Chapter Three- Clean Break (Selene’s POV)

Dorian’s fingers froze over the screen.

Slowly, he raised his head. His dark eyes narrowed, scanning my face. Then, a slow, incredibly cruel smile stretched across his lips.

“Wow,” he chuckled, leaning back in his stool and tossing his tablet onto the counter. “I have to admit, Selene, for the first time in six years, you actually managed to surprise me. I was literally going to have my lawyer drop the papers on your lap tomorrow morning anyway.”

The admission hit me painfully, but I didn't let my expression change. “You’re ready to sign?”

“Of course I am,” he admitted, standing up and looking at me like I was a piece of old furniture he was finally allowed to throw out. “Let’s be honest, six years was more than enough charity. You’re a gambler's daughter, Selene. You never belonged here. I'll get the papers. This is the best gift you could've possibly given me.”

He walked right past me, his shoulder brushing mine, leaving behind the faint, sickening scent of Lara’s sweet perfume.

I stood there, staring at the empty space

He didn't care. Not one bit. He never cared. I'd always just been deceiving myself.

Ten minutes later, he threw the folder onto the dining table. He didn't offer me a single cent, and I didn't ask for it. I didn't want his dirty money. I picked up the pen and signed my name on the dotted line without reading a single clause.

Dorian scooped up the folder, entirely satisfied. “You have until midnight to get your things and leave the territory. Lara is moving in tomorrow, and I don't want her dealing with your mess.”

He didn't wait for a response and grabbed his car keys, walking out the front door. The engine of his car roared to life a moment later, tearing down the driveway.

The house fell completely silent. I walked up the staircase, entering the master bedroom that had been mine for six years. I didn't touch the beautiful dresses or the expensive jewelry he had bought me just to make me look presentable for his status. I left them all hanging in the closet.

Instead, I dragged a small, battered suitcase from the back of the closet, the same one I had brought with me when I was twenty. I packed a few pairs of jeans, some old sweaters, and my basic toiletries.

My hands were steady until I reached for my purse on the nightstand. The small white pharmacy bag containing my prenatal vitamins spilled out onto the mattress.

I stared at the bottles. Then I looked at the black-and-white ultrasound picture still peeking out from my bag.

The memory of the heartbeat echoed in my mind, but the room around me was dead. Dorian hadn't even asked why I suddenly wanted the divorce or went to the clinic this morning. He was so consumed by his relief that he had completely missed the fact that he was throwing away his own child.

I shoved the vitamins back into my bag, zipped the suitcase, and walked down the stairs. I didn't look back at the rooms I had cleaned, the tables I had set, or the house I had tried so hard to make a home.

I walked out into the cool evening air, tossed my suitcase into the trunk of my sedan, and drove out through the iron gates.

I was officially a rogue. No pack. No husband. No protection.

I drove for three miles in total silence, the headlights cutting through the dark, empty roads outside the border. I couldn't go to my parents' house, handling my father's nagging this night was going to be a whole new wave of drama. I just needed a bed for the night.

I pulled into the lot of a run-down motel on the highway. The neon sign buzzed weakly in the dark. I paid the receptionist in cash, took a rusted key, and walked into a small room that smelled thickly of cigarette smoke.

I dropped my bag on the floor and sat on the edge of the mattress. The adrenaline that had kept me numb all afternoon was finally fading, leaving behind a hollow, agonizing exhaustion.

I laid back, pulling my knees to my chest, and stared at the cracked ceiling tiles.

But as if fate couldn't let me have a moment's rest, sharp pain suddenly ripped directly through my lower abdomen, so violent it stole the air right out of my lungs.

“No,” I gasped, clutching my stomach as a cold sweat broke out across my forehead. “No, please. Not now.”

I rolled off the bed, my legs completely giving out beneath me. I collapsed onto the floor, the pain turning into a blinding, screaming agony that made the entire room spin. I dragged myself toward the bathroom, my fingers clawing at the cheap carpet.

I managed to pull myself up against the side of the toilet, panting heavily, my vision blurring.

When I looked down, my heart stopped.

The white tile floor was covered in dark, heavy blood.

The shock, the stress, the absolute devastation of the last few hours even though I had tried desperately to keep it at bay, it was still too much for my body to bear. I sat there in the dim light of the motel bathroom, clutching my stomach, feeling the exact moment the tiny, strong heartbeat went completely cold inside me.

Dorian had taken my youth, my dignity. And now, he had taken my child.