Calista POV

The night passed in a blur of restless half-sleep, haunted by my mother' s fading whispers and Collin' s cruel laughter. When morning finally arrived, it offered no solace. My eyes felt gritty, my head heavy. I dragged myself out of bed, the hotel room feeling colder than ever.

Collin was already up, sitting by the window, engrossed in his phone. He scrolled through something, a faint smile playing on his lips. His morning routine hadn't changed, even with a mistress in the next room and a wife he despised in the same one.

"What are you looking at so intently?" I asked, my voice raspy. I didn't care, not really. Just going through the motions.

He barely glanced up. "Just some online shopping. Jaime mentioned she needed a new bag."

My gaze fell to his screen. A limited-edition leather tote, something I had admired online, even added to my own wish list a few months ago. He used my account, sometimes, when he was too lazy to log into his own. A faint, almost forgotten intimacy.

A pang, fleeting and unwelcome, shot through me. I pushed it down. That Calista, the one who cared about frivolous bags and Collin's fleeting affection, was long gone.

"Looks nice," I said, my voice flat.

He finally looked at me, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. "You think so? Jaime's a bit picky, but I think she'll like it. It's trendy, new. Not like some of the… classic pieces you prefer." His tone was dismissive, a subtle jab at my taste, at me.

His phone wallpaper flashed. A photo of Jaime, pouting playfully, her hair dyed a shocking bubblegum pink. I remembered when he used to complain about my taste in art, calling it "too avant-garde." But he'd meticulously searched for a painting of a pink sunset for Jaime, something gaudy and saccharine, just because she'd once mentioned she liked the color. He' d even spent days crafting a ridiculous, glitter-covered card for her last birthday. He' d scoffed at the quiet, hand-stitched scarf I' d made him for his own, years ago.

"It suits her," I said, my voice empty.

He nodded, satisfied. He stood, walked over to me, and gave me a perfunctory peck on the cheek. His lips felt cold.

Just then, his phone buzzed. A bright, cheerful ringtone. Jaime's ringtone. He immediately picked up, his face softening, a genuine warmth radiating from him that I hadn't seen directed at me in years.

"Morning, angel," he murmured, his voice low and intimate. He moved away, stepping onto the small hotel balcony, his back to me. His words were hushed, meant only for her.

I walked into the kitchenette, setting about making coffee. He liked his black, strong. I preferred tea, my stomach unable to handle the bitterness. An old allergy, one he used to fuss over, making sure I always had my preferred chamomile blend.

He came back inside, frowning. "No coffee? What am I supposed to drink?"

"I don't drink coffee, Collin," I reminded him, my voice devoid of patience. "You know that. It makes my stomach ache."

He looked at me as if I'd just spoken in a foreign language. "Oh. Right." A moment of silence, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. Then he shrugged. "I guess I'll just get one downstairs."

I remembered a time when he would meticulously brew pour-over coffee for me, explaining its delicate notes, making sure it cooled to the perfect temperature. He'd even researched my allergies, making a list of foods to avoid, a concerned frown always on his face. Now, I was just a vague inconvenience. It was strange, how easily he'd forgotten, and how easily I'd adapted to being forgotten.

He was about to leave when he hesitated, turning back to me. "I'm sorry, Calista. I... sometimes I forget." He sounded almost sincere. A rare, unsettling moment.

But before I could process it, his phone buzzed again. Jaime. He glanced at the screen, then back at me, that flicker of annoyance returning to his eyes. The moment was gone.

"I have to go," he said, the apology already forgotten. "Jaime needs me." With that, he was out the door. The clack of his expensive shoes echoed down the hallway.

I finished my tea alone, staring out at the grey city. The loneliness was no longer a sharp pain, just a dull ache, a constant companion.

A text message vibrated my phone. Collin. "Out with Jaime. Don't wait up."

I stared at the screen. He hadn't sent a "don't wait up" text in years. Not since the first few months of our marriage, before his late nights became the norm, before my pleas turned into silence. The last time he'd actively "reported" his whereabouts, I think, was three years ago, before his company really took off. A lifetime ago.

I didn't reply. There was nothing to say.

Later that afternoon, I left the hotel room, the key card heavy in my hand. I retrieved my mother's ashes from the funeral home. They were in a small, elegant urn, cool and smooth beneath my fingers. A wave of profound grief washed over me, a physical weight pressing down on my chest. I had planned to take her to London with me, to scatter her ashes in a field of wildflowers, just like she always wanted. A quiet, peaceful farewell.

As I stepped out of the funeral home, the city erupted in light. Fireworks. A burst of color against the twilight sky. A celebration. For what?

My phone buzzed. Social media. A photo from Jaime. She was smiling, radiant, standing next to Collin. He was holding a remote control, looking up at the sky. Above them, drones painted a giant, glittering heart in the air. Inside the heart, Jaime's face, meticulously recreated by tiny lights.

The caption read: "Early anniversary surprise! Collin is the best husband ever! So lucky to have him. #FirstAnniversary #LoveOfMyLife."

My vision blurred. First anniversary. It was our anniversary, our wedding anniversary. Not theirs. Not yet.

