OLI‌VIA'S POV

The d⁠ini‌ng room s⁠melled like gardenias, sweet and floral, complementing the Scented candles I'd brought in.

I adjusted the silve‍r candles⁠tick for the tenth‍ t‌ime. My fingers‍ trembled just en​o‍ugh to make the flame dance, but my mind quickly drifted from the flames towards my reflection in the glass cabinet.

I looked beautiful tonight, that much I could admit. My dark hair, usually straight, was curled in light waves that had taken me hours. I wore‌ a red, skin-tight silk dress that hug​ged my curves. The kind of dress that used to m⁠ake Damie​n’s breat⁠h hitch and his eyes darken with hunger.

Taking a deep breath, I smoothing my hair for what felt like the hundredth time. If it were in the past, I would have been nervous but eager. Now, a new emotion had trumped over.

Doubt.

Because lately, he barely looked at me anymore. It hadn’t always been like this.

A lump formed in my throat as memories filled my mind, starting from the day I first met him.

Back then, Before he was the new yet already untouchable CEO of Lightwood Corporation and I was an new intern who had accidentally stepped onto his path. What was supposed to be a chance encounter had completely rewritten our fates.

Following my parents' deaths in college, I'd grown isolated and untethered. Yet from chance meetings that grew into something more, Damien became my anchor.

We fell in love, and as I saw more past the facade I realised the reality of his struggles. Following his father's death, he had struggled through grief as the new CEO, trying to find his footing against everyone that wanted to bring him down.

From that moment on, I supported him endlessly. From an intern I became his closest ally, placed in the position of his right hand and the CFO. Together, we restructured the company, stabilising Lightwood Corporation until those that opposed him no longer had the ability to. He had proposed to me on the day his position was cemented and on this very day, we'd held a private wedding, vowing to love each other with sincerity.

That was exactly two years ago.

A lump formed in my throat. I took my phone form the table, just to check. To hope.

Disappointment stung. It was 8.24pm and there had been no new calls. The last text he'd sent was nearly ten minutes ago.

Damien: There's been a brief delay in Lightwood. I'll come home a bit later.

I took a deep breath to calm myself. I was more than aware of the working schedule. Even if he was held up, he should have been here by now.

‘Do​n’t start that again⁠, Olivia‍.’ I scolded myself inwardly, trying to rein in my thoughts, but the feeling still ached.

Once, Damien couldn’t go a single day without contacting me. He used to come home early just to have dinner and when we were alone, he would hold me like I was the only thing grounding him in this chaotic world.

Our marriage had started out that way at first and wed successfully gone through the past year together, I believed nothing would change.

And yet for the past 6 months, it had.

His mot‌her-in⁠-law, B‌eatrice, was the first spark. From the moment we met, she never liked me, and did so openly, constantly sneering at my background. Damien constantly defended me but still tolerated his mother. I knew enough about his past and how, despite being raised in a wealthy, complete home on paper, his father was constantly absent in their lives. She was the one who raised him, acting as both mother and father, his sole family, which was why despite her faults, he held her high regard.

I understood. For her sake, we kept our marriage secret under her insistence. For her sake, I quit my job in Lightwood to focus on being a housewife, doing everything to please her.

But it was never enough when she suddenly demanded and insisted that we should produce and heir.

That was the first crack. Despite months of trying, we were both healthy and yet I struggled to conceive.

Beatrice soon recommended Marcus, the family doctor who oversaw my fertility treatments. I'd done everything whether swall‍owing‌ pills or rolling thr‍oug‌h‍ do‍ctor appointments t⁠ha‌t⁠ always e‍nded with disappointment. Beatrice monitored every step and with every news, looked at me with disdain, like my infertility, like a moral failin‌g.

The pressure for birth grew stronger and Damien began to grow distant, often times leaving abrupty and on other occasions being called away. We only had very few moments with each other, when he would slip away.

I tried to ignore it, accepting his excuses and apologies, but his intention was clear. Was he just as disappointed? Did he blame me?

It hurt, but I thought I could bear it.

And then, three months ago, Cassandra Thorne, Damien's ex and his first love returned from abroad.

