Rain hammered against the windows.

He pounded on the door, shouting through the downpour. "Lyra! Let me explain!"

Lyra sat in the driver's seat, fingers tapping lightly on the steering wheel. Watching the two of them soaked in the rain, she suddenly found it a little funny.

She slowly rolled the window down. Wesley's voice rushed in. "When did you get here?"

"Just now." Her smile was cold.

Wesley's expression shifted. The words tumbled out fast. "She's the one—Mrs. Brook's daughter. Her power went out, so I came to check on her."

Lyra reached for the window switch. She didn't want to hear another word.

"Lyra!" Irene ran over and planted herself in front of the car. Rain soaked her white dress, leaving her looking fragile and pitiful. "This is all my fault. There's really nothing between us. Please don't be mad at Wesley."

Lyra frowned and turned the wheel, ready to drive around her.

Bang.

Irene suddenly threw herself onto the hood, stumbled, and collapsed onto the wet ground.

Lyra slammed the brakes, her heart jerking hard in her chest.

"Irene!" Wesley rushed over and helped her up. Then he turned on Lyra, eyes blazing.

"I'm fine," Irene said weakly, her face drained of color. "Wesley, go comfort Lyra."

"I've been comforting her for years!" Wesley snapped. "To her, I'm just some pathetic doormat. And now you're hurt, and you're still worried about her? Why are you so darn kind?"

Lyra froze in the driver's seat, fingers curling tight.

She had never heard him sound like this.

The edge in his voice, the raw disgust, felt like a mask finally torn away.

"She threw herself at the car," Lyra said after a beat.

"Enough!" Wesley cut her off. "It's bad enough you misunderstood me. Now you're accusing her? Do you even realize she's pregnant?"

Each word drove straight into Lyra's chest.

"Is it yours?" she asked.

Wesley went rigid, like the question finally caught up to him. His lips parted. "Lyra, don't say that."

"Ah!" Irene suddenly cried out and collapsed.

"Irene!" Wesley panicked. He yanked open the passenger door. "I need the car. I have to get her to the hospital!"

Lyra sat in the passenger seat as Wesley took the wheel, his hands shaking as he gripped it.

In the backseat, Irene lay unconscious—though her lashes kept trembling.

"You're this nervous," Lyra said quietly. "Is the child really yours?"

Wesley floored the gas. "This is about someone's life. Can you stop causing drama right now?"

Lyra turned toward the window.

She knew this road too well.

Three months ago, she'd had acute gastroenteritis. Wesley had driven her to the hospital the same way, tearing through the streets.

He'd been so frantic he put his shoes on the wrong feet, repeating over and over, "Lyra, I've got you."

"Wesley, you've really outdone yourself," she said now, leaning weakly against the glass.

Wesley leaned on the horn and cut past another car. "Whatever you want to say, save it for home!"

At the hospital, he barely stopped before jumping out and lifting Irene into his arms.

Lyra stood off to the side, silent, watching his hurried back.

It looked exactly like the day he'd run through the ER carrying her when she had a fever.

"Move!" Wesley shouted as he slammed into her shoulder.

She stumbled and went down hard, palms scraping against the rough pavement.

When she looked up, all she saw was Wesley's back vanishing into the ER with Irene in his arms.

A nurse hurried over. "Ma'am, are you okay?"

Lyra shook her head and pushed herself up against the wall.

Her knee burned, but it was nothing next to the hollow ache tearing through her chest.

From inside the ER, Wesley's voice cracked with panic. "Doctor! How is she? Is the baby okay?"

The nurse handed her a tissue. That was when Lyra realized she was crying.

She took it, but the tears wouldn't stop.

So even when a heart dies, the body still feels pain.

The ER doors swung open. Wesley rushed out, then froze when he saw her.

He opened his mouth, his eyes dropping to the blood on her palm. "Go home. I'll explain everything later."

Lyra nodded without a word. But as she turned, the world spun—and she collapsed.

When Lyra opened her eyes, the harsh white light made her lift a hand to block it.

"Lyra!" Wesley's face filled her vision, eyes bright with excitement. "You're pregnant!"