Another post. Collin, reposting Jaime's picture, adding his own caption: "To my one and only." He had pinned it to the top of his profile, right above a dusty, forgotten photo of our own wedding.

The comments flooded in. "So romantic!" "Jaime, you deserve this!" "Calista could never." "Poor Calista, looks like she's been replaced."

My stomach lurched. I gagged, leaning against a cold brick wall, bile rising in my throat. I remembered washing his clothes, scrubbing out wine stains from his expensive shirts, soaking his dirty socks when he was too tired. He had a meticulous obsession with cleanliness, a phobia of dirt. Yet, in Jaime's photo, he was laughing, his hands covered in paint, helping her create some childish art project. He never lifted a finger for me. He always said I was "too delicate" for such chores, but his eyes always held a hint of disgust.

A dull, throbbing pain started in my lower belly. It wasn't the kind of pain I normally felt. It was deeper, more insistent.

I closed my eyes, trying to block out the intrusive images, the cruel words. The world spun. When I opened them again, I saw a familiar face rushing towards me. My housemaid. Maria. Her eyes wide with panic.

"Madam Calista!" she cried, rushing forward.

Before she could reach me, a searing pain erupted on my cheek. A sharp, stinging blow. The world tilted.

Calista POV

The force of the slap sent me stumbling. I hit the polished marble floor of the hotel lobby, the cold shock momentarily clearing my head. My cheek burned, a fiery imprint of a hand.

"You bitch!" Collin's face was contorted with rage, his phone shoved inches from my eyes. On the screen, a blurry video played-too dark to make out details, but the sounds were unmistakable. A couple, intimately entwined. Jaime' s unmistakable giggle, Collin' s low growl. My humiliation, broadcast for the world to see.

"How dare you leak this?!" he roared, his foot connecting with my side. A searing pain shot through me. I gasped, struggling to catch my breath.

"I didn't..." I rasped, pushing myself up on my elbows, my cheek throbbing, the taste of blood in my mouth. "I wouldn't."

Before I could finish, another sharp crack echoed in the lobby. Jaime. She stood over me, her face a mask of fury, her hand still raised from striking me. My head snapped back, hitting the floor with a dull thud. My lip split, a thin line of crimson tracing down my chin.

"You jealous hag!" Jaime shrieked, her foot lashing out. It connected with my stomach, a brutal, sickening impact. A gasp escaped my lips, but it was cut short by another kick, and another. "You tried to ruin me! You tried to expose us!"

A sharp, stabbing pain erupted deep within my abdomen. It was different from the superficial pain of the kicks, a deep, twisting agony that made me double over. I could feel something warm and wet spreading beneath me.

"Madam Calista is bleeding!" Maria, our maid, screamed from somewhere nearby, her voice laced with terror.

Collin, who had watched Jaime's assault with a detached, almost pleased expression, flinched. His eyes widened slightly. He took a hesitant step towards me, a flicker of something that looked like guilt, or perhaps just panic, crossing his face.

"It's just her period, Collin!" Jaime shrieked, clinging to his arm, her voice deliberately loud. "She's always so dramatic about it! She probably just got her period, and now she's trying to make you feel bad. Remember what you promised me? That you'd always protect me?"

Collin stopped, his gaze falling from my blood-soaked dress to Jaime's tear-streaked face. He looked at me again, then away. The flicker of guilt vanished, replaced by a cold indifference. He was a puppet, and Jaime held the strings.

"I'll... I'll take care of the online rumors," he muttered, his voice strained. "But you shouldn't have done that, Jaime."

"I have nothing left, Collin!" Jaime wailed, suddenly pulling a small, silver penknife from her pocket. She held it to her wrist, her hand trembling theatrically. "She ruined everything! My reputation! My future! My honor! I gave you everything, Collin! My youth, my innocence! And now, because of her, I'm nothing!" She sobbed, her voice rising to a hysterical pitch. "I can't live like this! If I die, I hope I find you in the next life, Collin! Then we can finally be together!"

My eyes, already swimming with pain, watched as Collin's face softened. Fool. She was playing him like a fiddle.

A sudden, sharp scream tore from Jaime's throat. Not a wail of despair, but a shriek of pain. A thin line of blood appeared on her wrist. She hadn't cut herself deeply, but it was enough to make Collin's eyes go wide with horror.

"Jaime!" he cried, rushing forward, cradling her in his arms. He glared at me, his eyes blazing with a renewed fury. "Look what you've done to her!"

He stumbled over my prostrate form in the dim light of the lobby, not even noticing he'd kicked me again. He didn't look back. Just scooped Jaime into his arms and started barking orders at his security detail.

"Find whoever leaked that video! Erase every last trace of it!" he thundered, his voice echoing through the silent lobby. "And as for her..." His eyes, cold and venomous, landed on me. "She'll pay for this. She'll pay for everything."

He stormed out, Jaime sobbing dramatically in his arms, leaving me bleeding and broken on the cold marble floor.

"Maria," I choked, reaching out a trembling hand. The pain was unbearable now, a fire consuming me from the inside out. "Help me, please."

Maria, rooted to the spot, shook her head, her face pale with fear. "I... I can't, Madam Calista. Mr. Fields said... he said I'm not to touch you."

