002. The Revelation 2.

Valerie's voice trembled as she asked, "Damian, what does she mean by us? And why is she holding your hand like that?"

Her words were sharp, but beneath them was a fragile, pathetic attempt to keep her composure.

Her chest tightened, and her hands curled at her sides so hard her nails bit into her palms. She was bracing for impact, yet her mind was completely short-circuiting. The warm, candlelit dining hall she had spent hours preparing suddenly felt like an execution chamber.

Damian didn’t even blink. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling a short, irritated breath as if she were a minor inconvenience disrupting his schedule.

"Petra is expecting a child," he said. His voice was flat. Empty.

The words hit Valerie like a physical blow, knocking the wind straight out of her lungs. For a second, her brain simply refused to process the sentence. It was a glitch in reality. This can't be real, she thought, her mind spinning into a manic loop. Damian would never. Not him. Not with her.

She shook her head slowly, a bitter, hysterical laugh slipping past her lips before she could stop it. "And what the hell does that have to do with me?"

Damian’s jaw tightened. "I wish it didn't. But unfortunately, it does."

Valerie's laugh grew louder, sharper, echoing off the high emerald walls. She looked like a woman losing her grip, her eyes wide and glassy. "It does? Petra is expecting a child... and the father is...?" She stepped forward, her vision tunneling as she locked onto his face. "You? You, Damian?"

Damian’s teeth clenched. A brief flicker of guilt crossed his face, but it vanished so fast she thought she imagined it, replaced instantly by his usual calm, arrogant detachment.

Valerie staggered backward, her heels catching on the rug. She grabbed the edge of a mahogany dining chair to anchor herself, her entire frame shaking. "Oh. I see. Now it all makes sense."

The sorrow hit first, a heavy, suffocating wave that burned the back of her throat, but it turned into pure, unadulterated rage in a split second.

"All those late nights!" she shouted, her voice cracking. "All those emergency board meetings! All that business travel... it wasn't work, was it? It was to cozy up with your first love! You were sleeping with her while I was sitting here waiting for you like an idiot! On our anniversary, Damian?! You chose today to do this to me?!"

"Stop being dramatic," Damian snapped. His tone was cold, sharp, and dangerous. He stepped closer, towering over her, his presence suffocating. "So what if I've been with Petra? Wipe that look off your face."

"So what?!" Valerie repeated, her voice hitting a piercing, manic pitch. Tears finally spilled over, hot and fast, blinding her. "You cheated on me! You broke our vows!"

Damian let out a short, mocking scoff. "Don't forget yourself, Valerie. Our marriage has always been based on a contract. Nothing more. You knew the terms when you signed it. Don't act like this was some epic love story."

The words sliced through whatever sanity she had left. Her lips quivered, but she forced a small, broken smile. "Of course. How could I forget? Everything with you is just a transaction. A convenient agreement."

Petra stepped forward then, her movements slow, deliberate, and dripping with calculated innocence. She placed a soft, manicured hand on Damian’s arm, looking up at him with wide, watery eyes.

"Damian, please, be gentle," Petra whispered, her voice a fragile, sweet coo. She looked over at Valerie, her expression a perfect mask of heartbroken sympathy. "It’s still your anniversary. I feel so terrible about breaking her heart like this. Valerie, please don't hate Damian. It’s all my fault. I shouldn't have let things happen, but... we just couldn't fight our feelings."

Valerie’s gaze snapped to her, burning with absolute disgust. "Shut your mouth," she hissed, her voice dropping to a dangerous, vibrating whisper. "Gentle? You knew he was married. You knew exactly what day it was today. And you had the absolute audacity to show up in my house, standing next to my husband, flaunting that... that thing in your stomach?!"

Petra flinched violently, letting out a small, terrified gasp. She immediately shrank back behind Damian’s broad shoulders, clutching his suit jacket tightly as if she were a helpless lamb being attacked by a monster.

"Damian, I'm scared," Petra whimpered, her voice trembling perfectly. "I told you she wouldn't take it well. The stress... it’s not good for the baby. My stomach hurts a little."

Damian’s expression darkened instantly. He placed a protective hand over Petra’s, stroking her hair lightly with a tenderness he had never once shown Valerie in four years of marriage.

