The rain cleared by morning.

Bella hadn't slept a minute.

All night, her head spun. She'd seen love at its purest—how could she ever settle for a heart that had already changed?

She was Bella, the girl who once loved Steven with everything she had.

But she was also Bella Beaufort, the Beaufort heiress. She couldn't stomach even a grain of deceit.

With that resolve, she made a call.

"Dad, remember how Beaufort Corp wanted to expand into Inglane? Heidi's husband's from the royal family there, and she's heading back in a couple weeks with her kid. I want to go with her and check things out."

Jonathan frowned. "Did Steven tell you to bring this up?"

"No. This time it's my choice." She let out a bitter smile.

Even her own dad saw her and Steven as one.

Jonathan was thrown. His daughter had never once left that Rocca boy's side. Why was she suddenly set on going so far away?

"Bella, did Steven hurt you?" His tone sharpened.

Bella pressed her lips together.

"Dad, don't ask right now. Once I'm in Inglane, I'll explain everything."

The Rocca and Beaufort families had been tied together for generations, their marriage sealing the bond even tighter. She refused to drag her family into the fallout.

In the end, Jonathan gave in. "Alright. Come by Beaufort Corp later and get familiar with the plans."

Bella nodded and hung up. She dragged herself out of bed to wash up. Her eyes were swollen, and the bitterness in her chest wouldn't quit.

The lawyer had already sent over the divorce papers, but she still hadn't figured out how to tell Steven. After all those years, it wasn't something she could just toss aside.

She covered the tear-stains with makeup, slipped into a crisp, professional outfit, and stepped out.

Downstairs, Heidi was having breakfast with Nico. Bella figured she'd scared him yesterday.

"Aunt Bella, you're up!" Nico ran over, grabbed her hand. “Mom said your heart was sad yesterday. I can make it better!”

Six-year-olds—too sweet for this world. Bella brushed his cheek. “Good boy. I’m okay now. Go back to your mom.”

He nodded, still confused, then skipped back to Heidi.

Bella's mind flashed to Steven laughing with that other boy yesterday.

If their baby had lived, they'd be older than him by now.

She forced down the ache, gave Heidi a quick explanation, and slipped out of the house.

But the second she stepped past the gates, she froze.

Steven leaned against the car, looking wrecked, a cigarette hanging from his lips. Smoke blurred his face.

Bella's chest clenched. The records showed his side chick—Ada Fowler—and her son both had July birthdays. Ada's just passed—the boy's was still coming. So why was Steven back already?

Her stare must've given her away. Steven looked up, confused at first, then his tired eyes lit up when he saw her.

He crossed the distance fast and yanked her into his arms.

The heat of him used to mean comfort. Now it burned.

"Feeling better?" His voice was soft, loaded with worry. "I heard you yesterday and knew something was off. I drove back overnight. When you weren't home, I guessed you'd be here with Heidi."

He really did sound worried.

But Bella couldn't wrap her head around it. If he'd loved her that much, how could he live so easily with another woman and a kid?

Her lips shook. She swallowed the bitterness and forced out, "I'm fine. I was just heading home."

Steven let out a breath. "Next time you're sick, tell me. Don't scare me like that."

His voice was so soft, so gentle, it almost tricked her into thinking nothing had changed.

Then Bella caught movement—a slim figure under a tree.

Ada. On her phone.

A beat later, Steven's cell lit up. He checked the screen, hesitation flashing across his face. "Something urgent at work. I need to handle it."

Bella's stomach dropped.

She wasn't stupid. She'd seen the name: Ada.

The bitterness burned, but she forced a smile. "Go ahead. Work comes first."

Guilt flickered in his eyes before he pressed a kiss to her forehead and slid into the car.

The second he got in, Ada ended her call. She swayed her way over, smirking. "Hi, I'm Ada Fowler. I'm—"

Her eyes caught Bella's tight expression, and the words shifted.

