“Mrs. Blackwood, I'm afraid if you take this procedure again you might…” The young Asian doctor hesitated, eyes flicking back to the glowing screen before him.

Arielle’s fingers tightened around the edge of the hospital bed. The sterile scent of disinfectant filled the silence, pressing on her chest.

The doctor exhaled softly and looked up. “You will most definitely die. I strongly advise you not to go through with it.”

For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. The words sank in slowly, painfully.

Not might.

Will.

Arielle swallowed hard, her throat dry. “Are you sure?” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

The doctor nodded solemnly. “Your body has been through too much, Mrs. Blackwood. The complications from the previous procedures have weakened your uterus. Another abortion could cause internal bleeding or cardiac failure.”

His words blurred in her ears. Too much. Too many.

She’d done it for Damien, every time he said they weren’t ready, every time he promised that one day, they would be. She had believed him. Loved him enough to destroy herself a little more each time.

Her trembling hand moved to her stomach. “How far along?”

“Eight weeks,” the doctor replied softly.

Eight weeks. A heartbeat. A life. Hers or the child’s. There would be no both.

“Thank you, doctor,” she said quietly, then stood and walked out of the room.

The hallway felt longer than usual. Each step echoed, the doctor’s words chasing her. You will most definitely die.

She recalled her husband’s words:

“Arielle, we don’t need children to be happy. We have each other.”

She remembered how serious he looked, how sure.

“Kids complicate everything,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “They change people. They take away time, peace, and passion. I just want you. Only you.”

Then came the words that had silenced her completely.

“Besides,” he added softly, “I can’t bring such innocence into this cruel world.”

Arielle ran her fingers through her Jet black hair and sighed deeply.

“What do I do?" she murmured.

*****

Arielle sat in her car, her fingers resting on the steering wheel long after she turned off the engine. The doctor’s words replayed in her head like a curse.

You will most definitely die.

She should tell Damien.

He had a right to know, didn’t he?

But the thought of his reaction made her stomach twist. Lately, he’d been distant. Cold. Always busy. “Work trip,” he’d say, “late meeting,” he’d murmur before disappearing for entire weekends.

And she, the ever-understanding wife, never questioned it.

She pressed a trembling hand to her abdomen. “Maybe he’ll be happy this time,” she whispered. “Maybe… he’ll want this one.”

The words sounded foolish even to her own ears.

Her phone buzzed on the passenger seat, a message from Damien.

Damien: Working late tonight, love. Don’t wait up for me.

Arielle stared at the screen.

It was Saturday. Again.

Her chest ached with something heavier than heartbreak — it was exhaustion

She sighed heavily.

She turned the key, started the engine, and drove off but not home.

Not tonight.

****

The city looked different at night.

Quieter.

Lonelier.

Arielle parked by the curb outside Blythe Café, a small place Damien often mentioned when he said he had “late meetings.” The irony of ending up there tonight wasn’t lost on her.

She just wanted a moment to breathe… to think.

Inside, the café glowed with soft amber lights and laughter. Couples, families, children and scenes of warmth she prays for.

She was about to step out when she froze.

Damien.

He sat by the window, back slightly turned, the glow from the overhead lamp outlining his familiar profile, sharp jaw, calm posture, that effortless elegance she once adored.

But it wasn’t the sight of him that made her heart stop.

It was the woman sitting across from him.

She was effortlessly beautiful . Her hand rested on his, her smile soft, intimate. And beside them sat two children — a boy and a girl — their laughter light and unguarded.

Arielle’s heart stuttered as she watched them through the café window. The way Damien’s eyes softened when the woman laughed… she’d never seen that look directed at her in months. Maybe years.

Her fingers trembled on the steering wheel. She told herself to look away, to give him the privacy she’d always given but she couldn’t. It was like watching a movie she couldn’t pause, one where the villain wore her husband’s face.

The woman leaned closer, brushing a crumb from Damien’s shirt. Such a small, tender gesture, one Arielle had done a thousand times before.

Her throat burned.

The boy tugged on Damien’s sleeve, giggling about something. The little girl leaned on his arm, her curls bouncing as she laughed.

Arielle’s stomach twisted painfully.

That laugh… It was free. Unburdened. The kind of laughter that only came from children who felt safe, who had a father that stayed.

“Daddy, can I have ice cream?”

Arielle’s world tilted.

For a moment, she couldn’t hear anything, just the echo of that one word, sharp and cruel in her ears. Daddy.

Her chest tightened painfully. Her husband had a kid, Two even.

She watched them for a long time

“No, maybe I misheard it. Damien would never…"

Damien and the woman finally stood, she stayed low in her seat, watching through the windshield.

He gently took the woman’s coat and held it out for her. He wrapped his arm around the woman’s shoulders protectively, guiding her and the children out like a perfect family.