I tried to call Collin. My phone, still clutched in my hand, showed his number. Ring. Ring. Busy. I tried again. Ring. Ring. Voicemail. Again. Again.

Desperate, I tried one last time. It rang once, twice, then clicked. Disconnected. He hung up.

The world began to spin faster, the edges of my vision blurring. The pain in my stomach intensified, a suffocating grip. My head lolled to the side. I could hear Maria's frantic whispers, but her words were like distant echoes. The floor felt cold against my bleeding cheek.

Then, darkness. Just before it consumed me entirely, I felt a strong pair of arms scoop me up. A familiar scent, not Collin's cologne, but something earthy, safe. A whisper in my ear, too faint to understand. Then, nothing.

Collin, speeding away from the hotel, gripped the steering wheel, his jaw tight. He was seething, but not at Jaime. No, he was furious at whoever had dared to expose his carefully constructed facade. His phone buzzed, a quick message from his head of security. "Sir, the online video has been contained, but we've found a trail. It seems to originate from an email address linked to Calista's old work accounts."

A cold dread settled in his gut. Calista. He had to be sure. He called his assistant. "Did you manage to get those funds for Calista's mother's treatment reversed?"

"Yes, Mr. Fields," his assistant replied, her voice crisp. "The hospital confirmed the transfer was successfully recalled."

Collin felt a surge of righteous indignation. So, she was trying to blackmail him. This was her revenge. He would make her regret it.

His phone rang again. It was his secretary, her voice frantic. "Mr. Fields! The stock! Your company shares are plummeting! It's a massive sell-off!"

Collin slammed on the brakes, the sudden stop jarring Jaime, who was still sniffling dramatically in the passenger seat. His world, so meticulously built, was suddenly crumbling.

Calista POV

I woke to the sterile scent of antiseptic, the dull hum of hospital equipment. My eyelids felt heavy, glued shut. When I finally forced them open, the first thing I saw was Collin. He sat by my bedside, his hair disheveled, a haunted look in his eyes. He looked… almost human.

A flicker of something I hadn't seen in a long time-regret, perhaps-crossed his face. He reached out, taking my hand. His touch was cold.

"Calista," he whispered, his voice hoarse, raw. "You're awake."

I tried to pull my hand away, but my body felt heavy, weak.

"The baby," he said, his voice barely audible. "It's… it's gone. The doctors, they couldn't save it."

The words hit me like a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs. Baby? My baby? I hadn't even known. A wave of nausea, cold and consuming, washed over me. No wonder the pain had been so intense. No wonder.

My eyes burned, but no tears came. My body felt numb.

"Jaime… she's pregnant too," Collin continued, his gaze fixed on the hospital linoleum. "We're going to raise our child together. I thought… maybe you could understand."

A sudden surge of strength, fueled by a primal fury, coursed through me. I yanked my hand away from his, the movement sharp and violent. "What did you say?" My voice was a broken whisper, laced with disbelief.

He flinched, refusing to meet my gaze. "I said… Jaime is pregnant. We're going to have a baby." He still wouldn't look at me.

Then, the second blow. "The doctors also said… your uterus. It's… severely damaged. You can't have children anymore, Calista. Not ever."

The world went silent. My own breathing sounded impossibly loud in my ears. No more children. The words ricocheted around my skull, a brutal, undeniable truth. My body started to tremble uncontrollably, a tremor that originated deep within my bones and shook me to my core. Tears, hot and uncontrollable, finally streamed down my face, blurring Collin's pathetic, averted form.

He stood there, helpless, watching me shatter.

Just then, his phone rang, a jarring, insistent trill in the silence.

"It's... it's the office," he stammered, pulling it out. "I really should take this."

I cut him off, my voice raw. "Leave."

He hesitated, placing a wilting bouquet of roses on my bedside table. "I'll be back, Calista. As soon as I can. We'll talk."

Then he was gone, his hurried footsteps echoing down the hall.

No sooner had the door closed than it opened again. Jaime. She sashayed in, a triumphant smirk on her face, a plastic container of sushi in her hand.

"Oh, look who's awake," she purred, her eyes glittering with malicious glee. "Collin just bought me these. He said I should eat well for our baby." She took a bite, chewing slowly, deliberately. "He even threw away those awful flowers you had. Said they were trash."

My gaze fell on the bouquet, now dumped unceremoniously in the wastebin.

"You know," she continued, her voice syrupy sweet, "the doctors showed Collin the ultrasound. Our baby looked so perfect. So tiny. Not like... well, not like whatever you were carrying. Collin said it was for the best, you know. A blessing in disguise. Apparently, it was... deformed."

My blood ran cold. The words were a venomous snake, coiling around my heart.

"And guess what else?" she leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, but her eyes held a chilling triumph. "That useless organ of yours? The doctor said it was completely ruined. So ruined, they had to remove it. But good news for me! Collin said they could transplant it. For my baby. So I can carry our child, with your womb."

A guttural cry tore from my throat. My hand shot out, fueled by a rage so fierce, so primal, it shocked even me. The sound of my palm connecting with her cheek was sickeningly loud.