She went still, fingers settling against her flat stomach.

Her period had been late, but she hadn't let herself think about it.

"Lyra, this is on me." Wesley sat on the edge of the bed and reached for her hand, his voice gentle. "You got it wrong. Irene's baby is from her ex. I just felt bad she was all alone."

Lyra pulled her hand away and let out a quiet, cold laugh. She didn't say a word.

Wesley sighed and stood. "Get some rest. I'll go grab you something to eat."

He left. His footsteps faded down the hallway.

Lyra stared at the closed door, her hand drifting back to her stomach.

Laughter suddenly spilled in from the next room.

That soft, sweet voice—it was Irene's.

Then Wesley spoke, low and warm, the same tone Lyra knew by heart.

She grabbed her phone and called her bodyguard. "Bring me the divorce papers from the study drawer."

Half an hour later, the bodyguard slipped in without a sound and handed her a folder.

Lyra opened it, her finger hovering over the signature line.

She knew Wesley wouldn't sign this easily right now.

The door opened.

She hid the papers just in time.

Wesley walked in, all smiles. "Lyra, I apologized to Irene for you. She forgave you."

Lyra looked up, her gaze cold. "I needed her forgiveness?"

His smile twitched, then smoothed out. "So I made it up to her. I got tickets to a play. We'll go tonight with Irene, okay?"

Lyra watched him for a few seconds, then slowly smiled.

"Sure."

***

At the theater, Irene wore a white dress. Again. She clung sweetly to Wesley's arm.

She kept sneaking looks at Lyra, smugness flashing in her eyes.

Lyra paused at the entrance, her heart stuttering as she took in the empty rows.

"Mr. Cheswick booked a private showing," the manager said eagerly. "He didn't want a crowd causing any inconvenience. And look, it's your favorite spot."

Front row. Center.

Just like seven years ago.

Back then, Wesley had been a nobody at his family's company.

He'd saved three months of pay for two tickets.

And through the entire performance, his eyes had stayed on her.

"Irene should sit with us too," Wesley said.

Irene hovered nearby, twisting the hem of her dress. "I need to use the restroom."

Her eyes were red, like she'd been badly wronged.

Wesley didn't hesitate. He pulled Lyra into her seat. "Remember our first play? You were—"

"I remember," Lyra said. "You said you'd watch with me for the rest of your life."

Wesley's smile flickered, then settled. "Of course. After the baby's born, I'll bring our kid too. The two of us will watch plays with you, our princess. For a lifetime."

The stage lights came up. The actors stepped into their roles.

At first, Wesley held her hand. Less than ten minutes later, his fingers started tapping against the armrest.

"How is Irene still not back?" he muttered for the third time, checking his watch. "I'll go look for her."

Lyra sat alone in the empty theater.

The dialogue drifted past her, meaningless.

She stood and followed.

The hallway outside the restroom was dim.

Lyra stopped at the corner. Soft, uneven breathing drifted from inside.

"That whole show out there?" Wesley said with a quiet laugh. "That was for her to see. This one's just for you."

Irene let out a teary laugh. "Then do the bunny again."

"Alright, alright." His voice softened. "Look—hop, hop."

Lyra curled her fingers into her palms.

Three years ago, when she'd broken down over a work mistake, Wesley had done the same thing to cheer her up.

He'd said that bunny was only hers.

She turned away and walked back to her seat.

Wesley and Irene returned one after the other, carrying the same scent.

"What took so long?" Lyra asked, not looking at him.

"Irene wasn't feeling well. I stayed with her for a bit." Wesley sat down like nothing was off, his right hand quietly sliding toward Irene.

From the corner of her eye, Lyra saw their fingers tangle in the shadows—then jerk apart when she turned.

"Lyra." Wesley leaned in to kiss her.

She turned her head away and pulled a document from her bag. "You promised to sign this."

In the dim light, Wesley's face locked up.

His eyes skimmed the papers. His throat worked. "What's this?"

"A promise note," Lyra said evenly. "Same as before."

Wesley relaxed on the spot. He even smiled, soft and indulgent. "You..." He pulled out a pen and signed without hesitation.

