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.

I took a slow sip of the coffee. The warm oat milk coated my throat. Caleb sat next to me. He didn't crowd me, but his presence was a heavy, grounding anchor in the sterile, freezing hallway. I could smell the faint scent of cedar from his jacket.

A sudden, sharp tapping sound broke the quiet.

I turned my head. Through the wide glass window of the private hospital room, Enzo was awake.

He was sitting up in the bed. His face was the color of dirty chalk. The heart monitor beeped rapidly next to him. But he wasn't looking at the machines. His dark, bloodshot eyes were locked entirely on me.

Or rather, on Caleb’s expensive suit jacket draped over my shoulders.

Enzo’s face twisted. His jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek. He ripped the thin white blanket off his legs. A nurse rushed forward, but he shoved her hand away. He grabbed his metal IV pole and dragged it toward the sliding glass door.

He yanked the door open. He leaned heavily against the metal frame, breathing hard. He looked pathetic and small.

“What is he doing here?” Enzo hissed. His voice was weak, but the possessive anger in it was loud.

I didn't move. I just held my coffee cup.

Caleb didn't jump up either. He slowly turned his head. His striking gray eyes swept over Enzo’s frail, shaking form. “Visiting,” Caleb said simply. His voice was smooth and completely unbothered.

“Get away from my wife, Bryant,” Enzo spat. His knuckles turned stark white as he gripped the doorframe. He looked ready to murder someone, but he could barely stand upright.

Caleb let out a low, dark chuckle. He finally stood up. He was a full head taller than Enzo, and twice as broad. He smoothed his tie with absolute calm.

“Your wife?” Caleb mused. “That’s funny. I heard you were busy clearing out your closet for someone else.”

Enzo flushed a dark, angry red. “This is none of your business. Leave.”

“I don't take orders from men who can't even manage their own assets,” Caleb replied smoothly. He stepped closer to the door, his presence towering and predatory. “Tell me, Shaw. Are your quarterly stocks bleeding as fast as your stomach lining? You really should make better diet choices. Spicy food is bad for weak men.”

Enzo gasped. His eyes widened in absolute shock. He opened his mouth to shout, but a violent cough racked his chest instead. He doubled over, clutching his abdomen in agony. He was completely helpless. The great billionaire, reduced to a trembling mess.

Before I could even smile at the sight, the sharp clack of expensive heels echoed down the corridor.

I looked past Caleb. My mother, Eleanor, and my father, Richard, were marching toward us. They wore matching designer coats. They looked completely out of place in the bleak emergency ward.

They didn't even glance at me. They walked right past my chair and rushed straight to Isabella. She was still sitting in the corner, dabbing her dry eyes with a tissue.

“Oh, my poor baby!” Eleanor cried. She threw her arms around Isabella, crushing her in a hug. “Are you okay? Did you get any sleep?”

Isabella sniffled loudly. She leaned into our mother's shoulder. “It was awful, Mom. There was so much blood. I was so scared. I didn't know what to do.”

My mother stroked her blonde hair. “It's over now, sweetie. Mommy is here.” Then, she slowly turned her head. Her eyes locked on me. The maternal warmth vanished instantly. Her face turned to stone.

She marched over to me. Richard followed closely behind her, his face a mask of cold annoyance.

“Blaire,” my mother snapped. Her voice was sharp enough to cut glass. “What is the meaning of this?”

I stayed seated. I pulled Caleb's warm jacket a little tighter around my shoulders. “Meaning of what, Mother?”

“Look at your sister!” she hissed, pointing a manicured finger at Isabella. “She just got back from Paris. She is a nervous wreck! You are stressing her out. And look at Enzo!”

She gestured to Enzo, who was still leaning against the glass door, glaring weakly at Caleb.

“You are causing a scene,” my father added coldly. He adjusted his silk tie. He looked at me with dead, empty eyes. “You need to stop this nonsense right now.”

“Nonsense?” I asked softly.

“Yes,” Richard said firmly. “Sign the divorce papers. Pack your bags and leave the penthouse quietly. Don't ruin Isabella's homecoming. Our family cannot afford this kind of embarrassment. Enzo is a billionaire. We need him happy.”

I stared at them. These were the people who raised me. I was pregnant with their grandchild. My husband was throwing me out on the street. And all they cared about was Isabella’s comfort and Enzo’s money.

The last tiny piece of hope I had for my family shattered into dust. The ice in my chest froze over completely, sealing away any lingering weakness.

I didn't cry. I didn't beg. I just looked at them and smiled.