Chapter 4. Illusion.

Pfft… cough, cough.

Water sprayed down my chin as I coughed, choking on the sip I’d just taken. My lungs burned, but I barely had time to recover before Lucien’s voice sliced through the air.

“Talk.”

His tone was ice—flat and hard enough to cut glass. I wiped my mouth, lifting my eyes to meet his, heat rising in my chest.

“Is it me who can miraculously conceive without sperm, or are you secretly capable of remote impregnation now?” My voice came out sharp, laced with fury. “Remind me—when exactly did you stop being so damn careful?”

The air thickened between us, the edge in my words practically vibrating in the space.

“You’ve got a nasty tongue,” he muttered with a hollow laugh.

But I saw it in his eyes—he didn’t believe I was pregnant. He didn’t push. He didn’t ask when how or why. He just moved.

Lucien dropped to one knee beside the bed and opened the first aid kit, pulling out antiseptic like it was routine. And maybe for him, it was. He reached for my ankle, and I didn’t pull away.

I knew better than to resist. Lucien wasn’t someone you pushed or provoked into submission. He was composed, and always in control. That hadn’t changed.

He wasn’t a loving husband. Not anymore. But as a boy—as the boy who had once shielded me from the worst parts of life—he’d been nearly perfect.

He set my foot on his knee, holding my ankle in one hand while dipping tweezers into iodine. His touch was steady. Precise. Muscle memory.

I watched him, and suddenly, time folded in on itself.

Fourteen years ago. Blood all over me. Trembling. Screaming when doctors came close. And then him—Lucien—kneeling beside my bed, just like this.

“Don’t be scared, Ellie. I’ll protect you. I won’t let anything hurt us again.”

I blinked, and the memory vanished like steam.

We hadn’t shared a moment like this in years. But the warmth didn’t last. It never did. Not with him. If he truly cared, he never would’ve let it come to this.

Lucien finished wrapping the gauze and reached back into the kit. Then, without a word, he tossed something onto the bed.

A pregnancy test.

“Go take it.”

I stared down at the stick in my hand like it might bite me. “I didn’t eat much this afternoon. It’s probably just my stomach—”

“Take it.” His voice cut me off cleanly.

Of course. Of course, he would react this way. The idea of me carrying his child was apparently too horrific to entertain. Especially now. Especially with Raquel back.

With a stiff nod, I took the test and disappeared into the bathroom. My hands trembled as I followed the instructions, and then waited. Five minutes stretched into forever.

When I returned, I held the test out to him like some kind of bitter trophy.

“One line. Not pregnant. Relax,” I said, my words dripping with sarcasm.

He glanced at it with the same cold indifference he wore like armour.

“That’s a relief.”

Right. A relief. Not even a flicker of hesitation. He’d never wanted children with me. Maybe sleeping with me at all had been a mistake he regretted.

Even if I had been pregnant, I knew how he’d see it—an accident. A burden. A child he wouldn’t claim.

“I’m sleeping in the study. You need to think about your actions,” he said, then turned and walked out like he hadn’t just crushed what little hope I had left.

I stared at the test stick in my hand for a long moment. Then I tossed it in the trash. My knees buckled, and I sank onto the bed with a hollow thud.

---

The next morning, sunlight spilled across the sheets, far too cheerful for how I felt.

I stirred, my fingers brushing my earlobe. Something felt… off.

I sat up and turned toward the mirror—and froze.

There they were. A pair of diamond earrings shaped like gardenias, with soft pink pearls nestled in the centre. The same earrings I’d left behind.

And now they were back. Placed so carefully, like a peace offering I didn’t want.

Before I could think too much, my phone buzzed beside me. I glanced around—my handbag was back too.

Jenna’s name lit up on the screen.

“Elena? Are you okay?” Her voice was breathless.

“Hm?”

“I mean—have you seen it yet? The trending article? I’m texting it to you now.”

A second later, my phone dinged again. I opened the message.

"Corporate Royalty: Lucien Bennett Seen Vacationing with Rising Violinist and Her Parents."

