4

4

~Velma’s POV

I stood there, staring at the house I’d called home for ten years, my chest tight and my legs trembling like they weren’t even mine anymore. The gate slammed shut behind me, and it felt louder than any scream I could have made, like the final lock on everything I had believed in, everything I had trusted.

I pressed a trembling hand to my stomach, feeling the life inside me, our child, and my tears fell hotter and heavier than the night air could swallow. “I’m carrying his child too, mother,” I whispered, my voice breaking.

I thought about our vows, the promises he made, the hands he held mine in, the love I believed in. “What happened to usDylan?” I murmured into the morning, bitter laughter shaking my lips. “And my sister… You chose her of all people in the world.”

I started walking because standing still hurt too much. Every step felt heavy, every breath ragged, but I couldn’t stop. “He wanted children… I know that. But I hurt too. I hurt more. ”

By the time I realized how far I’d walked, my legs were sore, my feet blistered, and my arms ached from wrapping around myself to keep warm. I pulled out my phone with shaking hands, booked a ride, and within five minutes, he pulled up in front of me.

“Take me to Rosewood Estate.”

“Yes, ma,” he replied and hurried to start the engine.

The car pulled away, and streetlights slid past the windows like streaks of gold. My stomach throbbed with each heartbeat, and my throat felt tight.

I stared out the window and whispered to myself,

 “Why… why is this happening to me?”

By the time we reached Rosewood Estate, my palms were sweaty, and my chest felt heavy. The security guards opened the gate without question, and the driver stopped right in front of the tall white house with the flower-shaped balcony.

I got out, trying to steady myself.

I did not even knock.

I pushed the door open and walked in.

My parents, my adoptive parents, sat in the living room, my father reading the newspaper, my mother scrolling through her phone. They both looked up, startled.

Mother frowned.

 “Velma? What are you doing here at this hour?”

Father adjusted his glasses.

 “It’s early in the morning. Why are you not home with your husband?”

I swallowed, my voice shaking.

 “Good morning, Mum. Good morning, Dad.”

They nodded stiffly but did not stand, did not hug me, did not look happy to see me.

My mother sighed.

 “Speak. What is it?”

I took a breath that hurt.

“Eva… she is secretly seeing Dylan and is even pregnant with his child. And…and…. she did something wrong, and Dylan wants me to take the fall for it. He wants me to go to prison so her life won’t be ruined.”

Silence.

I waited for shock.

I waited for outrage.

I waited for someone to say, “Oh my God, Velma, are you okay?”

Instead, father folded his newspaper and said calmly,

 “Dylan is wealthy. He can do anything he wants. And besides, I didn’t blame him since you refused to give him a child.”

I blinked.

 “What?”

Mother leaned back, unfazed.

 “And you’d better go back and take the blame for our daughter. After everything we have done for you. Is this how you repay us?”

My mouth fell open.

 “After everything you did for me? You never even treated me like your child.”

Mother scoffed.

 “You always envied Eva. You always wanted what she had.”

“No!” I shouted, my voice cracking. “Eva always wanted EVERYTHING I ever had! Since we were kids, I always backed down. I always let her win. But now she wants my husband, and you’re supporting it?”

Father shrugged.

 “Why not? Our family is among the richest and largest investors in Dylan’s company. It is not a bad match.”

“What about me?”

“You leave the picture and find yourself another man,” Mother said, nonchalantly.

The room spun.

My knees weakened.

My heart dropped.

I stared at them, speechless, breathless, shattered.

They never loved me.

They never even wanted me.

And now they threw me away.

Without another word, I walked out and slammed the door behind me.

I kept walking, even though the morning sun was already too bright for my swollen eyes. Everything felt loud... the birds, the passing cars, even my own breathing. I didn’t know where I was going. My legs were shaking, but I kept moving, dragging my suitcases with me.

I whispered under my breath, almost like a prayer, “Where do I even go now…” but no answer came.

Then a deep engine sound hummed behind me. Slow. Too controlled to be random.

 I turned slightly, wiping my face with the back of my hand, and a sleek black SUV pulled up beside me.

The tinted window slid down, and my stomach dropped. It was my adoptive grandfather’s bodyguard.

He stepped out immediately, his expression tightening the moment he saw my face.

 “Madam Velma,” he said quietly, almost like he was afraid I’d break if he spoke too loud, “your grandfather sent me. Please… come with me.”

He took me to a cafe close by.

“Your grandfather sent me.”

I stared at him, confused and shaking. “H-How? How did he know? How did he find me?”

“He always kept someone watching over you from a distance,” the bodyguard said. “Since the day you married Mr Dylan.”

My mouth fell open. “What? Why?”

He nodded. “He wanted to make sure that you are safe.”

He reached into a leather folder and placed items on the table: documents, a passport, a brand-new phone, an envelope, and a boarding pass.

My voice trembled. “What… what is all this?”

“Your grandfather arranged everything,” he said. “A new identity for travel, money, and a flight to the next city. He wanted you far from danger.”

Tears filled my eyes. “Far from danger? What does that even mean?”

“He said that he will tell you everything when the time is right,” the bodyguard replied quietly. “And he is sorry it took this long to step in.”

He drove me straight to the airport. My hands shook the entire ride.

When we reached the departure gate, he handed me another envelope.

“This is from him. Read it on the plane,” he said.

I looked at him with watery eyes. “Thank you.”

He bowed his head gently. “Stay safe.”

I boarded the plane with a heart that felt torn open. As soon as I sat, I pulled out the letter and unfolded it.

My grandfather’s handwriting stared back at me, shaky, old, familiar.

I am sorry, he wrote.

 I failed to protect you. I should have taken you away when I saw the signs. I will make sure that I make it up to you. I give you my word.

 Heal. Rest. Then I will tell you everything later.

I covered my mouth with my hand as tears poured down my face. I cried silently, cried until my chest hurt, cried until the flight attendant asked if I needed water. I cried because I had no idea what to do or what tomorrow looked like.

When the plane landed, I stepped out with weak legs and blurry eyes. The airport lights were too bright, and the noise felt too loud. My stomach growled painfully, and my head spun. I tried to keep walking, but dizziness washed over me.

“Not now… please…” I whispered.

My vision darkened.

My knees buckled.

I fell forward, right into someone.

Strong arms caught me, but my mind was slipping away. I only registered the scent of clean cologne, a chest against my cheek, and a deep voice calling for help.

Everything went black.