CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 3

Married?

Amanda didn't like what she just heard, but she couldn't react as her fingers trembled on the doorknob, the metallic chill biting into her skin. The last thing she expected to see today was this person. And the moment she opened the door, the air shifted.

There he stood. Xander.

With a clean cut, dressed in his handmade luxurious suit, he was flawless as ever. His scent was fresh and familiar; it hit her even before the full weight of his presence did. For a full second, neither of them moved. Amanda’s eyes widened, and her breath caught in her throat.

Xander hadn’t expected her to look so broken. The sight of her, in the same worn clothes and wounded eyes, hit him hard, but he didn't show it.

Did he perhaps come back to apologize? Amanda found her chest heaving up and down. He didn't dare, she thought, rage simmering beneath the grief that never left her. But in the same breath, her heart betrayed her, hoping foolishly for something else.

“Xander, what are you doing here?” Her voice cracked, barely a whisper. Disbelief flickered in her eyes, and beneath it, a storm. She clutched the edge of the door, grounding herself. She wouldn’t scream. Not for him.

Xander stiffened slightly, caught off guard by the rawness in her voice. “Amanda,” he said. His eyes scanned her face, searching for something: anger, pain, maybe even hope, but he couldn’t find any. Why did it hurt to look at her? Xander’s jaw tightened. He shouldn't care. This wasn’t love; it had never been. But seeing Amanda now, something twisted inside him.

"I should be the one asking,” he started coldly, but couldn't complete his sentence because, just like poison dripping into an open wound, Isabel’s voice slithered in from behind.

“Oh, you opened the door already? Amanda, meet my fiancé,” Isabel said.

Xander’s jaw tightened. This wasn’t how he wanted Amanda to find out. Although he had no plans of telling her, he didn't expect she would somehow be intertwined in his life. But Isabel was already steering him in like a trophy.

Isabel could feel the tension between them, and she immediately made Xander come inside while leaving Amanda outside.

“Who is she?” Amanda could hear him ask faintly, but his voice was filled with uncertainty.

“She’s…” Isabel hesitated, then glanced up at him with a sorrowful look. “She’s my father’s… mistress’s child.” She lied.

Isabel gently squeezed his hand, lowering her voice further. “It’s not something we talk about a lot. It’s… embarrassing. Dad had an affair years ago. Her mother was just a nanny.”

Xander immediately held her hand, but his mind was somewhere else. Something felt off. But how could he know, when he didn't know a single personal detail, when he was still with Amanda?

“It's fine. I understand,” he said, barely moving any facial muscles. He shouldn't care. After all, he was marrying Isabel just for business and because her reputation was clean.

Amanda stood outside, her fists clenched at her sides. Her heart stung not just with betrayal, but with something colder and emptier. She watched him touch Isabel gently. That used to be her dream.

But dreams were dangerous. They set you up to fall. And now? She would remember this. All of it.

Fiancé? She scoffed as she thought of what Isabel had said earlier. How could he want Isabel and not her? What did she have that she didn't?

Amanda gritted her teeth, blinking fast to hold back the tears rising behind her eyes. Isabel’s smirk met her like a slap. “You lose,” her lips mouthed before slamming the door.

Amanda didn’t move. She didn’t cry. The surrounding silence said enough. But in her chest, a vow was forming. She wouldn’t forget. And she wouldn’t stay broken.

****

Rain poured like judgment from the sky, slicing through the night in heavy drops. Amanda stood at the edge of a small wooden porch, her clothes clinging to her skin. Her suitcase lay at her feet.

She stared at the wooden door in front of her, chipped, weathered, the pale blue paint peeling like dried scabs. The porch light flickered overhead, casting ghostly shadows on her tear-streaked face.

She raised her hand to knock, but kept it down again. Maybe she shouldn't be here, she thought. But if she didn't, then where would she go? So she summoned the courage, and with just a single knock, an old woman appeared. It was her grandmother, popularly known in the neighborhood as Granny K.

No one actually knew what the K in her name stood for. But let's not delve into that now.

Immediately, she saw her granny, Amanda, burst into tears and knelt to the floor.

“They all abandoned me, Granny. All of them,” she said, her face facing the ground, exhaustion all over her body.

“It's okay, darling,” Granny K immediately held her granddaughter and let her inside. She might not have had a good relationship with her daughter before she died because of her disobedience, but she could never push her granddaughter away.

Amanda used to visit her regularly as a younger child; however, it seemed the rift between her mother and Granny K got worse, and her mother never let her visit her granny anymore.

With time, after Amanda had gotten inside, she told her grandmother all that transpired.

“First of all, I am going to make that son of a bi**h regret what he did to you, and then I will make sure your good-for-nothing father goes to jail for assaulting you.” Her voice shook, rage bleeding through every word.”

“No, Grandma. You shouldn't do that, please. Xander is very powerful. He will destroy you. Please, just let me stay here for now. Please.” She begged with watery eyes. She couldn't let the only person she had left suffer because of her.

“I will only agree to that on one condition.”

“What condition, Grandma? I'd do it,” she said.

“I will let you know later. For now, go take your bath and come eat your food.” Grandma patted her head to assure her she wasn't alone.

After bathing, Amanda sat curled on the edge of the bed, knees to her chest, her grandmother's old quilt draped around her shoulders. The house was quiet, except for the wind tapping against the wooden window panes.

She reached for the sweatshirt she hadn’t been able to throw away, the same one from that day. The fabric was stiff from age, stained with pain. She clutched it like a lifeline.

“You ruined everything,” she whispered into the cotton, tears slipping from her lashes. “You took my baby.”

Her hand dipped into the pocket, mostly out of habit. Her fingers brushed against something, not fabric, not lint. Paper.

Her breath caught.

Amanda blinked and pulled it out, a small, crumpled scrap, smudged and nearly unreadable. She stared at it, heart pounding, as she unfolded it with trembling hands.

Your baby is safe. I only removed the IUD. He doesn’t know.

The handwriting was hurried, scrawled like someone writing in the dark.

“W-What…?” she choked out. She read it again and again, her mind refusing to process it, but her heart did. A thud deep in her chest with hope. A dangerous and impossible hope.

Her baby… was alive?

She stumbled to her feet, hand pressed to her mouth. “Grandma!” she shouted, voice hoarse, breath catching on every word. “Grandma!”

Nine months later.

Xander had just poured himself a glass of scotch when the doorbell rang once, then again, followed by a soft knock.

He set the glass down and strode to the door, his expression sharp and unreadable. But the moment he pulled it open, the atmosphere dampened.

There, on the doorstep, lay a small woven basket.

His fingers trembled as he reached toward the blanket. And that’s when the baby stirred.

Her eyes opened. They were big, clear, and very familiar.

Xander took a step back. He was in total disbelief. How could…? He immediately checked for a name or at least a note. But there was no note. No name. Just the baby and those eyes.

Amanda’s eyes.