Below the headline was a photo—Lucien pushing an older woman in a wheelchair, Raquel smiling beside a sharply dressed man. They looked like a polished, happy family. Picture perfect.

Except I knew the truth. Those weren’t her parents. They were Lucien’s godparents and old family friends. But facts didn’t matter to the internet.

Heart emojis. Hashtags.

\#PowerCoupleGoals

\#WeddingSoon?

Jenna scoffed through the speaker. “They're fawning over that orchestra Barbie. Please. Anyone with money can book a solo concert in Vienna. And her following? At least two million bots.”

I didn’t answer right away. Just pulled the earrings off and held them in my hand.

“Well,” I said quietly, “Lucien always did have a taste for green tea and fake sweetness. Nothing I can do about that.”

“What? Where are you going with this?”

“I’m divorcing him,” I replied calmly. “Can I crash at your place for a while?”

There was silence on the other end. Then a loud crash, like Jenna had dropped her phone.

---

After breakfast, I walked into the study.

Printed out the divorce agreement. Pulled up my resume, awards, performance videos—everything. I sent it all to Ethan, the talent agent I knew, asking him to shop it around quietly.

Then I started packing. Just the essentials. Enough for each season. A clean break.

Jenna pulled up out front just as I zipped my bag. I took one last look at the villa, the sun glowing on the windows. My eyes were swollen but dry.

Jenna reached for my hand. “Looking back at your ex is like driving with the rearview mirror taped to your face. Guaranteed crash.”

I gave her a faint smile. “You’re right. Forward it is.”

My phone buzzed again. A new number.

Lana Matthews. Raquel’s manager.

“She probably wants to book a solo performance,” I muttered. “Raquel can’t handle the spotlight on her own.”

“You’re not serious,” Jenna said. “She wants you to ghost-play for her?”

“One million per show,” I said flatly—and blocked the number.

Jenna burst out laughing. “God, that woman couldn’t carry a concert even if it came in a gift bag!”

---

I dropped my luggage at Jenna’s and headed straight to Bennett Enterprises.

The place buzzed with chatter. Linda, one of the senior assistants, was leaving for maternity leave and handing out wedding favours.

I accepted one with a smile.

Back at my desk, I started typing up my resignation letter.

Linda passed by and peered at the form. “You too?”

“Huh?”

“The form. Are you pregnant?”

Several heads turned. I felt the usual stir of attention. A few men exchanged glances. Nothing new.

“No, just leaving for personal reasons.”

Linda grinned. “So when are you going to start a family? You’re still young.”

“I’d love to,” I said dryly. “But my husband? Great in bed. Empty inside.”

Linda gasped. “Wait—he’s infertile? Girl, no offence, but how have you put up with that and bad breath?”

The breath joke again. A parking lot rumour that never died. Someone once saw me with Lucien and assumed too much. I denied it, and the office rumour mill did the rest.

Now infertility was added to the list.

I pictured Lucien’s cold, perfect face—and almost laughed.

“You’ve got too much time on your hands.”

The room fell silent. That voice could silence a hurricane.

I turned to see Lucien standing in the doorway, unreadable as always.

Chen, one of the managers, tried to jump in. “President Bennett, we were just—”

Lucien didn’t even glance at him. His eyes were locked on me.

“Thank you for your service,” he told Linda, flatly. “Consider this your bonus. Take the rest of the day off.”

Linda practically dropped her wedding candies in shock and delight.

“Elena.” His tone cut clean. “My office. Now.”

As I walked toward the door, I heard the whispers.

“He’s still so intense.”

“She’s been under his nose a year. If he wanted her, he would’ve said something.”

“He’s obviously taken. That violinist’s all over the headlines.”

I didn’t flinch. Honestly? I almost wanted to laugh.

I stepped into his office and dropped the papers in my hand.

He didn’t look up. “So this is how you reflect?”

Two pages landed on his desk.

My resignation. And the divorce agreement.

“Sign them both, Mr. Bennett,” I said. “Thanks for everything.”