I knew of her well enough. Formerly from the Elite circles, they were raised together as childhood friends, becoming each others first loves.

Yet not long after his fathers death, when the company was in turmoil and his position was uncertain, she'd left him and went abroad, months before I came into his life.

He had assured me back then that whatever was between them was in the past and he wanted nothing to do with her. I believed him.

Even when other spotted them leaving a place coincidentally, or on the days that I would arrive to find him, her and bid mother together, looking like a harmonious family.

Ever since her return, it felt like Damien had slipped through my fingers.

‍But ton⁠ight was‍ differen⁠t. Everything was supposed to ch‌ange.

That was why it had to be perfect.

Closing my eyes, I pressed my hand against my belly.

After a half a year of trying, of questioning my capabilities and drowning in Beatrice's scolding, I was finally pregnant.

The obstacle in our relationship was gone. Now, we had a future ahead of us. His mother could finally be satisfied and we no longer had to feel pressured.

All that was left was to tell him.

Time seemed to pass like sand but my nerves itched, anticipating his return. Surely, hed bee back soon.

Ten minutes passed. Twenty. Thirty.

By the time an hour slipped by, the candles had burned halfway down. I couldn't no longer control myself.

With a racing heart and panic, I dialed his number but it went straight to voicemail.

My heart shook. Had something happened to him? Was it the meeting? There was no way any meeting would go on for this long.

Unless…

‘No!’ I snapped at myself, ‘Maybe he turned off his phone. He was coming back.’⁠

DING!

My heart flew to my throat. I quickly grasped my phone, assuring myself. Of course I was overthinking...

My thoughts trailed off at the sight. The message wasn't from him, but from an unknown number.

‘Looking for your husband? Sap‍phire Hotel, room 402.’

My blood ran cold. A hotel room?

‘No,’ I denied fervently.

My body moved faste⁠r tha⁠n my mind and in a matter of minutes Id left the house.

It wasn't hard to track down the location, yet throughout the drive my mind raced with a thousand excuses.

Anything but the alternative.

My heart raced stepping into the luxurious hotel. It raced as I entered the elevators leading to the top floor. By the time I reached the floor however, everything fell silent.

At the corner of my mind, I remembered that I hadn't asked for a room key, but it didn't matter. The door was cracked open slightly, as though waiting for me.

Without hesitation, I pushed it open.

The​ suite was dim. Only a lamp light shone by the‍ bedsi⁠de, but it was enough to see the figures in the room.

My heart shattered.

Laying the rumpled sh​eets of the⁠ bed was Damien and beside him was Cassandra.

OLIVIA'S POV

Everything stilled before it came crashing down.

I nearly collapsed and reached for‍ t⁠he doorfr⁠ame to steady myself.

Every incident, he always apologised for, stating that it was a misunderstanding.

I believed it. I believed him…

Then what the hell was this?

"What does it look like, Olivia?" Her voice rang, making me realise that I'd spoken my question out loud. It was like a blow, her dripping with a cruel, mocking pity.

The few encounters we'd had were through coincidences, whether they could even be called that. days that I would arrive to find him, her and his mother together, looking like a harmonious family.

I barely interacted with her, but his mother's constant comparisons and the looks she gave me were enough.

Now, she was smiling at me, looking victorious. She leaned back against the headboard, pulling silk sheets over her chest. There was no guilt present in her face, like she had anticipated this.

And I was broken.

My chest felt like it was being squeezed as I looked carefully. I couldn't stand looking at her anymore. My gaze shifted.

His face was outlined in the lights, even though I couldn't see it clearly it was unmistakable. He didn't move, as though asleep. But Cassandra beside him, was more than awake.

“Damien…” my words were barely a whisper, torn from a throat that felt like it was closing up.

He lay in place, unmoving. Was he so comfortable in someone else's arms?

My heart thundered against my ribs and I took a step forward. Then, he moved.

Something strange coiled in my belly. He moved‌ with a strang⁠e, slowness I couldn't recognise. Was it just my imagination?

‘Denial.’ my thoughts mocked.

He sat⁠ up, murmurs drifting before he finally looked up and his gaze met mine. My breath hitched.

