The room was dim, the air heavy with the soft hum of luxury. My heart pounded as I crept silently down the hallway, each step filled with dread and betrayal. Seven years of marriage, built on laughter, promises and dreams, seemed to unravel before my eyes as I approached the partially open door of the presidential suite.

Inside, the man who once vowed eternal loyalty to me was seated with a woman draped in provocative lace. Her delicate voice floated into the hallway.

"Harry," she cooed, her fingers tracing his jawline. "I know you don’t have weak sperm. You just don’t want her to have your baby."

My stomach churned as I pressed my trembling hand to the wall for support.

She leaned closer, her voice dripping with desire. "Let me have your child, okay? I’ll do anything."

His response, low but clear, sliced through me like a blade. "Fine," he said, almost detached. "But remember this—Clarissa is the only woman I’ll ever love. You’re just... a means to an end."

The world spun, my knees threatening to give way. I couldn’t bear to hear another word. Turning on my heel, I fled, my breath shallow, my vision blurred by tears.

***

The elevator ride down felt interminable, but when the doors finally opened, the grand hotel lobby greeted me with an overwhelming display of opulence. Red roses cascaded from every corner, their fragrance cloying. Chandeliers sparkled as though mocking my misery and staff bustled around, adding finishing touches to the lavish decor.

A young waitress, seemingly new, paused next to me, her eyes wide with awe. "Is there a wedding happening here?" she whispered to another staff member.

The older employee chuckled, her tone carrying pride. "Don’t you know? It’s for our boss, Mr. Harry and his wife. Their seventh wedding anniversary is in five days. This celebration has been in the works for months!"

My stomach twisted at the irony. They were talking about us.

The waitress’s jaw dropped. "Mr. Harry? As in the Harry? The one people say every woman dreams of marrying?"

"Exactly," the other woman said with a grin. "Their love story is legendary. He built a skyscraper named after his wife! It’s like a fairy tale."

A bitter laugh threatened to escape my lips. A fairy tale? The prince, my husband, was upstairs betraying me, while I was still drowning in the illusion of his perfect devotion. Memories flashed before me: the extravagant wedding, the love-filled social media posts, the way he showered me with affection, always making me feel like I was his world.

It was all a lie.

***

By the time I stumbled back into our home, the weight of betrayal crushed me. Tears streamed down my face, but I wiped them away hurriedly as our family doctor entered the room.

"Time for your injection, Mrs. Simson," she said softly, holding up the syringe.

I froze, staring at the thick needle. My heart ached as fresh tears welled up. Six months ago, when Harry discovered he had "weak sperm," I had willingly undergone grueling IVF treatments for him.

The daily hormone injections, the endless medications—I endured it all because he said he wanted a child. Our child. I used to be terrified of needles, but I forced myself to be brave. The bruises, the allergic reactions, the weight I’d gained—it didn’t matter. I wanted to make him happy.

But now I knew the truth. His sperm wasn’t weak. He wanted a child, yes, but not with me.

I was still sitting numbly on the bed when the door burst open. Harry rushed in, his face a mask of concern.

"Clarissa," he breathed, his voice softening as he approached me with a single rose in hand. "I’m sorry. I’ve been so busy planning our anniversary that I almost forgot your injection today."

He knelt beside me, his warm hand covering mine as he placed the rose in my lap. "You’ve been so strong through all this," he murmured, his dark eyes searching mine. "Let me handle it this time."

Before I could respond, he gently took the syringe from the doctor’s hand, dismissing her with a polite nod. "I’ll do it myself," he said.

Harry had insisted on giving me my injections personally from the start. He’d even gone so far as to take lessons on administering them. It was one of the many ways he’d shown his "love."

But now, as he prepared the needle, his touch careful and practiced,

The room was filled with a comforting warmth as Harry held me close, his voice soothing, his presence steady. Yet beneath the rich aroma of roses lingering in the air, I caught a whiff of something foreign—perfume that wasn’t mine. My stomach churned, unease creeping in.

When I glanced up at him, my gaze landed on the faint hickey peeking out from the nape of his neck. The sight sent a jolt through me, clearing the haze his charm had cast. The world slowed and every affectionate word he spoke turned hollow in my ears.

“Hubby,” I murmured, stepping back. My voice wavered but carried resolve. “Can I stop taking the ovulation injections? It’s been so long and I’m tired. I… I want to give up.”

