CHAPTER ONE

Sienna’s POV

I always thought I knew my husband.

I knew the way he liked his coffee—black, no cream, a single sugar cube. I knew the precise order in which he fastened his cufflinks every morning, the sharp tug he gave his tie before heading out the door. I knew how he touched me, how his fingertips used to linger on my skin, tracing absent patterns like I was something precious to him.

But lately, Adrian Hawthorne had become a stranger.

I first noticed it a few weeks ago—small things at first. The way he started coming home later and later, always with the same excuse. Work was demanding. The board meeting ran late. I had to entertain a client.

But work had always been demanding, and yet, he had never let it steal him away like this before.

Then came the distance.

The absent-minded nods when I spoke. The way his touch became fleeting, a ghost of what it once was. The cold emptiness in our bed, where he lay beside me but felt a million miles away.

And then, the scent.

I smelled it on him one night as he slipped into bed beside me—something floral, something unfamiliar. It wasn’t my perfume. It wasn’t even his cologne.

I had swallowed my suspicion, convincing myself I was overthinking. That Adrian was just going through stress, that I was imagining things.

But tonight, as I stood in the glow of candlelight, watching him sip his wine with effortless indifference, I knew I hadn’t imagined anything at all.

He was gone.

And I had been too blind to see it.

I had spent the entire day preparing for tonight.

It was my 31st birthday and we were going to have dinner togther on the balcony.

I wanted everything to be perfect. The private dinner, the soft candlelight, the warm golden glow of the chandelier casting its light across the dining table. I had chosen his favorite dishes, dressed in the deep red gown he once said made me look irresistible. I had been waiting all evening, my heart fluttering with nerves, excitement, and hope.

Because tonight was special.

Tonight, I was going to tell him.

I was pregnant.

It was the gift I had planned for him—the best gift I could ever give. A child. Our child.

But now, as I sat across from him, watching him swirl the wine in his glass with no more interest than one would give to a business report, my heart clenched with unease.

He hadn’t even looked at me properly.

Adrian was always a striking man. Ruthlessly handsome, with sharp cheekbones and a chiseled jawline that could cut glass. His dark hair was neatly styled, not a single strand out of place, and his steel-gray eyes—once so full of intensity, of hunger—were now impossibly cold.

There had been a time when those eyes softened for me. When they darkened with desire, with love.

But tonight, they were empty.

Distant.

Like I was no longer worth looking at.

He set his wine glass down and exhaled, rubbing his temple as if he were merely tolerating this evening.

I forced a smile, ignoring the tightness in my throat. Maybe he’s just tired. Maybe I’m overthinking again.

I reached for his hand across the table, lacing my fingers through his. “Baby,” I murmured. “I have something to tell you.”

For the first time that night, he finally looked at me.

But there was no warmth in his gaze. No curiosity. No love, just a blank stare.

And then, before I could speak, before I could share the life-altering news I had been holding so close to my heart, he said the words that shattered me.

“You’re past your prime, Sienna.”

The world tilted.

For a moment, I could do nothing but stare at him, my fingers going limp in his grasp. The candlelight flickered between us, shadows stretching long and eerie against the polished mahogany table.

My pulse thundered in my ears, drowning out the soft classical music playing in the background.

“What…?” My voice barely rose above a whisper.

Adrian leaned back in his chair, his expression one of cool detachment. “I’m filing for divorce.”

A slow, numbing chill spread through my veins.

Divorce.

The word echoed in my skull, too sharp, too foreign.

I let out a weak laugh, shaking my head. “That’s not funny, Adrian.”

“I’m not joking.” He picked up his wine glass again, swirling the liquid with practiced ease. “It’s time we go our separate ways.”

A heavy, suffocating weight settled in my chest. My hands trembled as I gripped the edge of the table.

This couldn’t be happening.

“Adrian,” I whispered, my throat dry. “I don’t understand. Why? What did I do?”

His gaze flickered over me, slow and clinical, like he was appraising a piece of outdated furniture.

“It’s not about what you did,” he said simply. “It’s about what you are.”

I recoiled as if he had struck me.

“What I… am?”

Adrian exhaled, as if he were growing bored of the conversation. “Sienna, let’s be realistic. I’m a man in my prime. I need a wife who reflects that.”

My stomach twisted.

A wife who reflects that.

I knew what he meant. He didn’t have to spell it out.

He wanted someone younger. Someone fresh. Someone who wasn’t me.

Tears burned at the back of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. “How long?” I forced the words through clenched teeth. “How long have you been planning this?”

Adrian’s jaw tightened. He didn’t answer.

But his silence was answer enough.

I pressed a trembling hand to my stomach.

He didn’t know.

He didn’t know that while he was out late at night, chasing whatever new thing had caught his eye, I had been holding onto the greatest secret of our marriage.

A baby.

His baby.

Our baby.

And now, he would never know.

Because as I sat there, abandoned and shattered, I realized something with perfect clarity.

He had already made his choice.

And now, it was time for me to make mine.

I swallowed hard, blinking away the tears as I pushed back my chair and rose to my feet.

If he wanted me gone, I wouldn’t beg him to stay.

I wouldn’t cling to a man who had already let go.

But he would regret this.

One day, Adrian Hawthorne would look back and realize what he had thrown away.

And by then, I would be long gone.