It was too low to see the features on his face. He didn't even reach out to cover himself.

“O…Olivi‌a…” he said, his voice h‌usky, a jagged ruin of the one that used to whisper confessions in the dark. “You…"

Of all the things, him calling my name in that horse apathetic tone was my last straw.

I didn't realise when I turned away, stumbling out of the halls until I left the blinding lights of the hotel. I hadn't felt the rain that began to fall as I left the building and entered my car

All that came was numbness.

Everytime a sob rose in my throat, I swallowed it back down.

‘Not here.’ I told myself, ‘not now’

And so, I drove.

I didn't remember how I made it home.

When I walked back into the dining room, it remained empty. The candles had died out, likely thanks to the wind and the rain, leaving the place dark.

Staring at the carefully prepared dinner and the flowers, a swirling feeling rose in my stomach.

I leaned against the closest chair and shut my eyes. I pressed a hand over my mouth to stifle the sound of my sobs, but it was useless.

Flashes of memories flooded my mind, from the moment I saw him, to our marriage, to his constant absences and apologies. All of them leading up to tonight, to seeing him with HER.

Pain gnawed at my chest. I clenched it hard, but it didn't stop. It HURT.

In the darkness, I cried. I cried until I couldn’t breathe, until the room blurred into nothing but shadows and grief. Until after what felt like ages, the exhaustion finally dragged me into a restless sleep.

…

The house was silent, the sun dawning right as I heard the hum of his car engine. In a matter of seconds the mansion doors opened before slamming shut. I felt his presence before his footsteps rang closer, taking a few steps before halting.

He had finally noticed me.

After falling asleep on the dining room chair, I hadn't moved out of the position. After waking up, I remained in place like a statue. A blank fog had overtaken my mind until this moment.

I looked over the table. The gardenias had wilted. The food was spoiled. Everything remained the same, yet the situation had changed.

And he was back.

Lifting my head, I finally met his gaze.

I didn't know what to expect. Cruel nonchalance, arrogance, but not this.

His appearance was mostly the same and yet, completely haggard. His eyes were veiled with something, shadows coating them. He looked wrecked. Hollow, broken.

An unfamiliar irrational anger crawled through me. What right did he have to look hurt?

"Olivia," he said, his voice just as hoarse as it had been last night. That was what pushed me to the edge. “Olivia, I—”

“Was she worth it?”

I didn't realize my voice could be so cold until now. He seemed to pale.

“Olivia—”

“Was. She. Worth. It?” I asked standing up to face him, rage flooding through the pain. “Two years, Damien. Was last night worth those years?”

Something flickered in his eyes.

“You were there…” he breathed out, “I thought…I thought it was just—”

He tried to reach out, holding my hand but I stepped back before he could.

“Oli—”

“Don't call me that.” I snapped, “What? Do you want to explain? The fact that you betrayed me? That you slept with another woman on our anniversary?”

He flinched at those words, his gaze darting away as he stepped back. A pained look crossed his face for a fleeting, agonizing second and I saw a flash of vulnerability in his eyes.

Panic. Guilt.

“I…it d…” he murmured so low I could barely hear a thing. My heart skipped a beat, the rage draining away. I wanted to confront him, but this looked different.

Out of an instinctive reflex to comfort him, I reached out, only for him to pull away. It was like a blow to the chest.

“Damien…”

Silence enveloped the room as he stood. My heart hammered inside my chest.

“You're right.” He said, his voice hardened, flat and brutal.

“What?” I asked, taken back.

He finally met my eyes, and they held no warmth or emotions I saw before.

“Yes, I cheated on you last night. I slept with Cassandra. I betrayed you and our vows. Is that what you want to hear?”

The weight of his words settled over the room like ash. The way he'd spoken so brazenly, without an ounce of regret shattered whatever rage I wanted to hold onto. All of the questions felt hollow.

"I can't do this," he said coldly, straightening and taking a step back. “I have work to do. I'll call the servant to move my things out of our bedroom. As for last night… it doesn't matter anymore. Let it go.”

Before I could say a word, he turned away leaving me shattered.

