Lyara's POV

Lyara’s POV

I’d been on my feet since 3 pm, chopping, stirring, baking. My hands were raw from scrubbing the same spot on the counter for the third time. Five years of marriage, and I still tried to make everything perfect for him.

Today was supposed to be different. Today was supposed to be good.

I pulled the pregnancy test from my pocket again. Two pink lines. Faint, but there. My hands trembled so hard I nearly dropped it.

Four months. I’d been keeping it secret, waiting for our fifth anniversary. I pictured Adrian’s face when I told him. The way his cold, grey eyes would soften. The way he’d finally look at me like I wasn’t just the quiet wife he tolerated.

The door opened with a sharp click.

I jumped, shoving the test back into my apron pocket. “Adrian? You’re early—”

He wasn’t alone.

“Father? Claire?”

Adrian stood in the doorway with his father, Harold Cross, and his younger sister, Claire. Harold’s tailored suit looked like it cost more than my car. Claire’s designer heels clicked against the marble floor like gunshots.

Adrian’s jaw was set. That was never a good sign.

“Happy anniversary, Lyara,” Harold said. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “We decided to make it a family occasion.”

I forced a smile, wiping my hands on my apron. “I… I wasn’t expecting guests. Dinner’s almost ready. Roast chicken, Adrian’s favorite—”

“Don’t bother.” Adrian cut in.

The words hit me like ice water. I blinked. “What?”

He stepped forward. The light cast shadows across his face, making him look ten years older. Colder. “We need to talk.”

Claire’s eyes flicked to me, then away. She sighed like I was an inconvenience. “This is awkward,” she muttered, already heading for the stairs. “I’m going to my room.”

Harold nodded at Adrian. Approval. Pride, even. “Do it, son. It’s time.”

Time? Time for what?

My stomach twisted. The pregnancy test felt like it was burning a hole through the fabric of my apron.

Adrian’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He didn’t check it. He just stared at me like I was a stranger. “We’re getting a divorce, Lyara.”

The room tilted.

I gripped the counter to stay upright. “What? Adrian, it’s our anniversary. I made dinner—”

“I know what day it is,” his voice was flat. No emotion. No regret. “Lila and I have been together for six months.”

The name hit me like a slap.

Lila Monroe. My best friend since we were twelve. The girl who braided my hair at my wedding. The girl I’d invited over for tea last week.

“No,” I whispered. “No, you’re lying. Adrian, please—”

The door opened.

Lila stepped out.

She was wearing my silk robe. My robe. The one I’d bought for our wedding night. Her hair was messy, lips swollen, and she didn’t even bother to hide the marks on her neck.

She smiled at me. Not apologetic. Not guilty. Smug.

“Hey, Lyara,” Lila said sweetly. “Surprise.”

My vision went white at the edges. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. The kitchen suddenly felt too small, too hot.

“You’ve been sleeping with my husband?” The words tasted like acid.

Lila shrugged. “It just happened. We have chemistry. You and Adrian… you don’t.” She glanced at Adrian. “Right, baby?”

Adrian didn’t deny it.

That was worse than if he’d yelled.

Harold cleared his throat. “Lyara, be reasonable. Lila’s from a good family. She can give Adrian the heir he deserves. You… you can’t even get pregnant.”

He didn’t know.

The thought surged through me like a lifeline. He didn’t know. The test was still in my pocket. The baby was still a secret.

I swallowed hard. “Adrian, Lila’s lying to you. She’s been jealous of us since—”

“Stop.” Adrian’s voice cracked like a whip. He pulled a thick envelope from his jacket and threw it at me. It hit my chest and fell to the floor. “Sign it.”

I looked down. Divorce papers. Pages and pages of legal jargon. My name on the first page.

My knees felt weak. “You want me to sign this? Now? On our anniversary?”

“You’ll leave with nothing either way,” Adrian said coldly. “Sign it now, and I won’t drag your name through the mud. You’ll get a small settlement. Enough to start over somewhere.”

Lila stepped closer, holding her phone up. The red light was on. Recording.

