disgust for him, for her, for myself for being so utterly blind. I looked in the mirror, my own dimples mocking me, twisting my face into a grotesque mask.

He hadn't loved me. He had cultivated me. Chosen me. Because I resembled her. I was a breeding vessel. A surrogate. A placeholder for a woman who couldn' t carry a child, but who could carry his name, his love, his fortune.

A raw, guttural cry tore from my throat. My heart felt like it had been ripped from my chest, leaving a gaping, bloody hole.

My fingers flew across the keyboard, trembling. I typed a single message back to Kira: "Enjoy your second-hand clothes, you pathetic excuse for a human being."

Almost immediately, my phone rang. Grayson. His name flashed on the screen. I remembered how he'd once screamed at me for even daring to whisper a complaint about Kira, accusing me of jealousy, of being petty.

Without a second thought, I tapped "block." And then "delete."

My hands were still shaking, but a strange calm settled over me. I booked a moving truck online. For tomorrow morning. I didn't have much. Just a few boxes of books, some clothes, a collection of old photographs. Nothing that reminded me of him. Nothing that belonged to us.

I walked through the vast, empty rooms of the mansion one last time. This extravagant house, this gilded cage. It was never home. It was a stage for his elaborate charade.

I took a deep, shuddering breath. The air, heavy with his deceit, suddenly felt lighter. I was free.

I picked up a dusty old plant pot I' d found in the conservatory, a forgotten fig tree struggling for light. I carried it out to the car, gently placed it in the passenger seat. This was my new focus. New life.

Back at my new apartment, the stark white walls felt… clean. Empty, yes, but clean. I repotted the fig tree, placing it by the window where the afternoon sun poured in. It looked small, vulnerable, but determined. Just like me.

The phone rang again. A discreet private number. I hesitated, then answered. It was his assistant.

"Mrs. Graves," his voice was clipped and formal. "Mr. Graves would like to speak with you."

Then, Grayson's voice, cold and furious, cut through. "Elyse. What the hell do you think you're doing? Why are you trying to provoke Kira? She's delicate, you know that! Her heart condition makes her highly susceptible to stress."

He mentioned her heart again. Always her heart. Never mine. Never the life growing inside me.

"Go home, Elyse," he continued, his voice softening, a manipulative edge creeping in. "Come back, and we can forget all this. I'll even forgive you for your outburst. Just come home. And give me my child."

My grip tightened on the phone, my knuckles white. He didn' t care about me. He only cared about the child, about the heir he needed for Kira. He always had a plan, a calculation. I was just a pawn in his game.

"Elyse? Are you listening to me?" His voice was impatient now.

I didn't answer. I just pressed the "end call" button. Then I blocked his number again. And deleted the contact.

I wouldn't provoke Kira. I wouldn't disturb them. I would just disappear.

Elyse POV:

The clinic was cold, sterile. The nurse led me to the ultrasound room, her movements efficient, her face kind but distant. I lay back on the examination table, my heart pounding against my ribs.

The doctor pointed at the screen. A tiny, fully formed baby, floating in a dark sea. He stretched, kicked, a perfect miniature human. "He's beautiful, Elyse," she said, her voice soft. "And perfectly healthy. Look how strong his heartbeat is."

She held my gaze, her expression solemn. "Are you absolutely sure you want to proceed with this, Elyse? At eight months, it's not only dangerous for you, but we also have to consider the baby. He can feel pain, you know. He's developed enough to register it."

My hand flew to my belly, covering the warm mound. Pain. My baby feeling pain. The thought was unbearable. I closed my eyes, a silent scream building in my chest. No. I couldn't. I just couldn't.

"I need more time," I choked out, my voice barely a whisper. "Just… a little more time to think."

The doctor nodded, her expression understanding. "Of course. Just be careful, Elyse. Any strenuous activity could trigger early labor."

I walked out of the clinic, the fluorescent lights making me feel colder than ever. My body felt like ice. I reached the exit, my hand on the door, when I saw him.

Grayson.

He was leaning against a sleek black car, wearing an impeccably tailored suit, looking utterly detached, regal, and dangerous. My breath caught in my throat. He looked up, his eyes meeting mine. Recognition, then a flash of something else, something I couldn't quite decipher, crossed his face.

He walked towards me, his steps deliberate, unhurried. Before I could react, his hand shot out, grabbing my wrist. His grip was tight, almost painful.

"Are you done with your little charade, Elyse?" he asked, his voice low, laced with irritation. He rubbed his temples, a gesture of annoyance. "The will, the divorce papers, this stunt at the clinic. It's childish. I told you, it's just a formality for Kira. To keep her calm. She's fragile, you know that."

Fragile. Always Kira. Always her delicate heart, her precious needs. And what about me? What about the years I' d given him? The sacrifices?

My vision blurred. A bitter, hysterical laugh tried to escape me, but it was trapped in my throat. My voice, when it came out, was a ragged whisper. "And what about me, Grayson? What have I received from you? What did I ever get for my seven years of devotion?"

He flinched, his jaw tightening. For once, he had no answer.

I yanked my hand free, the force of it surprising even myself. The years of suppressed hurt, the anger, the bitter disappointment-it all exploded in that one desperate motion.

"I gave you everything, Grayson!" I cried, my voice cracking. "My youth, my career, my loyalty! I was there when you almost died from that ulcer, remember? You were 'too busy' for our anniversary, but I found you bleeding in that hotel room. I held your hand in the ER. And then I went home, alone, to a cold bed."

"And the baby," I continued, tears streaming down my face. "Do you even remember coming to one prenatal appointment? One? No. You were always off with Kira, making sure she was taken care of, making sure she was 'calm.' Was I that cheap to you, Grayson? So easily discarded?"

The words poured out, a torrent of pain and rage. He stood there, frozen, his face draining of color. His eyes widened, a flicker of genuine shock, then horror.

"You... you knew?" he stammered, his voice choked. "All this time? You knew?"

I laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. My vision was swimming, but I forced myself to meet his terrified gaze. "I didn't say anything, Grayson. But that doesn't mean I was stupid. I just kept hoping. Hoping you would wake up. Hoping you would remember who I was, what we were." I dug my fingernails into my palms, the sharp pain a welcome distraction from the agony in my chest. "But I can't do it anymore. I can't lie to myself."

A wave of regret, of something akin to shame, crossed his face. But it was too late. Far too late.

"I will keep this baby, Grayson," I declared, each word a hammer blow. "And he will have nothing to do with you. Nothing."

I turned, my back ramrod straight, and walked away. He reached out, his hand hovering in the air, but he didn't touch me. He couldn't.

I kept walking, focusing on the road ahead. I would take care of my baby. Alone.

Dalton called later that day, his voice grave. "Elyse, Grayson is refusing to sign the divorce papers." My heart sank. "He's threatening to fight for full custody. He says he'll use every resource he has to take the child."

Dalton sounded genuinely worried. "He's a powerful man, Elyse. A custody battle could drag on for years. And his legal team… they're ruthless."

I ran my hand over my swollen belly. My child. My only hope. What was I to do? Grayson had the money, the power, the connections. I had nothing but my love for this baby. No, that wasn't true. I had my resolve.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself. "I won't let him win, Dalton," I said, my voice firm, clear. "My child will not be born into this chaos. I will find a way to make him agree."