Chapter Two

LENA

“Wife-to… to… be?”

The words echoed in my head over and over again, mocking me with every repetition. I couldn't process them.

I stood there, drenched from the London rain, my nursing scrubs clinging to my skin. I'd come straight from work after Aunt Vivian called to tell me my mum had been rushed to the hospital. Now my mind was a blur of the doctor's words—twenty-four hours—and the sight of this woman standing in my pale blue towel.

I waited for the punchline. I waited for her to laugh and say it was a prank. But then I heard the voice. The anchor that had held me together for five years.

“Darling? Did you find the wine? I think there’s a bottle of Chablis in the back of the fridge.”

Killian walked into the hallway, bare-chested and damp from a shower. He looked relaxed. He looked happy. When his eyes met mine, he didn't run to me. He didn't ask about my day. He didn't even look guilty.

“Lena?” His voice was flat. “You’re back so soon? I wasn't expecting you this early.”

I felt the air leave my lungs. “Early? Killian, what is this? Who is this lady? Why is she wearing my towel? Why is she in our house?”

I was shaking so hard I could barely stand. I looked at him, pleading with my eyes for him to tell me a lie. Anything. Just tell me it wasn't what it looked like.

Lydia didn't move. She leaned against the doorframe, watching me shatter while Killian stepped toward her and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his side.

“Lena,” he said, his voice as cold as the rain outside. “This is Lydia. She’s my fiancée.”

I staggered back, my hand flying to my mouth. “I don’t understand. Since when? Is this some kind of joke? Then stop it because this isn't funny. What do you mean, fiancée?”

“As a matter of fact,” he continued, his tone devoid of any emotion, “we’re getting married in two weeks.”

The ground felt like it was opening up to swallow me. Two weeks?

For years, I had worked double shifts to keep us afloat while he was planning a future with someone else. I thought about my mother lying in that hospital bed, her organs failing, and here he was, starting a new life.

I lunged forward, grabbing the waistband of his boxers, my fingers trembling. “Killian, you can’t do this to me! Our five years can’t just go like that! Please!” My face was soaked with tears, mixing with the rainwater. “What does she have that I don’t? My mum is fighting for her life in the intensive care unit! The doctor says she has a slim chance of making it! Please, don't do this to me now!”

> “You really think I stayed with you for five years because of love?” Killian let out a bitter laugh.

He glanced at Lydia, who stood beside the door with a satisfied smile.

“Lena, let's be honest. You were convenient. You paid half the rent. You kept this place running while I 'looked for work.' Every time you dragged yourself home after another twelve-hour shift and still cooked dinner or cleaned the house because you thought we were building a future together..." He shook his head. "You made my life easy.”

His eyes hardened.

“I didn't need a partner; I needed a maid. I didn't have to pay, and you were too vulnerable to realize that.”

He took another step closer.

“And that dream of having a family?” He scoffed. “You actually believed it? Every time you got pregnant, I convinced you we weren't ready. That we needed more money, better timing, and a better future.”

His lips curled into a smile.

“You believed every word.”

My breath caught in my throat.

“And all that talk about starting a family? You actually fell for it. Every single time you got pregnant and I told you we weren't ready, that we needed to save more, you believed me. Eight times, Lena. Eight times you went under the knife for me. Did you really think I'd ever want to have a child with someone like you? To be honest, after eight abortions, I'm not even sure you have a womb left in there. I want a family, yes—but I want it with a woman who is whole. I'm not settling down with a girl who's been hollowed out.”

“Now I'm ready for a family... just not with you.”

He reached for Lydia's hand and intertwined their fingers.

“Lydia deserves that future. Not a woman I've already emptied of everything she had to give.”

He leaned in, whispering the final blow.

“You were never my future, Lena.”

“You were the ladder I climbed while I built the life I really wanted.”

“You worked. You paid the bills. You sacrificed your body. You carried my burdens.”

“Now that I've reached the top... I don't need the ladder anymore.”

I let go of his clothes and reached up, cupping his face. I was desperate. I was pathetic.

"I know I'm not like her," I sobbed. "I can change, Killian. I'll take better care of myself. I’ll eat well! I’ll reduce the stress, I’ll gain weight! I can even buy weight-gain supplements to speed up the process! I can make my hair brown and curly like hers! Just... Please don't leave me.”

The silence that followed was terrifying. I was looking into his eyes, searching for a spark of the man I knew.

Crack.

The slap was so sudden and so hot that it threw me to the floor. My cheek burned, and my head spun. It wasn't the first time he’d been violent—Killian always had a temper when provoked—but this time, it felt like he was killing me.

I crawled on my hands and knees, my vision blurred by tears and the shock of the blow. I reached for his leg, clinging to him like a beggar.

“Baby, please... you’re the only support I have. Don't push me away.”

I was still at his feet, sobbing into the floor, when a heavy thud sounded next to me. Then another.

I looked up through my red, weak eyes. Lydia was standing there, tossing my bags out of the bedroom and onto the floor of the hallway. My suitcases, my clothes, my nursing bag—everything was being thrown out like trash.

“Lena, leave my house,” Killian said, his voice looming over me. “I’m tired of you. I’m tired of your problems, your dying mother, and your constant drama. There’s no space for you in my life or my house anymore.”

He pried my fingers off his leg as if I were a piece of filth.

“Lydia and I are starting a family. Go live your frustrated life somewhere else. Just get out from under my roof.”

Lydia threw the last of my things out into the common hallway of the building. She didn't say a word, just smirked as she adjusted my towel.

Killian grabbed the handle of the door.

“Don’t come back, Lena. We’re done.”

The door slammed shut. The sound echoed through the hallway like a gunshot.

I sat there on the cold carpet, surrounded by my life packed into three bags. I could hear them inside. I heard the faint sound of a wine cork popping. I heard her laugh—a light, musical sound that felt like a knife in my chest. They were celebrating, while I was sitting in the dark, homeless and alone.

With trembling hands, I dragged my three bags into a dark corner of the building's underground parking lot. I tucked them behind a concrete pillar, praying no one would steal the last few things I owned.

I couldn't carry them. I couldn't even carry myself anymore.

My legs moved before my mind could catch up. I stumbled out of the garage and into the freezing London night. The rain had turned into a fine drizzle, but the cold bit through my soaked scrubs like knives. My vision was a blur of tears as I wandered aimlessly down the empty pavement.

I didn’t know where I was going. I didn't even care.

My thoughts were trapped in a never-ending rollercoaster, spiraling between fear and heartbreak. I silently prayed that my mum would survive this time, even if it meant it would be her last chance. I needed her now more than ever.

Every loss crashed over me at once. My father. My mother. My home. Killian. I could barely breathe beneath the weight of it all.

I felt like I was suffocating in the open air. I stepped onto the road, my mind completely blank.

A sharp car horn blasted through the night.

Someone nearby shouted, "Watch out!"

I didn't move. I didn't even look.

Suddenly, blinding headlights flooded my vision. A sleek black car hurtled toward me at terrifying speed. Tyres screeched against the rain-soaked road as the driver slammed on the brakes. The car missed me by a mere inch, the rush of air from its body brushing against my skin.

But the force of the sudden stop and my own exhausted body sent me crashing onto the rain-soaked asphalt.

The world began to tilt. My eyelids grew impossibly heavy, and the cold of the road started to feel like a blanket.

The last thing I saw before darkness swallowed me was t

he driver's door flying open. A pair of polished black shoes stopped just inches from my face.

Then, a deep, furious male voice shattered the silence.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?”