Chapter 2. A Birthday never meant for Me.

"Ma'am, why are you sitting on the floor?"

I didn't even hear the door open. Aunt Jenny's voice pulled me back from whatever place my mind had drifted into. She stood at the door, holding a small tray with a glass of water and a little white pill. Her brows knit together, confusion and concern playing across her features.

I turned my back to her, blinked hard to chase away the tears, and slowly stood. My legs ached, and the soles of my feet throbbed.

"What is it?" My voice was dry, distant.

"Mr. Lucien asked me to bring this up to you before he left." She hesitated as she stepped closer, holding out the tray.

I didn't need to ask. I already knew. Birth control. Again.

Something inside me crumbled like ash. The man I called my husband didn't even want to leave the possibility of a child between us. I reached out with trembling fingers, took the pill, and swallowed it in front of her.

Aunt Jenny nodded silently and left. The door clicked shut behind her, and I was alone again.

I moved like a ghost, clearing the shattered wineglass from the floor. As I reached under the table, a sharp sting made me gasp. Blood. A shard of glass had pierced the bottom of my foot, staining the white tile.

I stared at it for a moment, then laughed—just a small, broken thing. Of course. Why wouldn't I bleed on the night I was supposed to celebrate? 

After dressing the wound with a haphazard bandage, I limped downstairs.

The dining room still held the candlelit dinner I had spent hours preparing. The cake stood untouched, glowing with the warmth of a hundred tiny lights I had carefully strung up. I sat at the table, picked up my chopsticks, and ate in silence. Every bite felt like swallowing glass.

This was the death of a dream. One slow bite at a time.

Then I heard her voice—Aunt Jenny again, but this time panicked.

"Oh no, it's Ethan! He's burning up!"

I shot to my feet, ignoring the sting in my foot.

"What happened?"

"He had a fever this morning, but now it's worse. I think we need to take him to the hospital."

I didn't hesitate. "Start the car. I'll grab him."

Ethan—Lucien's youngest brother—was only eight, and unlike everyone else in that cold, gilded house, he actually liked me. He clung to me when he was sick. That's why Lucien's mother, Margaret, sent him over yesterday. Too inconvenient to deal with, I guess.

When I rushed into the guest room, he was curled up in bed, his cheeks flushed, and his forehead burning under my palm.

"Ellie…" he mumbled. "My head hurts…"

"I'm here, baby. Let's go get you help."

The hospital reeked of disinfectant and sleepless grief. By the time we got Ethan settled in a ward, it was nearly dawn. Margaret and her personal assistant, Mrs. Walker, arrived soon after. I stepped out to collect the test results. When I returned, something made me stop outside the half-closed door.

"Don't worry too much," Mrs. Walker was saying. "The doctors said it's not an aggressive form of leukemia. He might not even need a transplant."

"I know that," Margaret replied, her tone clipped. "But he'll need transfusions, and finding a compatible donor with AB-negative is hard. If Elena would just carry a child… we might get a match. She could be useful for once."

My heart stopped. My breath froze mid-inhale.

Useful. A walking incubator. A blood bank.

So that's why she didn't want me to get pregnant before. She didn't want *our* child. She wanted me to grow her insurance policy.

I stumbled backward, nearly dropping the report. My mind buzzed, cold spreading through my limbs like ink in water. 

I was barely holding it together when I walked into the hospital's main corridor—and froze.

Lucien.

Of course, he was here. But it wasn't just him.

Beside him stood a woman in a sundress, a glowing halo headband on her head. She was laughing, adjusting the silly wolf ears on Lucien's head. He looked down at his phone, his expression unreadable.

But I didn't need to read it. My eyes had already betrayed me. That bracelet on her wrist—silver with a tiny emerald in the middle. The family heirloom.

The one Lucien once told me only *his wife* would wear.

My stomach lurched. I turned my head and gagged into the nearest trash bin.

Lucien looked up then, eyes widening when he saw me.

"Elena?" he said, stepping forward.

I straightened and wiped my mouth. We locked eyes.

She turned then—Raquel.

Of course. His first love.

My replacement.

"Elena?" she smiled, concern in her voice. "You look pale. Are you okay?"

I took a shaky step back. She reached for my hand, but I pulled it away quickly. Too quickly.

