Chapter 2

Lyra lay there, staring at the ceiling light.

Wesley had picked it, saying the glow would be easier on her eyes.

She rolled over and buried her face in the pillow, breathing in the familiar laundry detergent.

Wesley had switched brands too, claiming this one was gentler and wouldn't irritate her skin.

She closed her eyes, but the security footage flashed anyway.

Wesley with the girl in the light blue dress. Smiling down at her. Fingers brushing through her hair.

That smile. Lyra knew it by heart.

Three years ago, he'd looked at Lyra the same way when they first met.

Back then, Wesley was the newly acknowledged illegitimate son of the Cheswick family. Ignored at the gala. Still, he worked up the nerve to approach her, ears burning red.

"Ms. Leighton, may I have this dance?"

She ignored him.

He didn't quit. Every day, he waited outside her office with home-cooked meals, even when she never looked his way.

Three months later, she finally agreed to a date. He lit up like a kid.

He stood outside all night just so he wouldn't be late picking her up the next morning.

On their wedding day, he dropped to one knee in the aisle, took her hand, and said, "Lyra, I'll never let you down in this life."

She believed him.

And for three years, he treated her well.

When she lost her temper, he talked her down.

Whatever she wanted, he gave her.

Even when she craved cake from the east side of Ravenport in the middle of the night, he drove across the city to get it.

She thought he really loved her.

But now?

***

The door creaked open. Wesley stepped in, still carrying a trace of the kitchen with him.

He sat on the edge of the bed and reached for her face. "Lyra, dinner's ready."

She turned away from his hand, silent.

His brows pulled together. "What's wrong? Not feeling well?"

She shook her head.

"Your eyes are red." His voice tightened. "Headache? Do we need to go to the hospital?"

He was still like this. Panicking over every little thing.

Looking at his worried face made her chest ache. 'Is this concern real, or just another performance?'

"I'm fine," she said at last. "Just hungry."

Wesley let out a breath and smiled, pinching her cheek. "You little glutton. Come on, let's eat."

The table was laid out with honey-glazed ribs, pan-seared fish in a sweet sauce, and roasted squash dusted with brown sugar.

The sugary smell rushed at her, and her heart sank.

She never ate sweet dishes.

Wesley knew that.

Lyra looked up at him. "Why is everything sweet?"

Wesley paused with the serving spoon, then forced a smile. "You've been stressed at work lately. Thought something sweet might help."

She didn't answer. Just kept staring.

His smile slipped. He set the plate down, sounding rattled. "Should I... make something else?"

"Yes." She nodded.

He stood right away and turned toward the kitchen, but his phone rang.

He glanced at the screen, panic flashing across his face.

"Something urgent came up at work. I have to go." He grabbed his jacket. "Just eat what's here for now. I'll cook something new when I get back."

Lyra set her cutlery down. "I want to eat the food you make. Tonight."

Wesley froze mid-step, his frown deepening. "Can you stop being so unreasonable? What difference does it make?"

The moment the words left his mouth, even he looked shocked.

Lyra stared at him, like something inside her had just shattered.

His tone softened immediately. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. It really is urgent. I'll be back soon."

He left without another word.

The soft click of the closing door landed like a slap.

In all the years they'd been married, he had never spoken to her like that.

Lyra sat at the dining table, staring at the sugary dishes—the kind that side chick liked.

She stood and walked into the kitchen.

The cutting board held half-sliced vegetables.

The pot of water was almost boiled dry.

She turned off the heat, grabbed her car keys, and went after him.

Rain started to fall as she followed Wesley's car to an unfamiliar apartment building.

The elevator stopped on the twelfth floor.

When the doors opened, a syrupy voice drifted down the hall.

"Honey, you finally came."

"Silly girl," Wesley said, using that same gentle tone. "Did you eat properly today?"

"I couldn't without you," the girl complained.

"Well, I'm here now." His voice softened. "Even if you don't feel like eating, the baby needs to. Be good, okay?"

The keys slipped from Lyra's hand and clinked against the floor.

Wesley spun around. The color drained from his face when he saw her. "Lyra... what are you doing here?"

Lyra turned and walked away.

Irene was pregnant.

Lyra got in her car, rain and tears blurring everything.

In the rearview mirror, she saw Wesley running after her.

His mouth kept opening, calling her name.

She didn't want to hear a single word.