2

Elara’s Pov

The world did not stop spinning when the doctor told me I was dying, but it should have.

"Six months, Mrs. Rooke," the doctor said again, her voice sounding like it was coming from the bottom of a deep, dark well. "Your body is giving out. The illness is too far gone. I am so, so sorry."

I sat frozen in that hard plastic chair, holding onto my purse like it was a floating piece of wood in the middle of a stormy ocean. Six months. That was it. That was all the time I had left in a life where I had spent eight long years waiting for a husband to look at me and a daughter to love me.

All those mornings I spent cooking meals no one appreciated, all those nights I spent crying silently in the dark while Darian worked late, all those times I swallowed my pride to keep the peace—it had all added up to nothing.

When I finally walked out of the hospital, the city lights looked blurred through my tears. I didn't want to go back to the cold, empty halls of the Rooke mansion. I wanted to run away, to hide, to scream until my throat bled. But then I thought of Lyra.

My sweet, little Lyra. Octavia had poisoned her mind, turning her against me, but she was still my baby. If I only had six months left on this earth, I couldn't leave things like this. I couldn't die knowing my own daughter thought her mother was just a weak, ordinary stranger. I had to fix it. I had to make her see that I loved her more than life itself, even if I had to swallow a mountain of insults from Octavia to do it.

When I pushed open the heavy front doors of the mansion, the air inside felt suffocating. I walked straight toward the living room where I heard Lyra’s sweet laughter. She was sitting on the plush velvet sofa, trying to build a puzzle, while her tutor read her a story.

My heart warmed up just a little bit, pushing back against the cold fear in my chest. I walked over, knelt beside her chair, and forced a bright, gentle smile onto my face.

"Hey, sweetheart," I whispered, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Do you want to take a little break from your studies? Maybe we can bake some cookies together in the kitchen, just you and me. Like we used to do before."

Lyra pulled back quickly, looking down at her puzzle pieces as if my touch was dirty. She didn't say anything, but the cold look in her young eyes made my stomach twist into painful knots.

Before Lyra could even open her mouth to answer me, the sound of clicking heels echoed sharply across the marble floor. Octavia appeared out of nowhere, her face set in a mask of stern disapproval, looking at me like I was a messy bug on her clean carpet.

"Elara, stop bothering the child," Octavia snapped, waving her hand dismissively in the air. "Lyra has a very strict schedule to follow. She is studying advanced history and geometry this afternoon. She does not have time to waste in the kitchen making a mess with sugar and flour. Besides, you look absolutely terrible. Your face is as pale as a ghost. Go upstairs and lie down in your room where you belong instead of passing your bad habits and weakness onto your daughter."

"Mother, please," I said, looking up from the floor, my voice cracking with a desperation I couldn't hide. "I just wanted to spend ten minutes with my own daughter. Is that so wrong? I am her mother."

"A mother who contributes nothing to this family's greatness," Octavia replied coldly, her eyes narrowing. "Lyra needs a strong role model, not someone who spends her days looking for pity. Come along, Lyra. Leave your mother to rest. She clearly needs it."

Without a single word, Lyra stood up and followed her grandmother out of the room, not even glancing back at me once. Tears spilled over my eyelashes and rolled down my cheeks, burning my skin. I pressed my hands against my mouth to keep from sobbing out loud. I was dying. I had six months left, and I couldn't even get my own daughter to look at me.

Hours passed by like slow poison. Night fell over the mansion, wrapping the huge house in heavy, suffocating shadows. My head was still pounding, and my body felt weak, but I needed a glass of water. I dragged my heavy feet down the dimly lit hallway toward the stairs.

As I walked past Darian’s private study, the heavy oak door was pushed open just a tiny crack. A sliver of bright yellow light spilled out onto the dark carpet. I didn't mean to stop. I didn't mean to listen. But then I heard a name that made my blood freeze entirely in my veins.

"...Mirelle," Octavia’s voice hissed from inside the room.

I froze instantly. My breath caught in my throat. I pressed my back quietly against the cold wall right next to the doorframe, my eyes wide open in the dark.

"Mirelle Saye is the obvious and perfect choice, Darian," Octavia continued, sounding entirely too pleased with herself. "She is brilliant, she is fiercely loyal to your company, and she already knows how to handle the social pressures of the Rooke family. Most importantly, she is young, healthy, and strong. She will not break down as Elara does."

My heart stopped beating. The room seemed to tilt sideways. A surrogate? Were they talking about finding a surrogate? To give Darian another heir because I was too weak?

I held my breath, terrified, waiting for Darian to yell at his mother. Waiting for him to stand up for me, to remind her that I was his wife, that we had vows, that he loved me. I waited for him to shut down this horrible, disgusting conversation once and for all.

Instead, there was a long, agonizing silence. The kind of silence that tells you everything you never wanted to know.

"Elara’s health has become a constant liability," Octavia pushed on, her voice venomous and sharp. "She is sickly, she is emotional, and she can never give you the strong family line you deserve. You need a real heir, Darian. A child born of strength. Mirelle has already agreed that she would be honored to carry your child if you asked her."

My hands flew up to cover my mouth, but it wasn't enough to stop the low, broken gasp that tried to escape my throat. I pressed my fingernails into my own skin, praying to God, to anyone listening, that Darian would say no. Please, Darian. Just say no. Tell her you have a wife. Tell her you love me.

Then, Darian spoke. His voice was calm, steady, and completely devoid of any emotion or warmth. It sounded like a stranger speaking across a crowded room.

"If this is what we need to secure Lyra’s future," Darian quietly said, "I’ll consider it."

Those words hit me like a physical bullet straight to the chest. Every last piece of hope, every single drop of love and loyalty I had saved up inside my heart for the last eight years, shattered into tiny, unfixable pieces. He wasn't just letting his mother control our lives anymore. He was actively planning a future without me. He was already replacing me.

I turned around in the dark hallway, my vision completely blurred by a flood of hot tears, and walked away from the door. I didn't cry anymore. There were no tears left. There was only a cold, terrifying emptiness.