Valerie watched that gesture, and something inside her brain snapped. A violent wave of nausea hit her. She had begged for that touch. She had spent years trying to decode his coldness, thinking he just wasn't a physical man, and here he was, cradling another woman like she was made of glass.

"Enough," Damian said, his voice dropping into a flat, authoritative command. "Let's get this over with. I have other matters to attend to tonight."

"Other matters?!" Valerie shrieked, the rage exploding out of her. She grabbed a crystal wine glass from the table and hurled it against the wall. It shattered into a thousand glittering shards. "Other matters?! Today is our wedding anniversary! This is your gift? Your mistress gets knocked up, and I'm supposed to do what? Go to the temple and thank Buddha for the news?! What the hell am I supposed to do with this, Damian?!"

Damian didn't even flinch at the shattering glass. He just looked at her like she was a feral animal that needed to be put down.

"Petra isn't a mistress," Damian said, his voice dripping with cruel nonchalance. He looked Valerie up and down, his eyes lingering on her face with absolute disdain. "And even if she were, she's a healthy mistress. She's carrying my child. That alone makes her infinitely more important than you."

He stepped forward, leaning in close enough for Valerie to see the complete absence of regret in his eyes.

"Let's face reality, Valerie. You are barren. You've given me nothing but silence in this house for four years. Petra is pregnant with my blood. Either you accept it and step aside for someone who is actually fruitful, or you leave. After all, you were nothing more than a glorified housewife. The only value you brought into this marriage was your shares and assets, which, let me remind you, you already signed over to Vance Enterprises last year."

Valerie sank onto one of the dining chairs, her legs completely giving out. The word barren echoed in her skull, heavy and suffocating, crushing the last remnants of her spirit. She felt small, stripped bare, and completely ruined.

"So now you're dumping me," she whispered, her voice hollow, her eyes staring blankly at the perfectly set table.

Damian reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a heavy black file, tossing it carelessly onto her lap. It slid against her silk dress.

"Obviously," Damian said smoothly, adjusting his cufflinks. "I am divorcing you. I need to give Petra and my child a complete, legitimate family. The legal team has already processed everything."

Petra lowered her lashes demurely, rubbing her stomach through her loose dress, looking like a tragic saint. "Valerie, I know it's hard," she murmured, her tone sickeningly sweet. "But a child needs its father. You wouldn't want a poor, innocent baby to grow up without a proper home, would you? We just want what's best for the family."

"I told you to shut up!" Valerie screamed, pushing herself off the chair, her nails digging into the black file. "Don't talk to me about family, you home-wrecking snake!"

Damian instantly stepped between them, his eyes murderous. "We are done here, Valerie. Don't waste my time throwing a tantrum. The pen is on the table. Sign the papers and move on with your life. I have already moved on with mine. You can move to the servants quarters pending when you get yourself another apartment. That’s the least I can do for you."

He turned on his heel, guiding Petra toward the grand staircase. Petra leaned into him, casting one final, triumphant look back over her shoulder. The fragile, innocent facade vanished for a split second, replaced by a sharp, victorious smirk that cut into Valerie like a razor blade.

Valerie stood there, clutching the divorce papers against her chest, her breathing ragged and uneven. The house felt entirely empty, the golden lights she had adjusted earlier now mocking her stupid, blind hope.

"S-servants quarters?" she called out, her voice a raw, broken plea that she hated herself for throwing out. “Damian!”

Damian stopped at the base of the stairs, not even bothering to turn around to face her. "What?"

Valerie swallowed the metallic taste of blood from biting her lip too hard. "Where is she going? Why did you bring her here tonight?"

Damian finally turned his head slightly, his profile sharp and completely unbothered by the wreckage he had just caused.

"I thought I made myself clear," Damian said flatly, his voice echoing through the silent mansion. "Petra is moving into the master guest suite today. Her luggage is already on its way. She needs a comfortable environment for the pregnancy, and I want her where I can monitor her. Get used to it."

With that, he guided Petra up the stairs, leaving Valerie standing alone in the ruins of her anniversary dinner, the unsigned papers heavy in her trembling hands.