His reaction was immediate. His dark eyes misted over and he reached for me, pulling me into his arms as though trying to shield me from my own words. “Dear,” he said, his voice filled with a tender ache, “you’ve worked so hard. But I really want a baby that belongs to us. Don’t you want to have a child for your husband?”

His words wrapped around me like a net, suffocating yet impossible to escape. He reached for the syringe, his movements steady but almost too rehearsed. “It won’t hurt, I promise. Hubby will do it for you, okay?”

I flinched, my heart pounding as I looked into his eyes. “Must I do this?” I whispered, desperate for a reprieve.

His gaze softened, filled with what appeared to be love—a love so deep and sincere it was almost cruel. “Definitely. Be good, it’s just one more step toward our dream.”

I nodded numbly, letting him press the needle into my swollen belly. The cold steel pierced my skin and pain surged through me like fire. My breath hitched as tears blurred my vision.

It hurt.

It hurt more than I could bear. But I said nothing.

***

For years, Harry had treated me with the utmost care, as though I were a treasure he couldn’t afford to lose. He noticed every shift in my mood, every fleeting sadness and he always found ways to coax me back into happiness. Yet now, as I sat here enduring the agony of this injection, I couldn’t understand.

Why did he pretend not to see my pain? Why force me to endure this when he knew I was breaking?

I swallowed my questions, biting down on my lip as he rubbed my stomach gently, his hand warm against my skin. His gaze was filled with concern, the kind that could fool anyone.

“I’m not going to work for the next few days,” he said softly. “I’ll stay home and take care of you until you feel better. Be good, okay? I’ll go make some soup.”

***

As he turned to leave, I called out to him, my voice catching. “Harry… I went to the hotel today. Those roses were beautiful.”

His steps faltered and he turned back, his expression guarded. “Oh? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? Did you see anyone?”

“No.”

A visible wave of relief washed over him, his shoulders relaxing as he forced a smile. “Next time, let me know in advance. I’ll have the staff line up to welcome you properly.”

I watched him carefully, my heart sinking as his façade of composure slipped back into place. He tucked the blanket around me with practiced care before heading downstairs.

The moment he was gone, I reached for my phone, dialing my mentor’s number with trembling hands.

“Teacher,” I said, my voice low but resolute, “I want to apply for the research confidential program. And I need to cancel all my identity information.”

There was a pause on the other end. “Are you sure, Clarissa? Once you make this decision, there’s no going back.”

“I’m sure. I just… I need to disappear completely.”

After finalizing the arrangements to leave in five days, I hung up and sank back into bed. A heavy weight lifted from my chest, replaced by an eerie calm. Sleep came quickly, pulling me into its merciful embrace.

***

Five days later, the house smelled of a feast as Harry prepared for our seventh wedding anniversary. I woke to the sound of his humming downstairs, the aroma of dinner wafting up to the bedroom. For a moment, I lay still, staring at the ceiling, wondering if I was making the right choice.

A knock at the door broke the fragile peace.

“Harry, the power’s out at my house,” came a soft, sugary voice from the hall. “I’m so afraid of the dark. Can I stay here for the night?”

I knew that voice. Evelyn. His good friend’s cousin, the woman who looked like a younger version of me but with sharper edges and an undeniable boldness.

I sat up, listening as Harry hesitated. “No way,” he said firmly. “Clarissa doesn’t like having outsiders stay in our home.”

But there was a tremor in his voice that betrayed him. And I realized then: this wasn’t just about a harmless guest seeking refuge. It was about the cracks I could no longer ignore, the betrayal that lay hidden beneath every word and gesture.

As their voices faded, I sat there alone, my mind racing. I had five days to leave this life behind. Five days to find myself again. But would five days be enough to escape the shadows of Harry’s love?

Evelyn stood in the doorway, her eyes brimming with tears that glistened like polished glass. Her lips trembled as she pouted, her voice as soft and saccharine as melted honey. “Harry,” she whimpered, “you promised my brother you'd take care of me. How could you leave me alone on such a scary night?”

I watched from the staircase, my arms crossed, my heart heavy with bitter amusement. The sheer absurdity of it all—it was almost comical. These two, putting on their little act for my benefit, pretending to be innocent while I knew the truth. The fiery passion they shared behind my back had left its scorched fingerprints everywhere. And yet here they were, playing their roles as if nothing had happened.

