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.

Lyra woke to the sharp bite of disinfectant. A dull ache lingered low in her abdomen. She reached down on instinct, fingers grazing the cold IV line.

"Awake?"

Wesley's voice came from her right.

She turned her head. He sat beside the bed.

He leaned in, reached toward her stomach, then stopped halfway.

"Do you know what you did wrong?" he asked.

Lyra closed her eyes.

When she didn't answer, Wesley cupped her face. "If you'd been this obedient earlier, none of this would've happened."

His thumb brushed her dry lips, his voice soft. "You wouldn't have had to suffer."

"For a neighbor's daughter, you forced your pregnant wife to the floor." Lyra turned away. "Does that actually make sense to you?"

Wesley's hand froze. He frowned. "I judge right and wrong, not feelings."

"I need to rest." Lyra pulled the blanket higher. "Please leave."

Wesley looked thrown.

He stared at her for a few seconds, then checked his phone. "There's an emergency at the company. I'll come back later."

At the door, he turned. "What exam do you have tomorrow? I heard you talking to the doctor."

"Just a routine prenatal check." Lyra paused.

Wesley's gaze swept her face. He suddenly stepped back, grabbed her phone from the nightstand. "Password?"

"My birthday." Lyra let out a cold laugh. "You even remember it?"

He entered it wrong twice before getting it right.

He scrolled through her call log fast. Finding nothing, he tossed the phone back onto the bed. "Irene's in the room next door. If you're fine, don't go bother her."

When Lyra didn't respond, he smiled. "What, jealous? She's just the neighbor's daughter."

Lyra gave a mocking smile and nodded.

Once the door shut, she immediately pressed the call button for the doctor.

"The abortion procedure is set for nine tomorrow?" the doctor asked, flipping through her chart.

"Yes." Lyra's voice stayed soft. "You don't need to tell him."

Not long after the doctor left, the ward door slammed open.

Irene rushed in wearing a hospital gown, limping hard. Her eyes were unnervingly bright.

"You're getting rid of Wesley's baby?"

Lyra slowly pushed herself upright.

Irene didn't look fragile anymore.

"Know your place. Get an abortion and divorce him. Now." Irene gripped the bed rail. "Otherwise, when Wesley dumps you, you won't get a dime."

Lyra laughed. "Did Wesley forget to tell you who's been keeping his company alive?"

"Cut the crap!" Irene's voice went sharp. "Wesley said it himself. He never loved you. He married you for your family's status. If it weren't for that project, he would've—"

Smack.

The sound cracked through the room.

Irene's head snapped sideways. Red flared across her cheek.

"That one's for knowing exactly what you were doing," Lyra said, shaking out her stinging hand.

Smack.

The second hit landed harder. Irene stumbled.

"And that one's for setting me up."

Irene covered her face and stumbled back, rage burning in her eyes.

Then she spotted a figure moving outside the door.

Her expression collapsed. She screamed, threw herself toward the wall, and slid weakly to the floor.

The door flew open.

Wesley rushed in, car keys still clenched in his hand.

He froze when he saw Irene on the floor, then spun toward the bed, eyes blazing. "Lyra! If anything happens to Irene, I'll make you pay with your life!"

"You should ask what she said first," Lyra replied, steady.

Wesley was already scooping Irene up. He sneered. "What could a patient possibly say?"

His gaze flicked to Lyra's swollen palm. "You didn't exactly hold back."

Medical staff rushed in, lifting Irene onto a gurney.

Wesley followed them out. At the doorway, he suddenly turned around. "Someone keep an eye on her."

His stare was cold. "If anything happens to Irene or the baby, you'll regret it."

Lyra watched them vanish down the hallway, then eased herself back onto the bed.

She picked up her phone. Her lock screen lit up with her wedding photo with Wesley.

In it, his smile looked real. His eyes were soft when he looked at her.

Now, for a side chick, he'd said he'd make her regret it.

Her finger hovered over Victor's name. After a beat, she lowered her hand.

Footsteps stopped outside. Two bodyguards in black suits stood beyond the glass, their looks icy.

Lyra curled inward, hugging herself, her forehead resting against her knees.

Pain rolled through her lower abdomen in steady waves. Worse was the ripping ache in her chest.

Five years of marriage.

And in the end, it meant nothing.