ログインFiona’s POV
“The boyfriend of the patient in ward 302 is so handsome!” I overheard two nurses gossiping in the hallway. I’d just had that blowout in Ross’s hospital room: Sebastian, the man I’d been married to for years, doubting me like that, thinking I could drive Ross to suicide just because she was his first love. I mean, after three years of sharing a home, a life… he still didn’t know me? Didn’t know my character, and doubted me anyway? Sure, I was heartbroken over the divorce and his blind devotion to his ex, but please, that didn’t give him any reason to think I wanted her dead. And now these two nurses were saying things that made me feel anything but happy. Ward 302? The same room where Ross was? “He’s gorgeous and super-rich. It’s Sebastian Blackwood, the president of that famous luxury group,” they continued in hushed, excited tones. “No way! Last Valentine’s Day, I saw him give that beautiful patient a huge bouquet of roses. They looked so sweet together. I bet they’ll get married soon.” “Maybe we’ll see the billionaire reveal his secret lover in the headlines any day now,” they giggled expectantly. My steps froze. My heart twisted with a sharp stab of pain. My marriage to Sebastian was a secret, by contract. We never appeared together in public. No one knew he and I were married except our families and close friends. My mom had hated the idea of me marrying him under a contract, she said I deserved to marry for true love, but she knew I’d been in love with Sebastian since high school, so I was willing to take any kind of marriage just to be his. So he never announced my existence to the world. Sebastian lost his sight in an accidental fall. His temper turned irritable and aggressive. He couldn’t accept the truth and even started losing hope in life. His grandmother was deeply worried and decided to find a bride to help care for him and get him through the tough times. Sebastian was completely against it, but he didn’t want to disobey Grandma. He loved her more than himself. I married him out of courage and desire for him, but I was never what Sebastian wanted. I was available, but never the one he truly desired. Hot tears rolled down my cheeks. I shouldn’t have hoped he’d ever love me. Sebastian only cared about the woman he loved. And it had always been her. Ross. The nurses noticed my distress and stopped talking. They must have wondered why this random woman suddenly started crying. They didn’t know I was Sebastian’s hidden wife. No one did. That’s why they were rooting for Ross and Sebastian’s love, because for her, he had no problem showing the world, making public gestures of affection, like the flowers he gave her on Valentine’s Day. I was just an out-of-place stranger in that moment, never acknowledged as his wife, always living in his shadow, never loved, never valued. I was on the verge of collapsing right there, and I knew if I started sobbing in public, I’d make a fool of myself. So I hurried past them, my steps growing heavier. My heart felt heavy, betrayed. More tears streamed down my face, and I nearly cried out loud. My back hunched unconsciously, and I wrapped my arms tightly around my shoulders. The cold wind outside the hospital hit me, leaving me drained. I didn’t want to remember the moments I’d felt hopeful that Sebastian was worth it—all the everyday things we shared: cooking together, sharing meals, smiles and little jokes, kisses and tenderness, passionate nights… All those memories were piling on top of each other, threatening to destroy me completely. All this time, while I believed he saw me differently, he was still in touch with Ross, meeting her publicly, making her his official girlfriend, while I was at home, holding onto hope? Sure, our marriage was contractual, but countless times he made me believe we could be so much more, that things were working out between us. “I love your company, Fi,” he’d say, caressing my cheek and smiling beautifully at me, making me blush and my heart race. But that meant nothing, never did, since he seemed willing to move mountains for Ross. I wiped my tears, feeling pathetic for being in such a pitiful state in public. I was the delusional one. Sebastian wasn’t to blame, he couldn’t help that I wanted more from him than he could give. After all, no one can control matters of the heart… I stood up, my legs trembling from weakness. I urgently needed some energy to keep from sinking into despair. I decided to go to a nearby café by the hospital, where I could warm up and have something hot, maybe that would make me feel better. “What can I get you, ma’am?” the waiter asked kindly. “Could I have a cup of hot chocolate, a sandwich, and some cookies?” I requested with a faint smile. The young man nodded. “I’ll make it extra special to cheer you up,” he grinned. “Oh my God… how embarrassing,” I muttered, trying to wipe my face and pull myself together, my mascara was probably smeared everywhere. “Don’t feel bad about crying,” he said empathetically, even though he didn’t have to. “Everyone has a breakdown now and then. The important thing is to get back up with your head held high.” Those words, even from a stranger, were exactly what I needed to hear in that moment, like my guardian angel speaking through him to calm my heart. It comforted me in a way. “Thank you for the kindness,” I smiled, touched. “No problem! But I’ve got something that tastes even better than words, I’ll be right back,” he said with a big smile before walking away, making me chuckle softly. Moments later, he returned with my order, still playful, and wished me the best. My body gradually warmed with the rich, hot sips, and a smile began to play on my lips, the pain fading little by little. Maybe I shouldn’t let this situation with Sebastian consume me so much. After all, a man who had no respect or consideration for me, to the point of dismissing me so pathetically despite years of commitment, he didn’t deserve my tears or my self-pity. So I sat there, savoring the hot chocolate, enjoying the lively atmosphere of the café, customers eating and chatting, waiters bustling about, life flowing normally