Chapter 004: The Secret

Selena's POV

The door clicks shut behind me, as I stand outside the clinic with the results in my hand, my mind racing, signs of the end of everything I thought I understood about my life.

I strolled down the sidewalk, a cheap grey building tucked between a liquor store and a check-cashing establishment, holding a folded truth that doesn’t care about my plans.

"You're pregnant."

Three syllables. Three weeks have passed. And just like that, everything broke again.

The cars' honking chaos on the street grew fainter as Cassia's voice invaded my mind, sharp and intentional:

“You think this is your house? You’re just a passing phase. A pity project. A mistake Lucien’s too embarrassed to fix.”

Then my stepmother’s voice hits louder than ever, “Why don’t you just vanish? Or better yet—just die. No one would even notice a shadow.”

Then the most cutting remark of all...Cassia again, her tone dripping with malice: “Lucien only cares for me. I’ll turn him against you. He hates you, you know. Everyone does. Just die.”

I stopped walking, my hand moved to my flat stomach, still vacant but now concealing a secret that shifts everything. Before all of this, my life wasn’t ideal. Yet it was still mine. I had aspirations, dreams.

Finish college, get a job, move out, but now I don't even recognise the girl who dreamed those plans.

The mansion towers ahead, with its sharp features and cold stone. The house was silent, and my shoes echoed on the marble floor as I entered. No staff greeted me. They never do. What do I expect when I live under someone's authority?

Cassia's perfume still smells in the sitting room and it agitates my stomach.

I remember once… Just once…

Begging Lucien, raw: “Just divorce me. Please.”

He had turned away in silence, as if I were mere furniture that had suddenly spoken.

I’m not a wife in this space. I feel invisible.

"I'm just a body, a placeholder, a breathing nuisance that disrupts the elegant order of his world,” I whispered.

The rooms were clean and neatly arranged, but my presence was nowhere.

Then, I sat before the mirror staring back at myself, whom I didn't recognise anymore, and I felt the emptiness. There were no wedding photos anywhere in the house, no sign of a life shared between us.

The wedding ring I long-placed inside the drawer caught my attention as I opened it. A gift given to me, courtesy of Uncle Benedict, who'd left it with a self-satisfied smirk I could still imagine. I hadn't worn it since.

I wiped the tears trying to fall down my eyes, stood up, and sat on the bed and replayed the night three weeks ago, the anniversary of his dead parents.

He came home drunk and furious and staggered through the doors. I tried helping him with his jacket, but he pushed me.

Yet, something changed. He seemed different that evening, exhausted like a normal human. He didn't insult me; he even let me sit down on the bed. His hands trembled as he poured whisky and missed the glass. I reached out to steady his hands, and he didn't pull away.

For the first time, I felt seen when he stared into my eyes. He touched my face and said nothing. I allowed him because, for once, I didn't feel like a ghost.

I felt his warm skin, his breath sweet with whisky and perhaps a hint of loneliness.

By morning, he was gone. Nothing was spoken, nothing acknowledged. I scrubbed the sheets until my fingers bled, letting go of the memory of feeling human in his embrace.

Now, I carry proof of that night, and I’m unsure whether telling him or keeping it to myself frightens me the most.

***

A week ago, I was in the garden; Uncle Benedict came out of nowhere, always at the least opportune moment.

“Don’t file for divorce, Mrs. Ashbourne,” he said, a chilly smile on his lips. "Be patient. In time, you’ll have everything. Trust me, I will give you anything you never dreamt of in your life.”

But I didn't understand the reasons he wanted me to stay, but what confused me the most was how he never reacted. He knew what I did with those documents, the ones he had tried to slip through when Lucien was unconscious. The contract changes I made protected Lucien’s shares rather than transferring them.

He should hate me for that.

Instead, he smiles.

That alone tells me it’s time to go.

My phone buzzed last week. It was a text from Mila. She was my former college roommate. Then, we were both broke, living on ramen and dreams while I helped her with coding classes. She now worked with a tech startup in Aarhus, Denmark. The last time we spoke, she claimed I saved her GPA. Now she's saving me.

“The job offer still stands,” she wrote. "When can you start?"

“On my way to finalise the details,” I replied.

I pack quietly, taking nothing expensive. I took just my clothes, some documents, my prenatal vitamins I bought before leaving the clinic, and also my birth certificate.

The ring box remained in the drawer, untouched.

I quickly step outside. The brisk wind blew on my skin, cold and clean. “I don't have much, but it will be mine, and he will never know what I took with me,” I said while my hand found its way down to my stomach.

Then, I think of my mother, who abandoned me on my father's doorstep with nothing but a suitcase full of guilt money. She traded me for her freedom and never looked back.

They say history repeats itself, but not through me. This child will not be someone’s regret, shame, or bargaining chip...not Lucien’s, not Benedict’s, not mine.

Lucien may never realise what he has lost, but I do.

And this time, the leaving is entirely my choice, and I take everything worth saving with me.