I stared at the yellow folder in his hand. My fingers gripped the edge of my leather purse. The plastic test felt heavy inside.

"I can't," I whispered. My voice shook. "Enzo, I can't sign this."

He crossed his arms. The fabric of his suit pulled tight over his chest. "Don't make this difficult, Blaire. I gave you plenty of money."

"It's not about the money!" I cried. I stepped closer to him. "I'm pregnant, Enzo. I took a test today. We are going to have a baby."

The room went completely silent. The rain beat against the tall glass windows. It sounded like tiny, angry drums.

Isabella gasped from the sofa. She pressed a pale hand to her chest. "Enzo? Is that true?"

Enzo didn't look at her. He kept his dark eyes locked on me. A cruel sneer twisted his handsome face. He let out a harsh, mocking laugh.

"Nice try, Blaire," he said coldly.

I blinked. The room spun. "What?"

"Did you really think that would work?" he demanded. He stepped into my space. He smelled like mint and anger. "Did you think a fake baby would keep me tied to you?"

"It's not fake," I pleaded. I reached into my purse. "I have the test right here. I can show you."

He grabbed my wrist. His grip was like iron. "Stop lying."

"I'm not!"

"You are," he hissed. "Because it's medically impossible."

My breath hitched. "What do you mean?"

Enzo let go of my arm. He looked at me with pure disgust. "Two years ago, I had a secret vasectomy. I made sure of it. I swore I would never have children with anyone but Isabella."

He glanced back at my sister. Her fake panic melted into a smug smile. She looked like a cat that got the cream.

Enzo turned back to me. "So, unless you've been sleeping around, there is no baby. And if there is, it certainly isn't mine."

The words hit my brain like lightning.

*Vasectomy.*

It was a lie. I knew his medical records inside and out. I managed his doctor appointments. I tracked every pill, every check-up, every ulcer flare-up. There was no surgery. He was lying just to protect Isabella's feelings. He was throwing away his own flesh and blood just to keep her comfortable.

Then, something snapped inside my head.

A sharp, blinding pain shot through my skull. The world tilted. The colors in the room inverted for a split second. A rush of strange, alien memories flooded my mind.

I saw pages of a book. I saw words printed in black ink.

*The billionaire's true love returns.*

*The pathetic sister begs for scraps.*

*The doomed side character loses everything.*

I gasped for air. I stumbled back and hit the edge of the glass coffee table.

It all made sense now. The blind favoritism. The extreme cruelty. The way my parents always chose her. The way Enzo treated me like garbage despite my devotion.

I wasn't a real person to them. I was just a plot device. I was the pathetic, clingy substitute wife in a trashy romance novel. My only purpose was to suffer so Isabella could look better. I was supposed to cry, sign the papers, and fade away into misery.

The ringing in my ears stopped. The heavy, crushing weight in my chest vanished. The pathetic love I held for Enzo for seven years evaporated into thin air.

I stood up straight. I looked at Enzo. He was waiting for my tears. He was waiting for me to break down and beg.

Isabella watched from the sofa. Her eyes gleamed with anticipation. She wanted a show.

But the tears didn't come. My eyes felt completely dry. My heart turned to a block of solid ice.

I looked down at the divorce papers in his hand. Then I looked up at his arrogant face.

A slow smirk spread across my lips.

Enzo frowned. His dark brows pulled together. He wasn't expecting me to smile. "What is wrong with you?" he snapped. "Sign the papers and get out."

He shoved the folder toward my chest. He held out an expensive silver pen.

I reached out. I took the pen from his fingers. I rolled the cool metal between my thumb and index finger. It felt heavy and expensive.

"You know, Enzo," I said gently. My voice was completely steady. No shaking. No pleading. "You really are a terrible liar."

Isabella stood up. Her silk dress rustled. "Blaire, just do as he says. Don't embarrass yourself."

I ignored her. I kept my eyes on my husband. My *soon-to-be ex*-husband.

"A vasectomy," I mused. I clicked the pen once. *Click.* "That's very creative. But we both know you hate hospitals. You won't even get a flu shot without me holding your hand."

Enzo's jaw tightened. A vein popped in his neck. His knuckles turned white. "I said, sign it."

"No."

I let go of the yellow folder. It hit the floor with a loud smack. The papers scattered across the pristine marble.

Enzo stared at the mess. He looked completely shocked. "What did you just do?"

I slipped his expensive silver pen into my designer purse. I snapped the clasp shut. "I'm not signing anything right now. I don't feel like it."

"Blaire!" Enzo roared. The anger finally broke through his cold mask. He stepped forward.

I didn't flinch. I just smiled wider. I turned on my heel. I walked toward the hallway.

"Where are you going?" he demanded. His heavy footsteps followed me.

"To my room," I called over my shoulder. "I need my beauty sleep. We have a lot of things to discuss before I give you what you want."

I didn't look back. I didn't care about his anger. I didn't care about Isabella's fake shock.

The pathetic side character was dead. And I was going to make them pay for every single second.