both inside and out. It gave me hope. And in that moment, I missed someone. So I pulled out my phone and dialed the number I knew best.Third POVThe penthouse was silent in the small hours, the kind of quiet that amplified every tiny sound—the distant hum of traffic far below, the faint tick of the clock in the hallway, the soft rustle of sheets as Irene shifted in bed. She reached out instinctively, her hand expecting the warm solidity of Sebastian's body beside her, but finding only cool, empty space. Her eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the dim glow of the city lights filtering through the half-drawn curtains. The clock on the nightstand read 3:17 AM. She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes, a small frown creasing her forehead. He must have gotten up for water, she thought, or maybe to check his phone—insomnia had a way of sneaking up on men like him, the ones who carried the weight of empires on their shoulders.She swung her legs over the side of the bed, the hardwood floor cool against her bare feet. Slipping into a silk robe that hung on the back of the door—deep burgundy, a gift from her time in Italy—she padd
Sebastian stood by the wide bedroom window, the city lights stretching far into the distance like scattered embers in the dark. The glass was cool beneath his fingertips, but his thoughts burned far too intensely for him to notice the chill.Behind him, the room was quiet except for the soft rustling of sheets and Irene’s slow breathing. She lay half draped over him, her head resting against his chest as if it were the most natural place in the world. One of her legs was tangled with his beneath the blanket, and her arm rested loosely across his stomach.He absently ran his fingers along the smooth curve of her back.But his mind was somewhere else.Irene tilted her head slightly, sensing the tension in his body. Even without looking at him, she knew when something was wrong. Her fingers traced a lazy circle over his chest.“You’re thinking too loudly,” she murmured sleepily.Sebastian glanced down at her, a faint smile tugging at his lips.“Is that a thing now?”“It is when you feel
Third POVThe weeks following their first joint therapy session blurred into a rhythm that felt almost too good to be true. Fiona and Maverick fell into a quiet routine at Sofia's house, the kind of everyday life that built itself on small moments rather than grand gestures. Mornings started with shared coffee on the porch, Maverick's hand on her belly as they felt the twins stir awake. Afternoons were for walks in the park when Fiona felt up to it, or lazy hours on the couch with books and soft music playing in the background. Evenings brought family dinners—Sofia's hearty stews or Maverick's surprisingly good attempts at homemade pasta—followed by more therapy sessions, where they peeled back layers of hurt and rebuilt with careful words.The pregnancy progressed smoothly, the twins growing stronger with each checkup. Dr. Joanna noted their steady heartbeats, their positions shifting as they prepared for the world. Fiona's bump rounded out, making simple tasks like tying shoes a t
Third POVThe restaurant had been one of those hidden gems in the West Village—dimly lit, with exposed brick walls and candles flickering in mismatched glass holders, the kind of place where conversations lingered over dessert and wine flowed like secrets. Sebastian and Irene had spent the evening there, tucked into a corner booth, plates of shared pasta and grilled octopus between them. He’d made her laugh with stories from his travels—omitting the darker edges, of course—and she’d shared glimpses of her life in Italy, the sun-drenched vineyards and the quiet mornings she’d come to love before it all fell apart. But underneath the easy banter, Amber’s words from earlier that day echoed in Irene’s mind like a distant warning bell: “Be careful. Men like Sebastian Blackwood don’t just have baggage. They have cargo containers.”She pushed it away as they stepped out into the cool night air. The city hummed around them—distant horns, laughter spilling from a nearby bar, the faint scent
Fiona POVThe car ride back from Dr. Linda’s office felt lighter than the one there. Maverick drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on my knee, a small, steady connection that grounded me. The city streets blurred past in the late-afternoon sun, shadows stretching long across the sidewalks. I leaned my head against the headrest, eyes half-closed, replaying the session in my mind. It hadn’t been easy, nothing about digging up old wounds ever was, but it felt like progress. Real progress. Maverick had opened up in ways I hadn’t expected, talking about the anger he’d carried for so long, how it had twisted into secrets that nearly destroyed us. And I’d listened, really listened, without the old defenses snapping into place.When we pulled into the driveway, Mom’s house looked warmer than usual, the front porch light already on, even though dusk was still an hour away. Maverick parked and came around to my side, opening the door with that quiet care he’d adopted since my
Third POVThe office of Dr. Linda Morgan was tucked away on the third floor of a quiet brownstone in Greenwich Village, the kind of place that blended into the neighborhood without drawing attention. Soft beige walls, a few abstract prints in muted blues and grays, a worn leather couch that invited sinking in rather than perching on the edge. A small table held a box of tissues and a vase of fresh daisies, simple, unassuming, like the doctor herself. Linda sat in her armchair, notepad balanced on her knee, glasses perched low on her nose. She had a way of looking at you that made you feel seen without feeling exposed, a skill honed from years of listening to stories like theirs.Fiona and Maverick sat side by side on the couch, close enough that their knees brushed but not so close it felt forced. It was their first joint session, and the air held that tentative energy of new beginnings, hope mixed with the faint echo of old hurts. Fiona wore a loose sundress in pale yellow, her bu