"So, you already know about me and Ollie. Perfect. Enjoy the show."

Bella grabbed a cab and tailed Ada in silence.

At the hospital, she stopped at the doorway, the scene inside slicing through her chest like glass.

She bit down hard on her lip, forcing herself not to make a sound.

Steven's son lay hooked up to an IV. His little face was pale, fragile, heartbreakingly weak.

Steven was pacing, agitated. "What the hell is wrong with you people? You can't even treat a kid's fever?"

The doctor at the bed—Bella knew him. Jeffrey. Steven's closest friend.

"Steven, the kid's got a cold and a fever from a chill," Jeffrey snapped. "If you can't handle it, don't rip into my staff.

"And seriously, I don't get you. Didn't you say you'd pay that woman off once the kid was born? Now one sniffle and you're dragging me here? What if Bella finds out?"

Silence stretched before Steven finally spoke, voice rough, worn down. "What do you expect me to do? He's just a kid. Every time I try to send Ada away, Ollie cries nonstop. I can't let him cry forever, can I?"

Jeffrey let out a sharp laugh. "Please. Is it really the kid who can't let go, or is it you? You know damn well which one."

Steven groaned, rubbing his forehead. "Don't start. I've only ever loved Bella. But my family needs an heir. You have to keep this from her—I won't let her get hurt. And Ada... she gave me a child. I can't just throw her aside."

Right then, the door creaked open. Ada slipped in, tears streaking her face.

"Steven, it's all my fault. I didn't take care of Ollie. He spiked a fever after you left last night. He cried for you the whole time, but I didn't want to disturb you and your wife..."

Steven pressed a hand to the boy's burning forehead and sighed, his anger fading.

He pulled Ada against him. "Don't cry. I'm not blaming you. This is on me—I haven't been a good dad."

Ada clutched his shirt, fingers tracing his chest. "I know I'll never compare to your wife, but I can't stand seeing our son like this..."

Steven's eyes hardened. "No one gets to make my son suffer. And you—take care of yourself. Look at you, crying your eyes out."

He reached up and brushed a tear from her cheek. The softness of it cut straight through Bella's chest.

Her fists clenched so tight her nails carved crescents into her palms—yet she felt nothing.

Or maybe nothing could ever hurt worse than this.

The rain was coming down hard when Bella left the hospital.

Soaked and half-numb, she drifted through the storm like a ghost. Water blurred her eyes, but it couldn't wash off the shame burning under her skin.

By the time she reached Beaufort Corp, her heels had torn up her ankles—blood mixing with rain on her skin.

The receptionist froze, then sprinted over. "Ms. Beaufort! What happened? Should I call Mr. Rocca? He'd freak if he saw you like this."

Bella didn't flinch. Of course they thought Steven still loved her. Everyone did.

But love like his? Built on lies.

She brushed past the receptionist, voice rough. "I'm fine. Rain caught me off guard. Grab me a clean outfit."

She slid her black card into the girl's hand and locked herself inside the nearest meeting room.

The second the door shut, Bella crumbled.

She thought those photos had numbed her. But seeing them in real life—Steven, Ada, and that kid playing happy family—ripped her wide open.

Her sobs filled the room, raw and messy. She wanted to scream. How could he be the same guy who once promised forever and now raise a kid with someone else?

A knock snapped her out of it.

The hallway was empty. Just a stack of clean clothes, her black card, and a warm cup of tea sitting at the door.

Underneath the cup: a handwritten note. [Ms. Beaufort, don't worry. I didn't call Mr. Rocca. I know you don't want him to worry.]

Bella's jaw clenched. She ripped the note to pieces and dumped it in the trash.

Clothes in hand, she changed in the restroom. A little while later, the Beaufort heiress was back—flawless, untouchable.

She marched into the CEO's office and threw herself into work. No breaks. No distractions.

Steven kept texting. She didn't open a single one.

By evening, drained and cold, she headed home—ready to pack up and disappear first thing in the morning.

