I had just closed the closet when the front door creaked open downstairs.

Gianna's voice floated in first, then came the click of her heels. She latched onto Calvin's arm like she owned him.

Honestly? She looked more like the lady of the house than I ever did.

Calvin spotted me and raised a brow. "Gianna doesn't have a place to stay in Carmoria. She'll be living with us for a few days."

"Alright."

Didn't bother asking why, out of all his mansions and penthouses, this was the only option.

Asking would've just made me look pathetic.

I kept my voice low. "Should I move out? Save you the hassle?"

He frowned, clearly not loving the optics. "No need. Just give up the master bedroom."

"Okay."

No fight. No drama. I just turned and started packing. Guest room it was.

As we passed each other in the hallway, Gianna dialed up her voice. "Calvin, you KNOW I'm a clean freak. Have the housekeeper disinfect the room—I can't deal with dirty spaces."

My steps froze mid-stride. I looked at Calvin.

No way he missed what she really meant.

Of course he didn't. He just didn't care.

"It's too late tonight. I'll take you to a hotel. Come back tomorrow after it's cleaned."

Gianna giggled and launched herself into his arms, tossing me a smug little glance over his shoulder. "Fine, but you have to stay with me. I'll be scared alone."

Calvin didn't even blink. Took her downstairs and walked out the door.

And there I was—standing alone with a half-zipped suitcase and a stomach full of regret.

What a joke.

I glanced down. The mark from my wedding ring still ghosted my finger.

Three years of lies I told myself. Three years of pretending I mattered.

At 11 p.m., I finalized the divorce agreement with my lawyer.

Outside the window, the rain finally started to fall.

Gianna's social feed lit up with a fresh post.

Her and Calvin, curled up on a hotel bed.

She was all dolled up, smiling like she'd just won the lottery.

Caption: [Side by side, with hearts beating as one.]

Yeah. I'd had that kind of embrace once, too.

Six months ago. Right after my mom's funeral.

Three years back, I married Calvin for the money—just enough to cover her medical bills. I knew he didn't love me.

Still sold every last shred of dignity I had.

Didn't matter.

All that cash couldn't save her.

That night, with the rain drowning Auremburg, I sat in the dark, clutching her old clothes, crying so quietly it hurt.

Calvin walked in. Didn't say a word.

He just pulled me onto the bed and held me. All night.

When my mom left this world, when I had absolutely no one left—

He gave me that one, single moment of comfort.

And for a split second, I believed I had a home again.

Really thought I'd made it.

I was so close.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I hit "like" on her post.

Set the phone down. Closed my eyes. Tried to forget.

Ten minutes later, my screen lit up with a pinned message:

[Still awake?]

***

I sat up when I heard the ding.

More messages followed—Calvin, of course.

[I saw Gianna's post. Don't overthink it. I was only with her for a bit.]

Then came the e-wallet transfer. His favorite move: buy peace, buy silence, buy me.

Since Mom died, I'd stopped taking his money unless he pushed.

Usually took a couple nudges before I gave in.

But this time? I accepted it without flinching.

[Thank you, Mr. Buxton.]

Phone rang instantly.

He sounded thrown off. "Why'd you take it so fast this time?"

Before I could answer, Gianna's syrupy voice cut in with a giggle.

"Ms. Astor, since you're still up, could you bring us a bowl of saffron milk soup to the hotel?"

She kept going. "Calvin said you're REALLY good at it. You don't mind letting me try, do you?"

I was ready to shut it down—hard—when another transfer lit up my screen.

Calvin.

Note: [For your trouble.]

Nice. The kind of tip they usually toss to a maid.

Guess I'd officially been downgraded—Mrs. Buxton, now playing the help.

I let out a dry laugh, hung up, and accepted the cash.

Divorce was coming anyway.

Might as well get paid while I still had the title.

By the time I got to the hotel with the soup, it was 2 a.m.

The suite door was cracked open—like they'd been expecting me.

I stepped onto the plush carpet, and there it was—Gianna's voice, floating out.

"Calvin, I heard that when Ms. Astor's mom died, you held her on the bed all night. Is that true? Did you fall in love with her?"

I froze. Barely breathed.

I'd already made up my mind to leave.

Didn't stop my heart from pounding like a drumline.

That night came rushing back—the storm, the silence, the way I let myself believe I'd found love.

'Calvin... do you even remember?'

Inside, he was by the window, staring out at the rain. Lost in it.

Just like he was that night. Six months ago.

Gianna nudged him, all whiny and impatient. "Calvin, you still haven't answered me."

He blinked, snapping back. His voice was calm, but it hit like a slap.

"No... I just felt sorry for her. Like I would for a stray cat or dog. That's all."

Crash.

