Ivanna Robinson

Two tears fall from my eyes and run down my cheeks. Only two. My chest burns, I can't breathe, and I feel like I might faint at any moment.

Viena took me out of the clinic, left me sitting in a café across the street, and went back to find out firsthand what's happening with Abigail and her pregnancy.

Her child.

The one she's expecting with Shane, my husband, my subconscious reminds me, as if it needs to repeat it over and over for me to believe it.

A reality I don't dare face. I can't even bring myself to call him and ask for an explanation-not now, when everything between us was about to change. Our lives. Our marriage.

I wrap my arms around my still-flat stomach. A sob escapes me, and I close my eyes so I won't see how many people around me are watching me fall apart. Two whole years trying to get pregnant, going to fertility appointments, crying in secret because I couldn't give the man I love what he wants most. Entire nights watching him sleep, feeling that one day everything between us would fall apart, only to wake up hours later and see in his eyes that he loved me above everything else.

But today my world collapsed. Everything was wiped away. My worst nightmare came true.

I take out my phone with trembling fingers. I find my husband's contact and press call. It rings and rings, nonstop, until it cuts off. My heart aches, but I tell myself it could just be a coincidence. That he's busy.

I open our chat, and when I see the last message he sent me, my eyes fill with tears again.

"I love you so much I can't imagine a life without you. Tonight we'll celebrate our anniversary. We deserve it."

Nostalgia, tangled with pain and sadness, consumes me, because it's not even an anniversary in the strict sense of the word. It's just another month of marriage.

Two years and two months.

That's how long we've been married.

My fingers hover over the keyboard a second too long before I start typing what will be my first test.

"Love, I have a surprise for you. Where are you? I can't wait to see your reaction."

My heart pounds so hard it blocks out sound. My hands tremble as I keep staring at the screen. At the read receipt that appears almost instantly.

But there's no reply for several long minutes.

Until I lift my gaze and see a car pull up to the clinic.

A car I know well.

My phone buzzes in my hands before I see the man I love step out. Before I see him rush into the clinic.

With my soul shattered, I lower my gaze and read his message.

"I'm sorry, Ivanna, now's not a good time. I'm in the middle of something important. I'm not up for surprises today."

If I thought my heart had already broken, now I know it's been reduced to dust.

Completely destroyed.

"Why are you lying to me? Why did you do this?" I whisper, feeling a level of disappointment that physically hurts.

Viena arrives minutes later, and her face tells me everything.

There's no good news.

She sits beside me, pale, her hands trembling as she drinks the water I ordered earlier and never touched.

"Ivy, Abigail lost the baby. Shane was arriving when I was leaving, and I saw him holding her like he felt it... like it was real... like they really are... that they're lovers."

The word lovers feels like a whip cracking across my back. I close my eyes and let my emotions spill out-my pain, my frustration.

How did such a wonderful day turn so toxic?

"What are you going to do?" my friend asks.

I look at her, not knowing what to say. I shrug. I don't have a plan.

"I'll be at home, and I'll wait for him there. If he came to the clinic, he knows I know his secret. He has to face me. The Shane I know isn't a coward."

Viena looks at me like she wants to argue. I can almost read the subtitles on her face.

The Shane you know doesn't exist.

"Are you going to tell him about your pregnancy?"

I shake my head.

"I'm going to see what he has to say. I still want to believe this is all a misunderstanding. Stupid? Yes, I am. But it's hard for me to throw away all my love, my devotion. I want to hear his reasons. I want to know what to do when he tells me the truth. If this ends my marriage, then so be it. And my child-this miracle-will be mine alone."

"Ivy..."

"It's decided, Viena. If Shane really cheated on me and asked Abigail for an heir, then there's nothing left to do. He made his choice. I'll just act accordingly."

***

The house is empty. Lonely. It feels cold.

I know Shane wouldn't be here, but arriving alone feels worse than I imagined.

How can I look at this house the same way now? The place where we were happy?

It's not possible.

I set my bag on the kitchen island and pour myself a glass of water. I drink it all in one go-my throat is dry.

I sit in the living room when I feel steady enough to move, and I wait there. Phone in hand, two hours pass. Three. My stomach growls with hunger.

I call him. It takes too much effort to look up his name, to see the affectionate way I saved his contact. But I stay strong. I can't be weak now. The call goes to voicemail. It doesn't surprise me, but another piece inside me breaks.

There's a knock at the door, the sharp sound making me jump. I know it's not Shane-he has a key, and I don't think formalities matter between us now.

Slowly, I stand and wait for the dizziness to pass before walking to the door. When I open it, I find Shane's lawyer standing there. He's holding a briefcase, and unlike other times, there's nothing pleasant in his expression.

"Mrs. Robinson, I'm here on your husband's orders. May I come in?"

My skin prickles, but I nod. I know nothing good will come of this.

I step aside to let him in and follow him to the living room, watching him sit on the couch and open his briefcase.

I sit in the armchair beside him, still not understanding anything.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" I ask, watching him pull out paper after paper, along with a fine-tip pen.

He looks up at me over his glasses, irritation in his expression. He nods.