"About to be a mom and still acting like a kid."

Lyra stared at the familiar signature.

Over the years, Wesley had signed countless little notes for her—

[I promise to only love Lyra Leighton forever.]

[I promise to say good morning and good night every day.]

[I promise not to have dinner alone with other women.]

He always laughed at how childish she was, then pulled her close and said, "I'm yours for life. I'll sign as many promise notes as you want."

This time, he hadn't even looked at what he was signing.

"Done." Wesley handed it back and pinched her cheek. "When have I ever broken a promise to you?"

Onstage, the heroine cried through her tears, "You have no idea what you've lost!"

Lyra gave a soft laugh and slipped the papers back into her bag.

By the time the play ended, Wesley and Irene were gone.

A dull ache spread through Lyra's chest. She took a cab home, her face blank.

Once inside, she started packing. Her phone buzzed.

It was a message from Victor.

[The withdrawal paperwork is done. It takes effect in three days. I'll send someone to pick you up then.]

She replied with a simple [Okay] and kept folding clothes into the suitcase.

Wesley didn't come back that night.

He only sent one text:

[Something came up. Go to bed early.]

***

The next morning, Lyra had just finished getting ready.

The bedroom door slammed open. Wesley rushed in, eyes bloodshot, and grabbed her wrist. "Come with me!"

"What are you doing?" She stumbled as he dragged her along.

He didn't answer. He shoved her into the car.

The car tore down the road, blowing through several red lights.

Lyra recognized the route. Irene's school.

A crowd was packed around the gate.

Irene sat on the ground, clothes smeared with dirt, tears streaking her face.

The moment she saw them, she crawled straight toward Lyra. "Lyra, I really didn't seduce Wesley. Please, let me go."

"Lyra, what do you have to say?" Wesley snapped, anger thick in his voice.

"I didn't do anything." Lyra shook his hand off.

Wesley sneered and yanked a bespectacled boy forward. "You tell her. Who told you to do it?"

The boy glanced at Lyra, shrinking back. "I-It was this lady. She paid us to splash ink on Ms. Shmuck."

"You're lying!" Lyra trembled with rage. "I don't even know you!"

"Enough!" Wesley barked. "Apologize to Irene."

Lyra shook her head. "Why would I apologize for something I didn't do?"

Wesley's face hardened. He dragged her onto the school field, the sun beating down.

Irene staggered after them, skirt dusty, knees already blooming purple.

She sobbed, "Wesley, this is all my fault."

Her legs buckled. Wesley caught her.

His gaze snapped to the bruises on her knees. His jaw clenched. "Lyra, do you even know she's pregnant? You'll get the same treatment."

"You wouldn't dare!" Lyra shouted. "My father won't let this slide!"

"What a spoiled heiress!" Wesley blew up, fist bunching in her collar. "You think having your family behind you means you can do whatever you want?"

He spun and barked at the bodyguards. "Hold her down!"

Two of them immediately clamped onto Lyra's shoulders.

She fought hard. "Wesley! There are cameras everywhere!"

He gave a cold laugh. "They're already off."

He leaned close to her ear. "You hurt Irene. Don't blame me for what happens next."

Irene rushed in, playing her part. "Wesley, don't."

"Stay out of it." He eased her aside, then snapped, "Press her down!"

The bodyguards forced Lyra to the ground. Pain burst behind her eyes.

She bit down to keep from screaming. Blood slid from the corner of her mouth.

"That makes us even," Wesley told the bodyguards. "One hour. Watch her. Irene's weak. I'll help her back to the car. Do yourselves a favor."

Pinned to the ground, a sharp, violent pain tore through Lyra's lower abdomen. Cold sweat soaked her back.

"Wesley," she called weakly. "My stomach hurts."

He glanced back. Hesitation flickered.

Irene sagged into his arms. "Pregnancy makes people fragile. Lyra's not like me."

Wesley's face hardened. "After everything she's done to you, you're still standing up for her? I'm getting justice for you today."

He turned and got into the car.

Through the window, Lyra saw him rest a hand gently over Irene's stomach.

Her vision blurred.

Then everything went black.