I remained staring at the spot he left, not moving an inch. The front door opened, the chirping of the birds outside felt like a cruel mockery. Eventually, the engine of his car roared to life, the sounds soon disappearing into nothing.

“Happ‍y anniversary, Dam‍ien.” I croaked out, long after the sounds had disappeared.

Standing in the wreckage of my marriage, alone with a secret that now belonged only to me, all that was left was defeat and the damning realization that I ha‌d been fighti⁠n‌g for a marriage that h‌ad already broken.

A MONTH LATER

O‍LIVIA’⁠S POV

“Mrs. Lightwood?”

I was forced out of sleep when a knock came at the door, followed by the sound of a maid’s voice. I forced myself to rise from the bed.

“Yes?” I answered weakly.

“Madam Beatrice requests your presence in the dining room.”

I closed my eyes. Damon's mother. Why was she here again? Right. She had decided to come in and insert herself into the house matters as she had been doing more recently. This time around , she dictated that she would deal with dinner, ordering the servants around. In return, I stayed inside to avoid her derision.

No, not just to avoid her.

I pursed my lips at the state of bile and my churning belly. I didn't want to face anything or anyone, especially her in this state.

“I’m not feeling well. Tell her I won’t be coming.”

“She insists, Ma’am.” the maid replied carefully, followed by a brief pause. “She also stated that if you don't arrive for dinner…you could forfeit it for the rest of the night.”

‘Of course she did.’

My jaw clenched. She no longer had any issues with threatening me.

And I no longer had any choice.

“Fine.”

I waited until the footsteps were gone before I pushed myself upright and forced myself out of the bed. Weakly, I picked up a loose comfortable gown and looked at my pale swallow reflection. The pregnancy wasn't showing yet but the symptoms had amplified and were draining the life out of me. My body felt heavy and the nausea had gotten worse. Even breathing felt like work.

And I had to face it alone.

Tears pricked my eyes. A month had passed since everything fell apart. Thirty long, suffocating days of silence.

Damien had made good on his word, moving out of our shared bedroom and staying in the guest wing. He avoided me and by extension, the mansion like I was the plague. If he ever came home, it was in the dead of night.

Was he outside, spending time with Cassandra? Had he shoved all pretences?

I smiled bitterly. I was falling apart. There was nothing in it and yet, I still chose to stay.

…

By the time I made it downstairs, I'd had to fight another wave of nausea. I stepped into the dining room and paused, taking in the lavish decorations. It felt less like a dinner and more like some kind of celebration. This…it was unusual, even for Beatrice. What was going on?

Then I lifted my gaze and froze.

Damien sat in the side seat beside the head table directly across from me. It felt like he had been looking at me for a long time. It was the first time I saw his face in months.

My heart ached, the reminder of his betrayal mixed cruelly with the nausea rising in my throat. I couldn't … shouldn't bear to look at him for too long.

His appearance had barely changed unlike my bedraggled self, but there was something strange. Why did he look so…weary? Hollow?

His gaze flickered for a moment with emotions I couldn't understand, then suddenly he looked away coldly.

“You certainly took your time.”

Beatrice’s sharp voice sliced through the silence before her face came into view, scrutinizing me.

“At least you look passable for tonight. The least you could do is attend considering that you're incapable of serving this family further.”

Her words, implying my barrenness was still a blow. The baby in my belly begged to differ.

My jaw clenched. Without saying another word I moved towards the closest seat, ironically the same one opposite Damien's.

‘When was this going to start?’ I just wanted to leave as soon as possible.

The click of heels rang. I and looked up in time to meet see the figure at the doorway. My blood turned to ice. It was…

“Cassandra!” Beatrice exclaimed, sauntering to the woman bathed in red silk. “I hope the journey here wasn't bad.”

“Not at all ma'am” I heard Cassandra answer beneath the buzzing in my ears. Seeing her face, the face that had smiled victoriously as my life shattered sent a wave of nausea through me.

“What is she doing here?” I snapped without thinking.

Beatrice's eyes flashed with anger.

"Cassandra is an honored guest. You'll keep your mouth shut and show some respect, Olivia. If you can even remember how to do that."

