Chapter Two

~Selene’s POV~

I don't sleep.

I lie on my side of the bed — our bed — and stare at the ceiling while Caden's side remains cold and untouched. I heard him leave again at midnight, the front door closing with a finality that vibrated through the walls.

I don't ask myself where he went.

I already know.

By the time the grey light of morning creeps under the curtains, I have cried precisely once — a single, ugly sob that I pressed into the pillow and suffocated before it could grow into something I couldn't contain.

I am not going to fall apart. I have a life depending on me now.

I sit up and reach for the clinic report on the nightstand, turning it over in my hands.

Dr. Noel had called me back this morning before I'd even had a chance to breathe. An earlier message, timestamped at six forty-two a.m., asking me to come in as soon as I could.

Don't panic, her message had read. Just come see me.

Those three words from a doctor are never reassuring.

I dress quickly. Something plain — dark trousers, a soft cream blouse. I don't look in the mirror for long. I know what I'll find: the swollen softness beneath my eyes, the too-pale hollow of my cheeks, the expression of a woman holding herself together with both hands.

I leave before Mrs. Gale arrives. I can't face questions this morning.

---

Dr. Noel's office is warm and quiet, smelling faintly of lavender and antiseptic. She's waiting for me when I arrive, the door already open.

"Sit down, Selene."

I sink into the chair across from her desk. The same chair I sat in yesterday when everything was still good. When I was still someone's wife and the world still made sense.

She opens a folder. Studies the contents with that careful, unhurried manner that tells me she's choosing her words.

"I ran additional bloodwork last night after you left," she begins. "And I want to go over a few things."

"Is something wrong with the baby?"

"The pregnancy itself is stable." She pauses. "But I need you to know — you are carrying twins, Selene."

The room tilts slightly.

Twins.

I press my palm flat against my stomach beneath the desk, as if I can feel them already. Two heartbeats. Two small, astonishing lives.

A sound escapes me — half laugh, half something broken.

"Hey." Priya's voice is gentle. "I know this is a lot."

"It's not — I'm not upset, I'm just—" I stop. Breathe. "Twins."

"Two strong heartbeats. But—" She leans forward slightly, her expression shifting. "Selene, your levels concern me. Your iron is critically low. Your cortisol is elevated, which tells me your body is under significant stress. Combined with the twin pregnancy, the risk of complications in the first trimester is substantial."

I stare at her.

"What kind of complications?"

"Miscarriage risk is elevated. I need you on complete rest for at least two weeks. No stress. No confrontations. No emotional upheaval if it can be avoided."

I almost laugh.

No emotional upheaval.

My husband handed me divorce papers last night. My half-sister — if I can even call her that — has apparently returned from wherever she's been hiding to reclaim the man I have spent three years loving with everything I have.

"Does rejection — a formal mate rejection — affect the children?" I ask quietly.

Priya looks at me sharply. Her pen stills against the paper.

"No," she says carefully. "The children would be unharmed. But you—" She sets the pen down. "The mother absorbs the full force of a bond severance, Selene. Particularly at your current health levels. I would not recommend it."

I nod slowly.

"And if I were rejected while pregnant and already weakened — what are the long-term effects?"

She's quiet for a moment.

"You may not carry again."

The words fall like stones into still water.

I look down at my hands in my lap.

I may not carry again.

These two. These two small, impossible miracles are perhaps the only ones I will ever have.

I stand up before she can say anything else, thanking her quietly, promising to rest, promising to eat. She gives me supplements and a look that carries more worry than any prescription.

I step out of the clinic and into the cold morning air.

---

I should go home. I know I should.

Instead, I find myself walking — slowly, aimlessly, through the quiet back streets of Cresthaven, past the bakery that opens early and the flower stalls that haven't yet fully arranged their blooms.

My phone buzzes.

Caden's name on the screen.

I stare at it for a long moment.

Then I let it ring out.

A second later, a message appears.

We need to finalise the paperwork today. Come to the manor by noon.

I read it twice.

Three years of a life together, reduced to a noon appointment.

I think of the velvet box, still in my coat pocket. My fingers brush over it now.

I should tell him. A part of me still believes that if I showed him — if I placed the ultrasound image in his hands and watched his face — something in him would remember. Something would crack through that wall he's built so efficiently overnight.

But then I hear Vivienne's name again in my head, spoken in his flat, decided voice.

And I think of the look in his eyes. That flash of something before the stone closed over it.

He made his choice.

I press the velvet box deeper into my pocket.

He doesn't deserve to know. Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

My phone buzzes again. This time it's a number I don't recognise.

I answer cautiously.

"Selene." The voice is smooth. Familiar in a way that turns my stomach cold. "It's Vivienne. I think we're overdue for a conversation, don't you?"

My blood goes ice-cold.

How did she get this number?