I reached the heavy oak door of the master bedroom. My hand closed over the cool brass knob. Enzo’s heavy footsteps stopped right behind me.

“What do you think you're doing?” he demanded. His breath hit the back of my neck.

I turned around. I leaned against the doorframe and smiled. “Going to bed.”

“I told you,” he hissed. “Isabella is taking the master. She needs the space. You are moving to the guest room.”

“No,” I said simply.

His dark eyes widened. He wasn't used to hearing that word from me. “Excuse me?”

“I am still your wife, Enzo. Until my lawyers review those papers and the ink dries, this is my house. And this is my room.”

Isabella hovered at the end of the hall. She clutched a silk handkerchief to her chest. “Enzo,” she whimpered. “It's fine. I don't want to cause trouble. I can sleep in the tiny guest room.”

She waited for him to defend her. She wanted him to yell at me and drag me out by my wrist.

I didn't give him the chance. “Perfect,” I said brightly. “Glad we agree. Goodnight, sister.”

I stepped inside and slammed the door right in his handsome face. I turned the deadbolt with a loud, satisfying click. For three years, I used to sit on the edge of this massive bed, leaving the bedside lamp on, waiting for him to come home. Not tonight. Tonight, I climbed under the silk sheets and slept like a baby.

The next morning, bright sunlight poured into the penthouse kitchen. I walked in wearing my favorite silk robe. I felt incredibly rested.

Enzo and Isabella were already sitting at the marble island. Isabella was sipping black coffee. Her eyes were slightly puffy, playing the victim perfectly. Enzo was rubbing his temples. He looked like he hadn't slept at all.

I ignored them and walked straight to the pantry. I pulled out a large, plastic bottle of prenatal vitamins.

Rattle, rattle.

The sound echoed loudly in the quiet kitchen. Enzo looked up. His jaw tightened instantly.

I popped the cap off. I poured a giant pink pill into my palm. I filled a glass with fresh orange juice and swallowed the pill with a dramatic gulp.

“Ah,” I sighed loudly. I patted my flat stomach. “Nothing like morning vitamins for the baby.”

Isabella’s hand shook. Her dark coffee sloshed over the rim of her mug and spilled onto the white marble.

“Blaire,” Enzo warned. His voice was dangerously low. “Stop it.”

I walked over to him. I placed my hands gently on his broad shoulders. He stiffened beneath my touch.

“I just can't help it, honey,” I cooed. I made sure my voice was loud enough to ring in Isabella's ears. “I was reading about it last night. A failed vasectomy is so rare! It's less than a one percent chance. We are just so incredibly lucky.”

I leaned down, placing my lips right next to his ear. “It's our little miracle baby.”

Isabella choked out a loud sob. She slammed her mug down on the counter. The ceramic cracked.

“I can't do this!” she cried. She covered her face with her hands and ran out of the kitchen. Her bare feet slapped frantically against the hardwood floor.

Enzo jumped up. His chair scraped violently against the floorboards. “Look what you did,” he snarled.

I took a slow sip of my orange juice. “Just thanking my husband for his strong swimmers.”

Enzo glared at me. His hands balled into tight fists at his sides. “You are completely out of your mind.” He pressed a hand to his stomach. He winced slightly, his face going pale. “Make my breakfast. And start prepping the lasagna for dinner. Isabella loves your lasagna.”

I stared at him. He really thought nothing had changed. He thought he could still give me orders. He thought I would cook my signature dish for the woman who stole my life.

I walked over to the massive stainless-steel refrigerator. I pulled the heavy door open.

Inside, neatly stacked on the middle shelf, were five glass containers. They were filled with Enzo's custom organic meal prep. Peeled tomatoes, steamed chicken, zero spices. I spent hours making them every single Sunday so his chronic stomach ulcers wouldn't bleed.

I grabbed the first container. I walked over to the trash can and stepped on the metal pedal. The lid popped open.

I dropped the glass container inside. Crash.

Enzo froze. “What are you doing?”

I grabbed the next two containers. Crash. Crash. Glass shattered against the bottom of the bin. Steamed chicken and organic rice spilled over the black plastic bags.

“Blaire!” Enzo yelled. He rushed forward and grabbed my arm. “Have you lost your mind? That's my food!”

I yanked my arm out of his grip. I brushed my sleeve like he had left dirt on it.

“I'm pregnant, Enzo,” I said coldly. “The smell of your bland, boring food makes me violently nauseous. I can't be around it.”

“My stomach can't handle anything else!” he shouted. A fresh wave of pain crossed his face. He pressed his hand harder against his abdomen, bending forward slightly.

“Then order takeout,” I suggested. I picked up the last two containers and tossed them into the trash. Crash. “Or better yet, ask Isabella to cook for you. She's the woman of your dreams, right? I'm sure she makes a lovely lasagna.”

I didn't wait for his reply. I turned around and walked right out of the kitchen.

My heart didn't hurt. My hands didn't shake. The heavy chains of my three-year marriage were finally breaking. And it felt absolutely amazing.

The smell of roasted jalapeños and heavy chili powder filled the dining room.