The sight was almost beautiful

Almost poetic.

Cruel poetry.

He opened the car door for them.

The children, yes. They giggled as they climbed in. He looked happy. Radiant. A man who had everything.

“Daddy, Ice creammmmm!" The little girl cried.

The word hit harder this time. Daddy.

Her husband… her Damien didn’t just love someone else.

He had a family. A whole life she knew nothing about.

She let out a humorless laugh.

‘Working late’ She murmured. “More like working overtime"

Her vision blurred again as she started the engine then she drove off before they could see her…

She didn’t know what she’d do yet.

But one thing was certain:

If this was the price of loving Mr. Damien Blackwood… She was done paying

“Where the hell have you been?” Damien’s voice sliced through the quiet house the moment Arielle shut the door.

Without a word, she slipped off her shoes and walked past him, her expression unreadable.

“Arielle,” Damien said sharply, stepping in front of her. His jaw was clenched, his tie loosened, the perfect husband mask slightly cracked. “I asked you a question. You have been gone for days. Where were you?”

She brushed past him again, her movements slow but deliberate, like someone fighting to stay calm.

“I needed some air,” she said finally, her tone flat.

Damien scoffed. “For 3 days?”

Arielle ignored him and headed into the kitchen. The soft hum of the espresso machine filled the tense air. She busied herself with pouring coffee: one spoon of sugar, a dash of milk, anything to keep her hands from shaking.

“What has gotten into you, Arielle?” he pressed, his voice rising. “You’re acting strange. If something’s wrong, you can tell me.”

Her fingers tightened around the mug.

Tell you?

She almost laughed.

Damien moved closer. “I’ve been worried sick,” he said, his tone softening. “You didn’t answer your phone. You could’ve at least –”

She threw her mug. The mug hit the wall beside him, shattering into pieces. Coffee splattered across the white tiles, dripping down like dark stains on everything between them.

Damien froze, his eyes widening for a brief second before his expression hardened. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he snapped.

Arielle stood there, chest rising and falling, her eyes glistening but cold. “You’re asking me that?” she whispered, almost to herself. “You.”

Damien ran a hand through his hair, taking a slow breath. “You disappear for days, come home acting crazy, and now you’re throwing things at me? You need to calm down, Darling.”

“Don’t you dare tell me to calm down,” she hissed.

He tried to get closer.

“Stop right there! I promise you the next thing I throw won't miss.”

He stopped, palms raised as if pleading.

“Arielle, don’t,” he said. The practiced calm in his voice sounded small. “Please, come on. We can talk about this.”

“Talk?” Her laugh was a raw sound that scraped the air. “You're right. I'm sorry. Let's talk, Damien.”

She leaned against the counter, arms folded, her eyes fixed on him like a blade testing where to cut

“How are your kids, Damien?”

For a moment, the only sound was the faint drip of coffee sliding down the wall.

Damien blinked, his composure faltering. “What… what did you just say?”

Arielle’s lips curved, but it wasn’t a smile. “You heard me. How are your kids, Damien? You’re full of surprises. A liar and deaf ?. That’s impressive.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I saw you,” she said, her voice breaking. “At the café. You looked like one big happy family… the family you refused to have with me.”

“It was a mistake.”

“A mistake?” She gave a small, bitter laugh. “Tell me, are they twins?”

He hesitated. “Well, no.”

“So you made the same mistake twice?”

“I–”

“It’s fine,” she cut in, her tone eerily calm. “I hope you all live happily ever after. My lawyer is already working on the di –”

She stopped suddenly. A sharp pain tore through her stomach.

The world tilted.

“Arielle?” Damien’s voice sounded distant.

She tried to breathe, clutching her abdomen, but the pain was too much. The edges of her vision darkened as her knees buckled.

“Arielle!” Damien lunged forward just in time, catching her before she hit the floor. Her head fell limp against his chest as panic flashed across his face.

*****

The hospital smelled like antiseptic and fear.

Damien paced the empty corridor, fingers tugging through his hair. Every minute that passed felt like an hour. Every nurse that walked by without stopping made his chest tighten.

When the doctor finally emerged, Damien straightened so fast his head spun.

“Mr. Blackwood?”

“Yes. How is she?”

“She’s out of danger for now,” the doctor said. “But why is she under so much stress? It's not good for ….”

“Doctor!” The nurse on duty screamed.

"The nurse’s scream cut through the corridor like a blade.

Damien’s heart dropped. He didn’t think — he just ran.

Through the half-open door, he saw chaos. The monitor beside Arielle’s bed was beeping wildly. The nurse fumbled for a syringe while another shouted, “Her heart rate’s dropping!”

Damien’s chest constricted. “What’s happening? What’s wrong?”

“Sir, please wait outside!” a doctor barked, pushing past him.