"This is the divorce agreement, ma'am."

If I weren't sitting, I would have fallen. A ringing fills my ears and my chest tightens-it feels like I can't breathe.

"Can you repeat that?"

This has to be a mistake. Shane can't do this to me. Not like this.

"I am Mr. Robinson's attorney, and as his legal representative, I am presenting you with the divorce agreement. Please read and sign it."

He extends the document toward me. His grip is steady, nothing like the tremor in my hand as I take it, my mouth dry, my heartbeat pounding in my throat.

"Why isn't Shane here, facing me with this... request?"

"Mr. Robinson has more important matters to attend to. This is just a simple formality."

A punch to the stomach would hurt less. He just made it clear how little I matter to the man I love-the man I thought I would build a life with. A forever.

What changed so much? When?

Was everything always a lie?

I open the document and start reading, but by the first page my head spins, and I close it again.

"This has to be a joke. Two years of marriage, and the only thing he intends to give me in this agreement is my... the ring I bought."

A sob escapes me at the end. I can't believe it.

It's not that I ever cared about Shane's money, but leaving me with nothing, without even an explanation? Just giving me back the ring I worked so hard to afford?

It's humiliating.

I swallow hard and look at the man in front of me as he hands me a thick envelope, which I assume contains the ring.

I take it with a trembling hand.

And out of sheer anger, I grab the pen as well. I find the spaces where I need to sign and, without thinking, I do.

Each stroke of my signature is a piece of my soul I place in Shane's hands.

A final goodbye to everything we could have had-but that is now ruined.

And the farewell he didn't have the guts to give me.

Ivanna Taylor

4 years later...

Milo Prince is a complete idiot. It's not enough for him to have me running around all day-now he also expects me to organize his parties and do the work of an entire event planning team, including catering.

All for a damn bonus.

"Ivanna, did you check what I told you about the valet parking? I don't want unnecessary traffic jams when the guests start arriving."

I roll my eyes while my back is turned to him. I take a deep breath and put on my best fake smile before turning around.

"Everything is ready, Mr. Prince. Two attendants have been assigned to each section of the parking area, and they have clear instructions regarding the types of cars expected at this event."

Milo's smile is pure arrogance. I keep my annoyance to myself-he wouldn't take it well if he knew I think he's ridiculous. He is my boss, after all.

"That's good. My guests are high-profile-they expect nothing less from me." He turns and picks up the whiskey decanter from his bar. He pours himself a wide glass with more amber liquid than a normal drink would hold and takes a large sip before continuing his nonsense. "Everything else?"

"In order and running smoothly, sir."

He nods again, takes another sip, then looks me up and down before making a face.

"I assume you're going to change, right? I pay you enough bonuses for you to have a decent wardrobe, and yet you always wear those..." he gestures at my clothes with distaste, "rags."

I tell myself that scoffing in his face would be disrespectful, so I bite my tongue before replying. He knows perfectly well this is how I always look, and that's not going to change. Aston made that clear.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't like wasting money, and what I have meets the company's requirements. Tonight, I'll be inside handling logistics-it won't be necessary to wear anything eye-catching while I'm between dishes and giving instructions."

Milo narrows his eyes at me. I can almost see him listing all the reasons I should change-the first one being that I look terrible.

But I already know that. I don't need him to say it.

"Can you at least take off those glasses?" he insists, like it physically pains him to ask.

"If I do, you'll be left without an assistant, sir." I hide the smile that threatens to appear.

The truth is, I don't need glasses. My vision is perfectly fine. I only wear them because Aston Myers himself suggested it. Something about his friend hating loose clothing and thick-framed glasses. And since I have no intention of ending up on the radar of a man who chases every woman who crosses his path, I've made sure to look as unattractive as possible.

I think I hear him scoff, but he turns away before I can confirm it. He takes another drink and straightens his shirt, getting ready to receive his guests.

"Did you call Marissa?"

"Yes, she should be arriving any minute," I confirm, swallowing the bitterness of having to manage even his lovers.

What can I do? It's part of the job.

"Good. You can go downstairs and make sure everything is perfect. Once about fifty guests have arrived, send me a message so I can come out."

I nod at his order and turn to leave his office. I can't stand his personality-I really can't-but I have to endure it as long as I have this job. It took me too much to get here to walk away over something as simple as not being able to tolerate my boss.

I step out of the confined space and move through his mansion as if it were my own. I know it like the back of my hand. It's not like I've been here long-Milo only moved to Boston a week ago-but he's worked me so hard these past few days that I could walk these halls with my eyes closed.

And even though I complain about the workload, at least it has kept me busy enough not to dwell on the fact that I'm back in the city that witnessed my worst version of myself-the place where I lost everything.

I shake my head, pushing away unwanted thoughts, and reach the lower floor with a list of last-minute checks and instructions. Everything is as it should be, and at exactly eight in the evening, the guests begin to arrive.

From my position in the kitchen, I keep the entire event under control. There have been no issues at the entrance, and none in the parking area either. I made sure everything was covered so I could focus on the catering side, because Milo may be a millionaire, but he's incredibly cheap, so he refused to hire additional staff.