The container slipped from my hands. Soup everywhere.

All eyes turned.

Calvin stepped out first, freezing when he saw me.

"You... When did you get here?"

I didn't answer. Just knelt down and started cleaning.

Calvin frowned and crouched next to me. Reached out to help.

I flinched without thinking. Pulled back.

His hand froze midair, then dropped like nothing happened.

But Gianna saw. Of course she did. Her eyes lit up with that petty flash of jealousy.

She grabbed her designer bag, pulled out a bill, and dangled it in front of me. "Ms. Astor, thanks for your trouble. Here's your delivery fee."

That bill didn't just float down—it hit my pride like a slap.

Back when my mom was sick, I swallowed every bit of pride just to keep her alive.

Now that she was gone? The humiliation stayed exactly the same.

I gave a bitter little smile. "Thanks."

Took the money. Turned to leave.

Calvin grabbed my wrist. His voice sharp. "You're not angry at all?"

My eyes flickered.

Angry? At what?

Or maybe the better question—do I even get to be?

To him, I was just a stray he felt like rescuing.

A project. A pity case.

When he felt generous, he kept me.

When he didn't, I was disposable.

"I should go. It's late."

Knowing my place never bought me kindness.

Calvin blocked the door, eyes shadowed. "You didn't used to be like this."

"And you didn't used to just stand there while people bullied me."

Two years ago, one of his cousins called me cheap trash in public.

Calvin kicked him out of the company. Banned him from ever showing his face around me.

A year ago, someone shoved me into a pool at a business event.

Calvin jumped in after him—held the guy underwater till security pulled them apart.

He never loved me. But back then, at least, he protected me.

He remembered, too. His hand clenched awkwardly at his side. "I..."

But I was done rewinding the tape.

I gave them both a polite smile and walked out.

I was just about to cross the threshold when Calvin's voice stopped me cold.

"I know you went to the hospital."

***

"You... You know?" I asked.

He gave a low 'mm', then hesitated. "Someone saw you there. Are you... okay?"

I froze, caught off guard.

He goes, "Your mom's doctor's still in Carmoria. I can call him if you need."

Oh. So that's it. He thought I was sick.

He had no clue... I was pregnant.

My lashes fluttered, but weirdly? I felt calm. Like, seriously? Now he cared?

Pity round two.

Except this time, I wasn't some stray. I was the family dog—sick, and suddenly the owner remembers I exist.

I shot him a bitter smile, then side-eyed Gianna. Her fake smile was holding on by a thread.

"Just dropped in for a checkup," I said.

Then I dipped, before Calvin could play doctor detective.

The next morning, I packed up to leave. Stepped out and—boom—ran into the housekeeper mid-sweep.

She didn't even blink. Like she'd marked it on her calendar.

Honestly? Wouldn't be shocked if the whole house had bets on how long I'd last. Calvin never hid the fact I was just Gianna 2.0.

I walked into the yard, trying not to feel anything—

Then chaos exploded from the second-floor balcony.

Stuff came flying down. One thing after another.

I looked up.

Master bedroom. The one I'd called home for three years.

Bedsheets. Water glasses. Pillows.

Everything I'd left behind, getting yeeted like trash.

A whole vibe: 'Thanks for playing, don't come back.'

Then came the grand finale—our wedding photo.

There I was, standing all stiff next to Calvin, smiling like I didn't know better.

That girl? Total stranger now.

The frame hit the ground and shattered—glass everywhere.

I took a breath, stepped right over the mess, and kept walking.

Last night's rain had passed.

So had mine.

***

Third-Person POV

Calvin and Gianna didn't drag themselves home until late afternoon.

The mansion sparkled like a cleaning commercial, and Gianna gave a smug little nod, clearly impressed by her own orders being followed.

Calvin? He wasn't celebrating. He'd spent the whole morning trying to call Angela—zero luck. That big speech he'd rehearsed a hundred times? Still stuck in his throat.

Just as he reached for his phone again, the housekeeper floated downstairs. "Ms. Payne," she beamed, "the place is spotless. Master bedroom too. Tossed all that woman's stuff and scrubbed it clean. Oh, but there was this file in the closet—I didn't open it."

She fished out a folder from her apron and handed it over. Calvin ditched his phone and grabbed it. A notebook slipped out.

Pregnancy prep notes.

He froze. Brain went straight to that rainy night. Angela crying in his arms, whispering that she had no one left. And him—God, he'd actually kissed her forehead and said, "Let's have a baby. Then you'll have family."

She believed him. Went to doctors. Studied up. Bit by bit, she let her guard down.

His lips twitched, that stupid soft smile sneaking out.

Then he hit the last page.

Folded inside—neat as ever—was a pregnancy test report.