He froze by the doorway, rooted to the spot as the scene blurred before him, nurses moving fast, wires tangling, someone pressing an oxygen mask over Arielle’s face.

“Arielle!” he called out, voice cracking. But she didn’t move.

******

Damien sat slumped in the visitor’s chair, his jacket draped over his arm, his eyes bloodshot from a sleepless night. The faint sound of machines filled the silence — steady, rhythmic, mocking.

Arielle was awake.

She just didn’t open her eyes.

She could hear him shifting, hear his tired sighs, and every now and then, hear him mumble something under his breath.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, voice hoarse. “I should’ve just let you have the damn kids.”

It's not about the kids, she thought bitterly.

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” he continued, dragging a hand through his hair.

“We can fix this,” he murmured, leaning forward. “I’ll make things right. You and me.”

She was about to open her eyes when she heard his phone ring.

Damien sighed, rubbing his temple. “Yeah?”

“Finally,” came a silken, mocking voice. Claire. “Was starting to think you collapsed right beside her.”

Damien’s body tensed. “Claire, not now.”

“Not now?” she echoed with a sharp laugh. “Oh, come on, Damien. Don’t tell me you’re actually worried. She’s been milking that poor-me act for years. I’m surprised it took this long for her to land in a hospital bed.”

Arielle’s heart stopped cold.

“Claire,” he hissed, glancing toward her still form.

“What? She can’t hear me, can she?” Claire purred. “Or maybe she can. Wouldn’t that be poetic?”

He gritted his teeth. “You’re out of line.”

“No, you’re out of line,” she snapped suddenly, her voice turning sharp and venomous. “You left me alone with your children to go babysit. Do you have any idea how pathetic that looks? You keep saying you’re done with her, but here you are holding her hand while she pretends to die.”

“I’m not—she collapsed, Claire! She could’ve—”

“Oh, please,” she cut in, voice dripping with scorn. “People like her never die when they should.”

He closed his eyes, trying to stay calm. “Claire…”

“I’ll give you thirty minutes to get back here,” she said, voice turning icy. “If not, let’s just say I don’t know what might happen.”

The line went dead.

For a long moment, Damien stood frozen. The air in the room turned heavy.

“I’ll be back, Arielle,” he whispered, then dashed out.

A tear slipped from her eye. She wiped it away slowly.

“To think I started to pity him,” she muttered, ripping out the IV line.

“I’m done.”

Five years later…

“Mommy, are lawyers superheroes or villains?”

Arielle paused mid-sip of her coffee, glancing over the rim of her mug at the tiny human perched on the kitchen counter. Her five-year-old, Liam. His curls were a mess and his tie was crooked

“Depends on the day,” she said with a small smile. “Sometimes both.”

Liam squinted at her. “Then today, which one are you?”

She set down her mug, straightened his tie, and kissed his forehead. “Today, Mommy’s saving the city…again.”

Liam grinned, showing off the tiny gap between his front teeth. “Then I want to be a superhero too. But not the kind that talks in courtrooms already.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, that's boring.”

Arielle chuckled and ruffled his curls. “So what kind of superhero do you want to be?”

“The kind that flies. And punches bad guys. And eats pancakes for breakfast.”

“Well,” she said, reaching for the pancake mix, “you already qualify for one of those.”

He giggled. “Then you’re my sidekick.”

“Oh no,” Arielle said, feigning offense. “If anything, you’re my sidekick. Every superhero needs one.”

Liam shook his head seriously. “Nope. You’re too busy with court stuff. Sidekicks stay with the hero all the time.”

Her hands froze for a moment. That hit deeper than it should have. She turned to face him fully, forcing a smile. “You know what? How about we make a deal? Pancakes now, superhero training later. Just you and me.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

His eyes lit up, and just like that, the heaviness in her chest eased a little.

She smiled softly, resting her chin in her palm as she watched him shovel pancakes into his mouth like it was a race. Syrup smeared across his cheek, and he giggled between bites.

Her phone buzzed on the counter: a reminder.

Court Hearing – 9:00 a.m. | Case: State vs. Brooks Industries.

Arielle sighed softly, locking her phone and glancing back at Liam, who was now using his pancake as a spaceship.

“Mommy?”

She blinked. “Hmm?”

“You look like you’re thinking too hard again,” Liam said, chewing with his cheeks puffed out.

Arielle smiled faintly and tapped his nose. “Just superhero thoughts.”

He giggled. “Then you better win today.”

“I always do.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead, whispering, “Even when it feels impossible.”

_____

By nine, the sound of her heels echoed through the courthouse halls.

The air was colder here, sharper. The sterile tang of marble and paperwork filled the air. She adjusted her blazer, her game face sliding into place like armor.