But the second she stepped inside, a kid's voice called out from the living room—and there was Ada, standing like she belonged.

Ada wore a maid's uniform, and across the room, a little boy had trashed the place.

When Bella walked in, Ada popped up from beside Steven and flashed a polite smile. "Mrs. Rocca, you're back. Madam Miranda sent me to look after Oliver."

Bella's lips pressed tight, breath catching.

How dare Steven—how dare he bring them here?

Steven noticed her face shift and rushed in. "Babe, I texted you this afternoon. Maybe you missed it. Mom brought Oliver back from an orphanage. She said he was meant to be with us."

All the heartbreak she'd spilled in that empty meeting room was gone. What was left burned hot.

They really thought she was stupid.

"Steven, are you trying to rip my heart out on purpose?" Her voice shook with fury.

Steven frowned, thrown by how hard she snapped.

"Don't be mad! You know my family needs an heir. I saw how much you still grieve for the baby we lost, so I gave in to Mom. If you don't like it, I'll have him sent away right now."

Everyone knew Steven loved Bella. His one rule—Bella first.

Even now, he was ready to toss out his own son if she asked.

That kind of twisted devotion only made her stomach turn.

She was about to lay it all bare when the boy—Oliver—suddenly wailed.

"You're a bad lady! Daddy, why are you with this bad lady? Don't you want me anymore?"

The shrieking drilled into Steven's skull. "Oliver! Who told you to talk like that?"

Then to the household staff: “Are you all deaf? Get him out of here!”

Staff scrambled to scoop up the crying kid and rush him off.

Ada panicked. "Mr. Rocca, it's all my fault. Please don't blame Oliver."

As she said it, her eyes clung to Steven, all soft and pitiful.

Steven sighed, voice dropping. "I'm not blaming him. He's just a kid—he doesn't know better. Go take care of him."

Bella watched it play out, her chest icing over with every second.

She yanked away from Steven and went upstairs, slamming the door in his face.

He lingered outside, frustrated but still trying to sound gentle. "Babe, it's my fault. I'll send the kid away first thing in the morning. If you don't want me with you tonight, that's fine. Just rest. We'll talk tomorrow."

Bella slid down against the door, listening as his footsteps faded. Her chest ached so deep it felt hollow.

What difference did it make if the kid stayed or not? Blood doesn't just disappear. In the end, the one who'd have to leave... was her.

She didn't answer. She locked the door.

Alone, she slumped against the cold wood. Once Steven’s footsteps disappeared, whatever strength she had left gave out—and she slid to the floor.

She was just so tired—bone-deep, soul-deep tired.

She didn't know how long she sat there until her phone buzzed. She unlocked it with numb fingers.

A text—from an unknown number.

Ada.

[You shut Steven out. Don't blame him for coming to me.]

Bella's eyes flew wide. She pushed to her feet and stepped out of the bedroom.

At the end of the hall, the study light glowed.

The door hung half open. Inside, Ada's syrupy voice drifted out. "Steven, that hurts..."

Steven's grunt cut rough. “Didn’t want pain, but still trying to seduce me? You really don’t know how to behave—even after having a kid.”

Bella froze, ice tearing through her veins.

She never thought Steven would fall this low, this fast.

Ada's soft moan slipped out, shaky but deliberate. "I just saw how upset you were after fighting with your wife... I wanted to cheer you up."

"Don't make excuses for being easy," Steven snapped. "If you want Ollie to stay in this family, don't pick fights with Bella."

Bella couldn't take it.

She didn't even know how she made it back to her room.

In the bathroom, she gripped the sink and retched until her stomach burned.

Only when the pain twisted sharp did she slowly lift her head to the mirror.

No tears left.

She was the proud Beaufort heiress. This—this wreck—wasn't who she was meant to be.

She sat hollow for what felt like forever, until the sky bled pale. Only then did she finally crawl into bed.

This time, she was done. She didn't want him anymore.