Lucien's frown deepened.

"My birthday is today," Raquel explained sweetly. "I haven't been back in four years, so my parents insisted on a party. But I ate something bad, so Lucien brought me here."

Oh.

So that's what this was.

Not that he forgot my birthday. We shared the same one. He just chose to spend it with her.

I forced a smile, stood on my toes, and plucked the ridiculous wolf-ear headband off Lucien's head.

"Doesn't suit you," I said lightly and dropped it in the trash.

Raquel's smile faltered.

"Elena," Lucien began, but I was already pulling the report from my bag.

"Ethan's in pediatrics. Here's his scan." I shoved the papers at him and turned on my heel.

I didn't look back.

Not even when I collided with someone in the hallway and fell hard.

"Watch where you're going!" a woman scolded.

"Come on, we don't have time for this. Raquel's waiting," her husband added.

I looked up just in time to catch the retreating backs of Raquel's parents.

Memories flooded me. I was six, sick, and it was *that* man who carried me into the ER. It was *that* woman who held my hand and whispered, "Ellie, don't be scared. We're here."

But that ended fast.

When the truth of the switched babies came out, they took their real daughter and tossed me back to strangers who shared my blood but not my heart.

By eight, I was almost dead at the hands of my biological father, and it was my older brother, Noah, who carried my battered body to the gates of the Thorne estate and begged Lucien's mother to take me in.

Sixteen years ago, Raquel came back. I lost my home.

And now, she was back again.

Maybe this time I'd lose everything.

I wandered the empty street, wrapping my arms around myself. Laughter spilled from a nearby park where dancers rehearsed under flickering lights.

I used to be one of them.

When I was fifteen, I got into the top dance academy after skipping grades. At eighteen, I was offered a full ride to study abroad under a world-renowned master.

I turned it down.

I waited for Lucien.

For four years, I waited.

Now I was twenty-two. And I felt… ancient.

Last month, my former professor called. Mr Joe was taking on one last student and he believed I had a shot. He wanted to submit my portfolio.

I had hesitated.

Tonight, I didn't anymore.

A cab honked nearby. I flagged it down.

"Where to?"

I gave the address.

"Ma'am, that's a pretty upscale area," the driver said. "You sure?"

"I don't have cash," I replied. "But these…" I took off my earrings and held them out. "Platinum. Diamonds. Custom-made."

He examined them. "You serious?"

"They're worth seven figures."

He blinked. "Hop in."

I leaned my head against the window, letting the cool glass soothe my fevered skin.

Lucien gave me those earrings when I was twelve. I had been too scared to get my ears pierced, and he tricked me and said it was a toy. Pierced them himself.

I cried. He laughed.

"You're such a brat, Ellie," he said, wiping my tears.

He had them custom-made. The last design by some legendary designer. I'd worn them for ten years. Never took them off.

Until now.

Letting go didn't hurt like I thought it would. It felt… freeing.

At the next red light, the screen outside a department store flashed a news segment.

Raquel.

Smiling, radiant. "Yes," she said to the reporter, "there's someone I've always loved. We broke up four years ago, but I believe… love always finds its way back."

Lucien was beside her.

Of course, he was.

"Ma'am?" the driver said suddenly. "There's a black Bentley behind us. Been following us for a while."

My blood ran cold.

I looked.

It was him.

Lucien.

His car sped up, cut us off, and screeched to a halt in front of us. The driver slammed the brakes and I lurched forward.

Then… knock. Knock. Knock.

Lucien.

He opened my door. Bent down. Pulled off my seatbelt.

"Elena," he murmured. "Pretending to be dead? Is that fun for you now?"

My name burned on his tongue like an accusation.

He saw the blood on my bandaged foot and swore under his breath. Then—without a word—he lifted me into his arms.

"Put me down!" I struggled.

"Be quiet." His hand pressed against my thigh.

I stilled in the car, he reached out—and touched my bare ear. Eyes narrowing.

"Where are the earrings?"

I turned away.

"I threw them away."

He went still. "What do you mean, you threw them—"

"I'm not angry. I'm not playing games. Lucien… I want a divorce."

I stared him dead in the eye.

"I don't want the earrings. I don't want you."