Chapter 4

Early the next morning, I went to the family’s private hospital alone for a prenatal check-up.

I sat in the OB-GYN waiting area, head down, scrolling through the itinerary confirmation email sent by Professor Clark.

Just then, a familiar voice drifted from the far end of the corridor.

"Evelyn, slow down. The floor is slick."

I looked up.

Damian was there, cautiously supporting Evelyn as they walked toward me.

One hand was protectively around her waist, the other held her medical folder. Those hands—hands that usually commanded life and death with cold precision—were now moved by a tenderness that felt almost alien.

Evelyn leaned against his shoulder, a radiant, triumphant glow on her face.

In that moment, they looked like the only real couple in the building.

I lowered my gaze and stood up to leave, intent on avoiding them.

However, fate had other plans. Just as I finished my exam and stepped out of the consultation room, I ran right into Evelyn.

She stepped into my path, her eyes dropping to my abdomen. A flicker of hidden malice flashed in her gaze.

"Why are you here? Don't tell me... are you pregnant too?"

"None of your business." I didn't want to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. I tried to brush past her.

Evelyn grabbed my wrist, her grip tightening. She leaned in, whispering into my ear:

"Even if you are, Damian doesn't love you. Want to place a bet? Let’s see who he chooses when it really matters."

Her nails dug into my skin, drawing a sharp sting. Instinctively, I wrenched my arm away. "Let go of me!"

The next second, a predatory smirk crossed her face. She threw her body backward, surrendering to gravity—

"Ah!"

She let out a piercing scream as she collapsed onto the cold, hard floor.

"Evelyn!"

Damian appeared as if on cue, witnessing the exact moment she fell.

He charged from the end of the hall like a storm. He scooped Evelyn into his arms, and in the same motion, he lashed out—

He shoved me with brutal force.

My back slammed into the stone wall. The impact rattled my teeth and sent a shockwave through my entire frame.

Then, a searing, tearing pain erupted in my lower abdomen.

I doubled over, clutching my stomach as cold sweat instantly soaked my shirt.

"Selena, that is enough!"

Damian’s voice was a low growl of suppressed fury. Cradling Evelyn, he looked at me—huddled and trembling in the corner—with eyes full of ice.

"Did you follow me? Did you see me bringing Evelyn for her check-up and decide to cause trouble?"

"She is pregnant, and you actually had the heart to push her?"

"Stop acting, Selena. Your jealousy has turned you into someone I don't even recognize!"

I opened my mouth, desperate to tell him that I was here for my own check-up. That I was carrying his child.

But the agony was so great that I couldn't form a single word.

Seeing my deathly pallor, Damian’s expression faltered for a fraction of a second, a shadow of concern crossing his face.

But Evelyn chose that exact moment to let out a pathetic moan, clutching her belly as she buried her face in his chest.

"Damian... my stomach hurts so much... is the baby okay..."

Damian’s attention snapped back to her instantly.

"Don't be afraid. I’m getting a doctor right now."

He strode away with Evelyn in his arms, never once looking back to see if I could even stand.

The corridor fell silent.

I felt a warm, terrifying stickiness trickling down my thigh. My consciousness began to fray at the edges.

The last thing I saw was the sterile, blinding white light of the ceiling.

When I finally woke, I was in a hospital bed.

The scent of antiseptic filled my lungs, and an IV was taped to the back of my hand.

The moment the doctor appeared, my voice came out as a broken rasp: "Doctor... the baby?"

"By some miracle, the child is still there." The doctor paused, his expression grave. "But you are extremely weak. You are on strict bed rest. No stress, no sudden movements. If this happens again, we won't be able to save it."

I closed my eyes, a single tear tracing a path down my temple.

Saved.

But the father of this child had personally shoved me aside while another woman faked a fall.

For the next two days, Damian never showed up.

No calls. No texts. Nothing.

It was as if I had never existed in his world.

The only sound in the room was the rhythmic, lonely beep of the heart monitor and the distant, muffled roar of Manhattan traffic outside.

I stared at the ceiling, the scene in the hallway playing on a loop in my mind.

The moment he pushed me, his eyes held only Evelyn. My blood, my pain, my child—to him, it was all just a "performance" born of jealousy.

On the third day, Evelyn’s texts began to pour in like venom.

[Damian has been with me the whole time. He says you always love making a scene and told me to just ignore you.]

[By the way, he bought an entire nursery set for me today. Do you think my baby will look like him?]

[I wonder if Damian even knows you’re pregnant? He doesn't seem to care at all.]

[Forget it. That child isn't important anyway. Not when even its own father doesn't want it.]

I read them all, one by one. My face remained a mask of stone.

The light from the screen reflected in my eyes like a stagnant pool.

Today was the day.

From this moment on, Damian and I were strangers.

I processed my discharge papers quickly.

Back at the estate, I began to pack. I took nothing extra—just a few changes of clothes, my passport, and the documents Professor Clark had sent.

My phone buzzed again.

Evelyn had sent a photo—Damian was kneeling, tying her shoelaces in front of a luxury boutique on Fifth Avenue.

The caption: [He said I will always be the woman he loves most. Selena, you should have never tried to compete.]

I stared at the photo for a long time.

Then, I sent a single reply.

"Since you’re the one he loves, you can have him. I’m done."

Sent.

I placed the phone on the coffee table in the living room.

Beside it, I laid out the signed divorce papers.

Next to those were clear, printed screenshots of every taunting message Evelyn had sent me over the last seven days.

And finally, the prenatal report.

The three items sat in a neat, undeniable row in the center of the room.

I took one last look at the estate I had called home for ten years.

There were ashes in the fireplace from things I had burned. Our wedding photo still hung on the wall.

I walked over, took the frame down, and tossed it into the dying embers of the hearth. I watched it catch fire.

Then, I walked out the front door without looking back.

Professor Clark’s car was waiting. I climbed into the back and rolled up the window.

The estate grew smaller in the rearview mirror until it was swallowed by the Manhattan skyline.