Adrian came home past nine that evening.

The sound of the front door echoed from the foyer. I sat on the living room couch, lights off, not moving.

He paused visibly when he walked in, then quickly softened his voice, calling out to me with his usual warmth: "Emily, why are you sitting in the dark?"

A second later, the lights blazed on.

I squinted against the sudden brightness and saw Adrian standing in the doorway — suit jacket draped over his arm, shirt collar loosened, still looking every bit the picture of effortless elegance.

It was that face that had made me lose my composure at an auction gala all those years ago. That face that made me marry him even after I knew he wasn't human.

But now, all I felt was disgust.

Because when he moved closer, beneath his usual scent of cold cedar, there was a faint trace of rose.

I never went near fresh flowers because of my allergies.

He seemed completely oblivious. He walked over, crouched in front of me, and placed his palm naturally on my belly, a warmth flickering in his eyes. "How's the baby doing today? You look awful — have you been skipping meals again?"

It hit me then: Adrian had always been like this. Sweet words, caring gestures — but he had never truly paid attention.

Even now, knowing full well about my allergies, he hadn't bothered to wash the pollen off himself. Eight months into my pregnancy, and every dinner in this house was still prepared to his taste — cold, rare steak, every single night. Food I couldn't stand.

Before, I would have wrapped my arms around him and told him the baby had been kicking hard, that my back ached so badly I couldn't sit, that I had no appetite.

But now, the performance made me sick.

I looked at him steadily. "Where were you today?"

Not a flicker crossed Adrian's face. His answer came without hesitation: "At the office. Meetings all afternoon, then dinner with the board. What's wrong?"

A lie.

He'd been with Clara.

Maybe he'd held her, kissed her — right before coming home to me.

My heart was numb with cold, but I let a slow smile form on my face. "Nothing. I just suddenly felt like having pizza from that place on the west side. You said once that if I ever wanted something, you'd go get it for me even in the middle of the night."

He had said that. But I'd never actually been selfish enough to make him go.

A flash of irritation crossed his eyes — so quick it could have been my imagination. But I caught it.

The next second, Adrian took my hand, his voice still soft: "It's too late now. That place always has a crazy line. I'll get it for you tomorrow, okay?"

No, it wasn't okay.

Ten minutes ago, Clara had posted a video of Adrian personally waiting in line to buy her pizza from that exact shop. In the video, she was nestled in his arms, nuzzling against him. That restaurant was far from Blackwood Corp headquarters, yet he'd gone without complaint.

When it came to me, Adrian couldn't be bothered.

I gently pulled my hand away and lowered my eyes, pretending not to notice his dismissiveness. "Forget it. It's not like I have to have it."

And you're not someone I have to love, either.

Adrian probably assumed it was just pregnancy mood swings. He leaned down and kissed my forehead. "Be good. I'm going to shower. I'll come keep you company after."

He stood and headed upstairs, but his phone screen lit up just then.

Face up, right on the edge of the coffee table.

One glance was all it took.

Clara.

The message was a single line: "My stomach's bothering me. The baby keeps kicking."

My nails dug hard into my palms to keep from laughing out loud.

So she'd planned the pregnancy, too. No wonder she'd been brazen enough to send me those photos and videos. This wasn't provocation — it was a power play. She probably figured that once she was carrying Adrian's child, his blind devotion would guarantee her the title of Mrs. Blackwood.

Too bad she'd miscalculated one thing.

I wasn't the kind of woman who'd cry and beg her husband to come back.

And I sure as hell wasn't about to hand over the Blackwood fortune to a mistress.

The shower started running upstairs.

I slowly pushed myself up from the couch, steadying my heavy body against the armrest, then walked over and picked up Adrian's phone.

I opened his messaging app and found Clara's chat at the top. Her profile picture was that smug selfie. Adrian's nickname for her was a single word: "Mine."

I stood there, bile rising in my throat.

The chat history was worse than I'd imagined.

"Miss you."

"Be good. I can't come today — she's home."

"Don't worry. I'm here. Even if you're really pregnant with my child, I'll handle everything. Emily's not going to try anything."

Every message was a blade, carving open the happiness I'd foolishly believed was real.

I took a deep breath, turned on screen recording, and scrolled through page after page. Bank transfers, hotel reservations, property transfers — I saved everything. Then I opened his email and shopping apps, screenshotting every receipt connected to Clara and forwarding it all to my own phone.

By the time I finished, cold sweat had soaked through my back. The baby kicked again — hard — as if sensing something was wrong. My heart seized. I gripped the edge of the table and carefully lowered myself back down, one hand gently soothing my belly.

"It's okay, baby."

"Just a little longer."

"Mommy's going to get us out of here soon."

The water upstairs stopped.

I quickly erased every trace, put the phone back exactly where it had been, and used the armrest to pull myself up and return to the couch. A few minutes later, Adrian came downstairs in loungewear, hair still damp, looking cool and gentle.

He sat beside me and casually pulled me into his arms. "Why aren't you in bed yet?"

I leaned against his chest, listening to the steady heartbeat his body willed into being — a body that should have had no warmth at all — and suddenly remembered a night many years ago, when he first told me what he was.

We'd just started dating. He stood in the moonlight, his face so pale it was almost translucent, and quietly admitted he wasn't human. Adrian said that because of me, for the first time, he'd considered giving up eternity.

I hadn't run.

I'd held him.

I said, "Adrian, it's not the vampire part that scares me. It's losing you."

Looking back now, the truly terrifying thing was never what he was.

It was that his love could change in a heartbeat.

I closed my eyes slowly, forcing every emotion down, my voice so docile it surprised even me. "Adrian."

"Hmm?"

"After the baby's born, will things always be like this?"

He looked down at me, his dark eyes holding mine, his voice warm and certain: "Of course."

"Emily, I'll be with you and the baby forever."

Forever.

What a beautiful word.

Too bad I didn't believe a single syllable of it anymore.

Sitting across from my lawyer the next morning, I thought I wasn't ready for this.

Twelve years of love wasn't something you let go of easily, and I was about to rip open the wound all over again just to organize the evidence and discuss divorce terms.

But I turned out to be colder than I'd expected. Looking at the photos of Adrian with that woman, listening to their sickening sweetness on camera, I felt nothing. It seemed I'd already used up every last tear the night before.

Adrian's affair with Clara had started two years ago — maybe longer. Back then, I'd been so wrecked by morning sickness and physical exhaustion that I was practically skeletal, with no energy left to be close to Adrian.

But I'd stopped agonizing over why he'd cheated, or why he'd chosen to betray me at my most vulnerable and lie about it for so long.

Now, the only thing I cared about was whether he'd been draining our joint assets behind my back.

And whether he'd already been planning to divorce me.

I sat with my lawyer going through the emails on my laptop, and felt an oddly ill-timed sense of gratitude. If Clara hadn't jumped the gun with her power play, I might still have been in the dark — blindsided and discarded like trash without any warning.

But now, with the evidence in my hands, I wasn't about to waste this God-given opportunity.

I would not be soft.

I would take him for everything he had.