When Marissa arrives, I have to step out of my hiding place to escort her to her wealthy lover. Standing beside her, a flicker of insecurity tries to settle in-but I remind myself that I don't want to look good. She looks beautiful in a dress Milo will undoubtedly approve of.

"Good evening, Marissa. Welcome. Would you come with me, please?"

I'm polite and professional because it's my job. I don't have a reason to hate her, but the truth is, Marissa is just another one of the many women passing through Milo's life. I can't even say I like her-that would be a lie. Every single one I've met so far has been the same: women interested in his money, willing to do anything to have his attention for a night.

"Where's Milo?" she asks in a shrill voice behind me.

"In his office, waiting for you so he can come out."

"Aww, how sweet. You can let a couple of guests in who aren't on the list, right?"

Without turning around, I answer,

"I could, but only with Mr. Prince's approval."

"Oh, come on, Ivanna. Milo won't say anything. It's a couple he benefits from having close-they're very influential and among the richest in the city. They probably didn't get an invitation because you didn't do your job properly."

I almost laugh at that. I couldn't care less what she thinks I did right or wrong.

We reach the elevator that leads to the upper floors, and I press the button for the doors to open.

"My boss will be the one to evaluate that detail, Marissa." I gesture for her to step inside. "Mr. Prince is waiting for you."

She looks at me like she wants to say everything she's holding back, but it's just frustration from not being able to order me around. She walks past me, heels clicking, hips swaying. Once inside, she lifts her chin, her attitude dripping with arrogance.

"Shane Robinson should have been at the top of that list. And Milo will hear about it."

The elevator doors close, thankfully, and I'm not exposed in front of Marissa with what that name makes me feel. Hearing it is like being slapped out of nowhere. I knew what I was exposing myself to when I came back to this city, but I told myself Boston was too big, and Milo too arrogant to associate with someone who would be his competition. I convinced myself of that so I could accept coming back if I wanted to keep my job.

Knowing Shane could show up here, if Marissa manages to convince Milo, makes a knot form in my throat. But I tell myself I'm over it, that it can't affect me more than it did four years ago.

I step away from the elevator and head back to the kitchen. I'm breaking out in a cold sweat, and I need a moment. I need a drink.

Little by little, I manage to pull myself together. I decide to forget the words Marissa threw at me-especially the part that gave me news I never asked for.

...A couple he benefits from having close...

I don't know how healthy it would be to look into that right now. The urge to do a quick Google search hits me, but I stop myself. I can't go there. I've spent four years without knowing anything about him-I'm not starting tonight.

I focus on my work, organizing everything from the kitchen. An hour later, I'm sweating from the heat when Milo calls me directly.

"Ivanna, I sent someone to the kitchen asking for you. Take care of it."

His order makes me scoff, but I remind myself I'm doing this for a reason. An important one.

I step away from where I'm arranging the trays being sent out, and when I reach the kitchen entrance, the last person I wanted to see tonight stops right in front of me.

Abigail Allen.

She appears with a calm, almost innocent expression, but the moment her eyes land on me and she realizes who I am, surprise flashes across her face. She opens her mouth, trying to say something, but nothing comes out. She looks me up and down, taking in every detail-from my glasses to my loose, cheap clothes.

A slow smile begins to form on her lips.

And I mentally prepare myself to control both my mouth and my fists before I smash them into her face.

"Who would've thought this is where you were hiding, like a sewer rat?" she mocks, crossing her arms as she looks at me with superiority.

"Whoever needs to hide, that's their problem, dear. I'm not one of them," I reply, with no intention of giving her the satisfaction.

She raises an eyebrow, skeptical.

"Oh, really? Then where have you been? After you ran away like the coward you are, empty-handed like you deserved, I didn't think you'd dare show your face around here. But I see you're still making bad decisions."

I roll my eyes. Of course she has to bring up everything that happened-and the way Shane demanded a divorce without giving me anything.

"For some women, dignity matters more, Abigail. Are you the one they sent to the kitchen? No one unauthorized is allowed in this area..."

When she sees I don't react to her venom, she makes a face-but she keeps pushing. She can't walk away without a confrontation.

"So you went from being the proud wife of the millionaire tycoon Shane Robinson to a waitress-is that what you are now?" She looks at me with disgust. "You don't even look the part. You look so awful it's pathetic. Why did you come back, Ivanna? Are you planning to show up in front of Shane and humiliate yourself again?"

Her words don't surprise me-I expected nothing less. But despite her apparent confidence, I can still see that insecurity in her, the one she always had whenever I was around. And I use it, because yes, that idiot cheated on me with her-but I won't let anyone talk to me like that without defending myself.

"What I am and what I'm doing here is none of your concern. Show up in front of Shane? Why would I want that? You can keep him, if you're so busy guarding him from me."

"Well, just so you know, we're engaged-like we should've been from the start," she announces.

And even though it still hurts to hear it out loud, it doesn't surprise me.

At this point, after four years, knowing my ex-husband is about to marry the woman he cheated on me with doesn't catch me off guard.