She sighed under her breath. “Let’s get this over with,” she murmured, squaring her shoulders as the familiar chill of the courthouse wrapped around her.

Law had given her something to stand on again. Purpose. Power. A new name people respected — Attorney Arielle West.

And yet… every now and then, she still caught herself glancing at her reflection, wondering if the woman staring back was truly healed or just pretending well enough to pass.

She moved with practiced grace, heels clicking against marble floors, files tucked under her arm. Her assistant, Sophia, a bright-eyed woman often on the verge of exhaustion, was waiting by the door to her chamber, tablet in hand.

“You’re early,” Sophia said, glancing up from her tablet, a mix of admiration and exhaustion in her tone. “How do you do it?”

Arielle arched her brow. “Do what, Sophia?”

“Everything,” Sophia said, waving her stylus dramatically. “Law, Liam, bills, clients who think they own the world. I can barely make it through the morning without caffeine and a minor breakdown.”

Arielle chuckled softly, shifting the files in her hand. “You get used to it.”

“Or,” Sophia countered, grinning, “you’re secretly a machine in heels.”

Arielle smirked. “ Oh, how I wish.”

They both laughed.

Nobody ever really cared to ask how she was coping. All they saw was the poised attorney who always had her hair in place.

But none of them saw the woman who used to study at midnight with a sleeping baby pressed against her chest, whispering case notes between lullabies.They didn’t see the nights she cried quietly in the bathroom, afraid the sound might wake him. Or the mornings she went to court on two hours of sleep, praying her trembling hands wouldn’t betray her exhaustion.

She hadn’t had help.

No partner to lean on, no family to fall back on. Just a purpose and that purpose had tiny brown eyes and a smile that reminded her why she couldn’t fail.

Now, five years later, she wasn’t just surviving.

She was winning.

And for the first time in a long time, Arielle felt seen, not as a lawyer, not as a survivor, but as a woman who finally made it. She was strong enough to face any battle.

“Shall we? The clients are waiting.”

Arielle gave a small nod and pushed open the conference room door.

*****

Damian Blackwood was having a meltdown.

“Claire, I just want the damn tea the way I like it!” he yelled, slamming the cup down.

Claire, perched on a velvet stool and scrolling through her phone, didn’t even look up. “Oh, please, Damian. It’s just tea. It’s hot and wet; drink it. You’re becoming so petty lately. It’s draining.”

His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking near his temple. This wasn’t the life he’d imagined.

Five years ago, when Arielle left him he thought being with Claire would be easier. Instead, his world was a constant state of chaos and complaint.

Claire’s charm had worn off, replaced by a demanding, almost venomous entitlement.

​He slammed his mug onto the granite counter. "I’m draining? You had me miss the board meeting yesterday because you needed me to argue with the landscapers about the begonias!"

​"They were putting the pink ones next to the reds, Damian! It was a monstrosity!" Claire stood up, sauntering toward him. She stroked his tie, her eyes assessing rather than affectionate. "Besides, you're a billionaire. Your company practically runs itself. Now, where is that check for my sister's foundation? I promised her this morning."

Damian pulled back from her touch, jaw tight.

What he needed right now wasn’t another fundraiser or another argument;it was focus. His company was about bagging something huge.

And yet, somehow, Claire thought begonias were the priority.

His life with Claire was a constant headache. He missed the quiet, easy luxury he’d had with Arielle. She never fought him on tea. She was just there…

He needed Arielle back.

******

​"Gentlemen," Arielle began, her voice controlled. "I reviewed your documents. The situation is bad, but we can fix it. We have to block this injunction before it shuts you down.”

The client, Mr. Thompson, looked terrified. “Ms. West, we need you to be ruthless. We’re up against Blackwood Industries. They're billionaires. They’ve got a massive legal team, and their CEO is famous for being personally involved in all the ugly fights.”

Arielle's pen froze on her legal pad. The words didn't fully register until she saw the logo on the thick document binder that slid toward her: a stylized, interlocking B and W.

​Blackwood Industries.

​Her hands, which had been perfectly steady for five years, suddenly felt cold. A dull, familiar ache started in her chest.

​It’s just a company, she told herself. A cold, faceless entity.

"Who is the lead on their side?" she asked, keeping her voice level.

​

Thompson checked the brief. "The CEO signed the court papers himself. Damian Blackwood."

​Arielle didn't flinch, but inside, the pain of the past five years instantly sharpened into a weapon.

​Damian. The man who lied, cheated, and almost got herself killed for. The father of her son. This wasn't just some job. This was fate handing her the ultimate revenge plot.

​

She set her jaw. She wouldn't just beat his company. She was going to tear his entire world apart.

​“Got it,” Arielle said, a cold, confident smile spreading across her face. “Tell your board the injunction is dead. I’m handling this myself.”