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.

Lyra was jolted awake.

When her eyes opened, Wesley's face was right there. Dark. Empty. Not a trace of warmth.

"Irene lost too much blood. She needs a transfusion," he said flatly. "You have the same blood type. Get up."

Lyra went still, then shook her head. "I'm already anemic. If I give blood, something will go wrong."

Wesley laughed under his breath, cold and sharp. "When you hurt her, did you think about consequences?"

Her eyes flew open. "I hurt her?"

"Drop the act." Wesley flicked his hand in irritation. Two bodyguards stepped in at once, gripping her arms. "Once the blood's drawn, we're even."

Lyra struggled, but she was no match for two grown men.

They hauled her out of bed and dragged her toward the transfusion room, her steps unsteady.

The hallway lights were harsh. Her vision swam, and a memory surfaced from when they'd just gotten married.

She'd been dizzy from anemia back then. Wesley had made tomato soup, feeding her one spoonful at a time, worry filling his eyes.

"Lyra, if you ever feel sick again, you have to tell me," he'd said softly. "I can't stand seeing you suffer."

Now he watched without emotion as she was forced into the transfusion chair.

Blood flowed steadily into the bag.

Her face drained of color. Her lips went pale. Her fingers turned icy.

The doctor frowned and lowered his voice. "Mr. Cheswick, your wife is too weak. If this continues, it could be dangerous."

Wesley looked at Lyra's bloodless face. His brow tightened, hesitation flickering for a split second.

Then his voice hardened. "Continue."

Lyra closed her eyes.

It felt like her heart was being crushed.

'So he really doesn't care if I live or die.'

After the transfusion, she could barely stay on her feet. Darkness swirled in her vision.

Seeing her sway, Wesley reached out to steady her, his tone easing. "You look terrible."

She didn't answer. She knocked his hand away and leaned against the wall, forcing herself forward.

Wesley frowned and followed. "I had someone make tomato soup for you. Drink some later."

Lyra stopped.

She turned back, mockery filling her eyes. "What, worried I'll die and won't be able to give Irene blood anymore?"

Wesley's face darkened. He was about to respond when a doctor hurried over.

"Mr. Cheswick, Ms. Shmuck is bleeding heavily again. The blood earlier wasn't enough."

Lyra's pupils shrank. She stepped back on instinct. "No. I can't do this again."

Wesley looked at her paper-white face. Conflict flashed through his eyes.

Then his jaw set. "Keep drawing."

Cold flooded Lyra, like she'd been dropped into ice water.

She looked at him, her voice barely there. "I'll die."

He turned his face away. "You won't."

After the second transfusion, Lyra was barely conscious.

She sagged in the chair, breathing shallow, her vision cutting in and out.

As he saw how drained she looked, panic finally flickered across Wesley's face. He reached for her. "Lyra."

She shoved him away. Bracing herself against the wall, she made her way back to the ward step by step, slow and agonizing.

Wesley watched her go. Her back looked so thin it seemed like it might give out at any moment, yet she never turned around.

He stood there as she vanished down the corridor, a tight unease settling in his chest.

Beside him, the doctor spoke up. "Mr. Cheswick, Ms. Shmuck's condition has stabilized."

Wesley snapped out of it, nodded, and in the end, didn't follow Lyra.

Lyra lay on the hospital bed, her whole body freezing.

The soup Wesley had sent sat on the nightstand. Cold now. She reached for it, trying to sip, but her hands shook too hard to keep the spoon steady.

Pain knifed through her lower stomach, sharp and relentless.

She grit her teeth. "Doctor," she called, barely loud enough to hear.

The door swung open. The doctor took one look at her color, lifted the blanket, and froze.

The sheets were soaked through with blood.

"You're severely anemic," he said, voice tight. "This level of blood loss is dangerous—especially after donating so much. We need emergency surgery, now, or your life's at risk."

She closed her eyes and nodded. "Okay."

After a beat, she added quietly, "Don't tell Wesley."

***

Lyra lay on the cold operating table, her awareness slipping. It felt like being dragged back five years.

The first time they met, Wesley had waited for her in the rain, eyes soft, full of warmth.

At their wedding, he'd held her hand and promised, "Lyra, I'll be good to you for the rest of my life."

Later, he changed. He thought she was too strong, not gentle enough, always above everyone else.

She believed it was her fault. That she wasn't enough. So she tried to behave, to obey, to soften herself into someone smaller.

Only now did she understand.

It was never that she wasn't good enough.

He had simply never loved her.

The anesthesia crept in. Cold instruments brushed her skin. She closed her eyes. One tear slid down.

The baby was gone.

And these five years of marriage were over too.

***

After the surgery, Lyra was wheeled back to her room.

The nurse tucked the blanket around her. "Ma'am, get some rest."

Lyra asked softly, "Did Wesley come by?"

The nurse paused, then shook her head. "No."

Lyra pulled at the corner of her mouth. She already knew.

She pushed herself up and walked to the window.

In the garden below, Wesley was supporting Irene as they moved slowly along the path. Irene looked healthy, glowing, leaning into him as she acted spoiled. He bent toward her, eyes gentle, full of care.

Lyra watched in silence. It felt like her heart was being cut open, piece by piece.

Once, he'd taken care of her the same way.

She turned away, pulled the signed divorce agreement from her bag, and set it neatly on the bed.

Then she left without looking back.

At the end of the hallway, the people Victor had sent were already waiting.

"Ms. Leighton, the car's downstairs."

Lyra glanced back one last time at Wesley helping Irene into the building.

She stepped into the elevator and never turned back.