Chapter 2 Divorce

Serena's POV

I woke to the sterile smell of antiseptic and the rhythmic beeping of medical equipment. My entire body felt like it had been trampled by a herd of stampeding horses.

Through blurry vision, I could make out the figure of Simon Graves, Ryan's personal assistant, standing awkwardly near the window of my hospital room.

"Mrs. Blackwood, you're awake," Simon said, his voice betraying relief tinged with discomfort.

"How long have I been here?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Two days," Simon replied. "A fisherman found you washed up near the shore and called emergency services. You had severe blood loss, three broken ribs, and numerous lacerations."

"Where's Ryan?" I asked, my voice raspy from disuse.

The memories came flooding back—the kidnapping, the phone call, my desperate escape into the lake. "Does he know what happened?"

Simon shifted nervously, avoiding eye contact. "Mr. Blackwood is... attending to some important matters. He asked me to stay with you until you regained consciousness."

The hollowness in my chest expanded.

Even now, after I had nearly died, Ryan couldn't be bothered to sit by my bedside. Three years of marriage, and I wasn't worth even a few hours of his time.

"I understand," I said quietly. "You can go now. Thank you for coming."

He simply nodded and left the room.

I sat alone in the hospital bed, my heart aching with cold emptiness. I tried to accept that Ryan didn't love me, but I couldn't help trying to convince myself that maybe he truly did have something important to attend to.

But then the door suddenly opened again.

I thought it might be Simon returning, but when I looked up, I saw a familiar beautiful face framed by golden waves.

My heart sank as Ivy Hart glided in, her face arranged in a mask of concern that didn't reach her eyes.

"Oh, dear Serena!" she exclaimed with theatrical concern, clutching a bouquet of lilies—flowers I was allergic to, as she well knew.

"Everyone at the family house has been absolutely beside themselves with worry!"

She barely paused to breathe before continuing, her tone syrupy sweet.

"Ryan has been so overwhelmed. You know how he gets when the family's reputation is on the line. His wife getting kidnapped? It's been a public relations nightmare."

I remained silent, watching her performance unfold.

"The doctors say you'll make a full recovery," she said, arranging the lilies where their pollen would most easily reach me.

"Though... they did mention some concerning bruising.Ryan's been awfully anxious about how you got yourself into such a situation."

The implication was clear—she was suggesting I had somehow brought this upon myself.

"So Ryan sent you, did he?" I asked coldly, my voice flat and devoid of warmth.

"Of course not," she replied quickly, with mock sincerity. "I only came because... seeing you reminds me so much of my sister. It's sentimental, really."

"Save the act for Ryan," I said, my voice like ice. "I'm not your audience."

Ivy's saccharine smile finally slipped. Her eyes swept over me, "I just thought I'd see how far you had fallen."

Then she stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"Honestly, I'm disappointed you didn't die, but I've gained quite a bit from this, so thank you for your gift. I hope you can recognize your place. In Ryan's eyes, you're nothing."

The verbal dagger struck precisely where she intended—right through my heart.

"But don't worry," she continued sweetly, "Ryan knows his duty to the family includes maintaining appearances with his... stand-in wife."

I stared at her, too exhausted to even feel anger anymore. "Is there something specific you wanted, Ivy?"

"Oh!" she exclaimed, feigning distraction. "I nearly forgot to tell you about the charity gala last night. Ryan made such a generous donation in Sophie's memory. He also bought me a small apartment near NYU."

I knew that place. It was the apartment where Sophie and Ryan had once lived together.

As she spoke, her phone slipped from her hand, clattering to the floor between us. The screen illuminated with a photo that made my blood freeze in my veins.

It showed Ryan carrying Ivy into the Crescent Moon Hotel—the most exclusive venue in the city—his arms wrapped intimately around her waist, her head nestled against his chest.

The timestamp showed 2:17 AM—while I had been fighting for my life in this hospital bed.

"Oops!" Ivy giggled, retrieving her phone. "How clumsy of me. You shouldn't be seeing this right now."

My stomach churned violently. While I lay here broken and bleeding, my husband had been taking my kidnapping as an opportunity to rekindle things with his dead girlfriend's sister.

Something inside me finally snapped.

Three years of silent suffering, of trying to be the perfect wife, of accepting crumbs of attention from a man who had never wanted me—it all culminated in this moment of perfect clarity.

Without hesitation, I reached out and slapped Ivy Hart across her smug face, the crack of skin against skin reverberating through the sterile room.

"You shameless bitch," I hissed, my voice low and dangerous.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice how you've been throwing yourself at my husband for three years? How many times have you 'accidentally' touched him, needed his help, arranged to be alone with him? You're pathetic."

Ivy's hand flew to her reddening cheek, her eyes wide with shock. "How dare you—"

The door swung open, and Ryan Blackwood stood in the threshold, his powerful frame filling the doorway.

His normally immaculate appearance was slightly disheveled, as if he'd dressed in a hurry.

His piercing gray-blue eyes took in the scene—Ivy clutching her cheek, me sitting upright in bed with fury radiating from every pore.

In three swift strides, he was at my bedside, his hand clamping around my wrist with bruising force.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he growled, his face inches from mine.

I met his gaze without flinching, something I'd never done before. "Exactly what I should have done years ago—standing up for myself."

"You will apologize to Ivy immediately," he commanded, his voice dropping to that dangerous tone that had always made me shrink before.

But something had changed within me.

Perhaps it was the near-death experience, or perhaps it was the final, undeniable proof that I meant nothing to him.

Whatever it was, his command washed over me without effect.

"I will not," I replied coldly. "While I was being kidnapped, beaten, and fighting for my life, you were taking her to hotel rooms. I think I'm the one who deserves an apology."

Ryan's eyes widened slightly—the only hint that my defiance had taken him by surprise.

"What hotel?" he said, voice cold and clipped."I've already told you—we're not what you think.And you're forgetting your place, Serena."

"My place?" I laughed bitterly. "My place as your stand-in? Your replacement wife? The convenient body you married because I looked like Sophie?"

"That's enough," he snarled, his fingers tightening around my wrist.

"Ryan, it's okay," Ivy interjected tearfully. "She's clearly traumatized from her ordeal. We should be understanding."

The gentle concern in her voice as she placed her hand on Ryan's arm made me want to vomit. More disgusting was how he immediately softened at her touch.

"The doctor says you'll be discharged tomorrow," Ryan said, abruptly changing the subject. "Simon will arrange for a car to take you home. Once there, you'll remain in our quarters until this incident blows over.

The last thing the Blackwood family needs is gossip about their lady being kidnapped due to her own carelessness."

His words struck me like physical blows. No concern for my wellbeing. No questions about what had happened. Just orders about how I should behave to preserve his precious reputation.

"After I'm discharged," I said quietly, my voice steady despite the storm raging within me, "I want a divorce."