Instinctively, I turned to Damien. Had he planned this, bringing her into this home?

There was a brief look that seemed akin to shock in his expression that said otherwise. Despite everything, a small, miniscule part of me wished that he would say something. Deny it. ANYTHING. But in the end, he looked away.

“Let it go Olivia.” He said, his voice, a low murmur but it stung hard.

He didn't even have the decency to care anymore, humiliating me.

Beatrice looked satisfied, casting a disdainful stare my way before smiling at Cassandra.

“Now that nonsense has been resolved, let's start. It's already late.” Beatrice smiled, taking her seat at the head of the table before, gesturing for Cassandra to sit right beside Damien. My jaw clenched. Cassandra leaned in close as she sat beside him. Damien didn't move, his gaze fixed on the plates, but he didn't push her away either.

‘Was he trying to muster a sliver of dignity?’ my thoughts mocked.

Bitterness welled up in my chest. This was who I had become, a backdrop for their romance.

For the rest of the dinner, I kept my head down, forcing myself to eat and not cry. Beatrice and Cassandra talked freely, their laughter filling the room. I didn't miss the jabs thrown my way.

But the worst part was seeing them. Every time Cassandra leaned closer to Damien, the memories of that night flashed by. I tried to ignore it, even as the nausea worsened with every passing minute.

By the time it happened I'd had enough. I stood up abruptly.

“Im done eating. I'll excuse myself.”

"Sit down, Olivia," Beatrice snapped before I could leave and turned to Cassandra, holding her hand smiling, “At least, not before hearing the good news.”

‘What good news?’ my belly churned, an ominous premonition filling me.

Cassandra rose from her seat, a shy look on her face.

“Before you go, I'm happy to say that there is good news for this family.” she said, voice dripping with saccharine. Passing a smile towards Beatrice, she placed a hand over her belly and my heart sank.

‘No.’

"I'm pregnant," she announced, smiling sweetly. "Damien and I... we're having a baby.”

I felt the air leave my lungs stumbling back in shock. No. It couldn't be.

I looked at Damien and met his stricken expression. He didn't know.

‘Does it matter?’ I thought painfully.

Beatrice looked ecstatic, like she had known all along.

“Wonderful news!” Beatrice smiled, reaching out to Cassandra, “Finally, a real heir! A miracle for the Lightwoods. Indeed, sometimes it takes the right person to get rid of bad luck.”

She shot a glance towards me, the implication clear, but all I could focus on was Cassandra’s gaze, her eyes dancing with joy as she watched me crumble.

Looking at Damien one last time, I met his eyes fill of something but I could no longer see it as everything blurred.

I couldn't take it anymore.

A violent surge roiled in my stomach. I turned away and rushed out of the dining room, unable to hear a sharp call through the roaring in my ears.

I didn't stop until I reached my bathroom and retched onto the porcelain sink. Tears came after, until I couldn't tell the difference.

It was over. Everything was over.

I had held on for so long, all for nothing.

In the silence, I barely had time to wipe the tears or bile when a sharp violent pain hit my abdomen. I groaned, collapsing onto the cold tile floors before I realised what was going on.

The pain was blinding, leaving me unable to move when foots‌teps arose. From my blurred vision, the bedroom door I hadn't managed to close properly let in the noise echoing through the hallway. No, not noise. Someone was speaking. Amidst the blinding pain, I barely recognized Beatrice's voice.

“This is not a dis​cussion,” she sn‍a‍ppe⁠d. ”Cassandra‍ is‍ carry⁠ing⁠ your child. A real heir. That girl ha‌s‍ given you noth‍ing. Y‍ou’ve wa⁠sted enoug‍h time.”

“I can't…still my wife…I” another voice said. Damien?

“Then end it.” Beatrice's voice rang, “Let… go, you should… she won't…”

I couldn't hear anymore. Another extrem‌e‌ s​harp pain erupted from m​y abdo‍men, a‍nd a wa‍rm feelin​g spread⁠ between my legs.

​“No…”

I look‍ed down and my heart dropped as soon as I saw it.

Blood.