Isabella sat at the head of the long glass table. She pushed a stray blonde curl behind her ear and sighed. "I'm just so stressed, Enzo. My stomach is in knots. I really needed something flavorful."

She opened a plastic takeout container. Steam rose from the spicy beef fajitas. She pushed a plate of extra-hot enchiladas toward him. "Eat with me? Please? I hate eating alone."

Enzo looked at the red sauce pooling on the plate. He swallowed hard. Without my bland, organic meal prep, he had nothing else to eat. And he couldn't say no to his precious first love.

"Of course," he said smoothly. He picked up his fork.

I sat at the opposite end of the table. I slowly chewed on a crisp green apple. The loud crunch echoed in the quiet room. Enzo shot me a dirty look. I just smiled and took another bite.

He cut a piece of the enchilada and put it in his mouth. I watched his throat work as he swallowed. Almost instantly, a bead of sweat popped out on his temple. His knuckles turned stark white around his silver fork.

"Is it good?" Isabella asked breathily.

"Delicious," Enzo lied. His voice sounded strained. He took another bite.

I leaned back in my chair. For three years, I had carefully peeled his tomatoes. I tracked his flare-ups on a calendar. I spent hours making sure his stomach lining wouldn't bleed. Seeing him willingly destroy himself for a woman who didn't even know his medical history was hilarious.

"Enjoy," I said lightly. I tossed my apple core into the trash and walked out of the room.

It took exactly three hours for the spice to tear through his stomach.

I was in my bedroom reading a book when I heard the loud crash. It sounded like glass shattering. Then came a high, piercing scream.

I marked my page and walked out to the hallway.

Enzo was on the living room floor. He was curled into a tight ball. His hands clawed at his stomach. His face was the color of dirty snow. He let out a low, agonizing groan.

Isabella stood a few feet away. She was completely useless. She pressed her hands to her cheeks and shrieked. "Enzo! Oh my god! What's happening? Somebody help!"

She didn't touch him. She didn't kneel beside him. She just stood there, horrified by the messy reality of a sick man.

I pulled my phone from my pocket. I calmly dialed 911.

"My husband is having a severe ulcer flare-up," I told the operator. My voice was completely steady. "He might be bleeding internally. We need an ambulance."

I gave them the address and hung up.

Enzo cracked an eye open. He looked at me. His dark eyes were filled with pain and panic. He reached a shaking hand toward me. "Blaire..." he gasped.

I stepped back. I kept my hands firmly in my robe pockets. "The ambulance is on the way."

Ten minutes later, paramedics flooded the penthouse. They loaded Enzo onto a stretcher. He was barely conscious.

"Who is riding with him?" a paramedic asked. He looked between me and Isabella.

Isabella looked at the blood on Enzo's shirt. She took a step back. "I... I can't look at blood. I'll faint."

I looked at the paramedic. "She will ride with him. She's his favorite."

Isabella gasped. "Blaire! You're his wife!"

"And you're his true love," I replied coldly. "Have fun."

I turned away and went back to my room to change. I took my time picking out a warm sweater.

When I finally drove myself to the hospital, the rain was coming down in sheets. The emergency room waiting area was freezing. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. It smelled like bleach and stale rain.

Isabella was pacing near the double doors. She was crying on the phone to our mother. I ignored her and sat in a hard plastic chair in the corner. I rubbed my arms, shivering slightly in the damp chill.

"You look cold."

The voice was low, deep, and incredibly smooth.

I looked up. A man was standing in front of me. He was tall. Broad shoulders. He wore a perfectly tailored black suit. His dark hair was slightly damp from the rain. His eyes were a striking, piercing gray.

Caleb Bryant.

Enzo's fiercest corporate rival. The billionaire who had been trying to crush Enzo's company for years.

Before I could say a word, Caleb took off his suit jacket. He stepped closer and draped it over my shoulders. The heavy fabric was warm. It smelled like expensive cedar and fresh rain.

I blinked in surprise. "Mr. Bryant? What are you doing here?"

He didn't answer right away. He sat in the empty chair next to me. He held out a large paper cup. Steam rose from the lid.

"Warm decaf coffee," Caleb said softly. "With a splash of oat milk."

I stared at the cup. How did he know my exact order? We had only met briefly at a few stuffy charity galas. Enzo always made sure to steer me far away from him.

I took the cup. The warmth seeped into my freezing fingers. "Thank you."

Caleb watched me. His gray eyes were intense, but his gaze was incredibly gentle. It wasn't the cold, empty look Enzo always gave me. It felt like he was actually seeing me.

"You shouldn't be sitting alone in a freezing hospital," Caleb said. His voice held a strange, protective edge. "Especially not for a man who doesn't deserve you."

My breath hitched. I gripped the warm cup tighter.

Isabella suddenly noticed us. She dropped her phone. Her eyes went wide as she stared at Caleb sitting so close to me.

I looked back at Caleb. He didn't even glance at my sister. His entire focus was locked on me. And for the first time in three years, the ice in my chest started to melt.