Harry’s brows furrowed. “Evelyn, it’s late. Go home. Clarissa doesn’t like strangers staying over.”

But Evelyn wasn’t deterred. She turned to me, her voice shifting from pitiful to pleading. “Sister,” she said, clasping her hands together, “can I stay? Just for one night? I’ll be no trouble, I promise.”

Her wide, innocent eyes were a masterstroke in manipulation. I offered her a cold smile, one sharp enough to cut. “Stay,” I said flatly.

Her face lit up like a child unwrapping a gift. “Yay! Clarissa is so kind and generous!” She practically skipped into the house, heading straight to the dining table. Without hesitation, she plopped herself down in my seat.

“Harry,” she cooed, grinning up at him, “your cooking smells amazing. You know, I could get used to this. I want to eat your food for the rest of my life!”

Harry sighed, rubbing his temples. “Evelyn,” he said sharply, “that’s Clarissa’s seat. Everything here tonight is prepared especially for her. There’s no place for you.”

Despite his stern words, the banter between them was sickeningly playful, their familiarity suffocating. My stomach churned as I watched them. I pushed back my chair, my appetite gone.

“Dear,” Harry called after me as I made my way to the stairs. “Why aren’t you eating? Are you feeling unwell?”

I glanced back, forcing a faint smile. “A little tired. I’ll head to bed.”

***

Late that night, a soft chime from my phone broke the silence of the room. It was a message on WhatsApp—from Evelyn.

“Clarissa, come to the checkroom. I have a surprise for you! ”

My stomach dropped. Against my better judgment, I slipped out of bed, my curiosity outweighing the dread pooling in my chest. Quietly, I made my way to the door of the checkroom.

What I heard on the other side froze me in place.

“Harry,” Evelyn’s voice was low, breathy and dripping with seduction, “do you think I look pretty in my sister’s clothes? Isn’t it exciting to… you know, do it here?”

My breath caught in my throat as her words grew more explicit. “Your wife is old and fat now. She can’t compare to me. I’m the one who fits your body perfectly, aren’t I?”

Harry’s response came in a muted growl, his movements audible through the door. “Right. I love to toy with you. I’ll keep going until you can’t even stand.”

Their laughter, their whispers, their gasps—they sliced through me like shards of glass. My heart twisted and a dull ache began to spread from my abdomen. I clutched my stomach, the familiar, tormenting pain from the booster shot surging through me.

I wanted to scream, to throw open the door and confront them. But instead, I turned away, my hands trembling as I covered my swollen belly. My tears blurred my vision as I staggered back to my room.

Before I could close the door, Evelyn’s voice echoed once more, this time light and jubilant.

“Harry, be gentle,” she teased, giggling. “I was in such a rush to see you tonight, I almost forgot to tell you the big news.”

“What news?” Harry asked, his voice suddenly softer.

“I’m pregnant,” she said, her tone airy. “We’re going to have a baby.”

Her words hit me like a thunderclap. My head spun, my mind roaring with disbelief. Pregnant? With his child? My legs buckled and I gripped the doorframe for support.

Inside the checkroom, Harry let out a gasp of delight. “Really? Evelyn, that’s amazing!” His voice was filled with joy as he kissed her repeatedly, showering her with affection.

I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted blood. The pain in my abdomen intensified and when I glanced down, I saw my stomach, swollen and bruised, looking like an overfilled balloon ready to burst. The tears I had been holding back fell freely now.

An hour later, Harry crept back into our bedroom. I closed my eyes, feigning sleep as he slipped into bed beside me. He wrapped his arms around me carefully, as though I were something fragile. His hand found my stomach and he began to rub it gently, murmuring, “Clarissa, I love you.”

I froze at his words, the irony of them crushing me under their weight. How could someone who claimed to love me so deeply hurt me so profoundly?

As his breathing evened out and he fell asleep, I lay there, my mind spinning. The countdown in my head began anew.

Five more days, I told myself. Five more days and I’ll finally be free.

***

The next morning, I woke to an empty bed. Harry had already risen and the faint sound of laughter floated up from the kitchen. I recognized Evelyn’s petulant giggles and his indulgent chuckles.

The sound of them together was like poison, spreading through me. But I swallowed it down, straightened my spine and prepared to face another day of this charade. Only five more days—five agonizing, endless days—until I could disappear from this nightmare.