“Smile, Lyara,” she said. “This is going to be great for my story.”

Story? What story?

Harold crossed his arms. “If you don’t sign, Adrian will make sure you never work in this city again. No one will hire a wife who tried to trap an heir with a fake pregnancy.”

My blood ran cold.

Fake pregnancy?

“Adrian, I’m not—” I started.

“I know you’re not pregnant, Lyara,” he said quietly. “Lila told me. You’re barren. You’ve been lying to me for years.”

The accusation sliced through me deeper than the divorce papers ever could.

He believes her. He actually believes her.

I looked at him. The man I’d married five years ago was gone. In his place was a stranger with his father’s eyes. Cold. Calculating. Ruthless.

The pregnancy test in my pocket felt like lead.

If I told him now… would he believe me? Or would he think it was another lie? Another trap?

And even if he did believe me… what then? Would he take the baby away from me? Would Lila raise my child as her own?

Tears burned my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Not in front of them. Not in front of Lila.

I bent down and picked up the papers. My hands shook so badly I could barely hold the pen.

“Adrian,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “Is there… is there any chance? Any chance you’ll reconsider?”

He didn’t even blink. “No.”

That one word killed something inside me. Something I didn’t think could die.

I looked at the signature line. Lyara Cross Lane. My name. My identity for the last five years.

Sign it, and you’re free. Sign it, and you don’t have to watch him love her.

I thought of my mother, hooked up to machines that kept her alive. The cancer treatment that Adrian’s insurance paid for. The treatment that’d stopped the moment these papers were signed.

I can’t let her die.

I uncapped the pen.

“Lyara, don’t—” Lila started.

“Shut up, Lila,” I said. My voice was steady now. Cold. I surprised myself with it.

I signed.

The pen scratched against the paper like a death sentence.

One. Two. Three times.

Adrian exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for months.

Harold nodded, satisfied. “Good girl. Knew you’d see the reason.”

I stood up, sliding the signed papers back across the counter to Adrian. My hand brushed his. His skin was cold.

I wanted to rip it away. I wanted to slap him. I wanted to scream until my throat was raw.

Instead, I just said, “it’s done.”

Adrian took the papers without looking at me. He tucked them into his jacket like I was nothing more than a business transaction.

“Security will be here to escort you out,” he said. “You have one hour to collect your things.”

One hour. Five years of my life, and I get one hour.

I nodded. “Fine.”

Claire had stopped on the stairs, listening. Now she rolled her eyes and continued up. “Drama queen.” She muttered.

Harold clapped Adrian on the shoulder. “Good move, son. The merger goes through tomorrow. No complications.”

The merger. That’s what this was really about. Lila’s family had money. Connections. A billion-dollar deal was on the table, and I was in the way.

I understand now. I’d always been in the way.

Adrian finally looked at me. For a second, I saw something flicker in his eyes. Regret? Guilt? I didn’t know. It was gone before I could name it.

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Lyara.” He said.

I laughed. It came out bitter, broken. “Harder? Adrian, you brought your mistress into our bedroom. You’re kicking me out on our anniversary. How much harder can it get?”

He didn’t answer.

Lila looped her arm through his. “Come on, baby. Let’s go celebrate. Lyara needs her hour.”

They turned to leave.

I stood there in my kitchen, surrounded by the dinner I’d spent all day preparing. The chicken was getting cold. The wine was still breathing. The candles I’d lit were still flickering.

Happy anniversary to me.

The door closed behind them with a final, definitive click.

Silence.

Then the sound of my own breathing. Shaky. Uneven. Wrong.

I slid down to the floor, my back against the cold marble counter. The pregnancy test slipped from my pocket and landed on the tile beside me.

Two pink lines.

Our baby.

I covered my mouth with both hands to muffle the sob that ripped out of me.

I’m pregnant. I’m alone.

And Adrian Cross just signed away the only family I had left.

Outside, I heard a car door slam. Engine starting.

They were gone.

I pressed my forehead to my knees and let the tears come.

Mom, I’m so sorry. I couldn’t save us.

The apartment felt empty. Not just quiet. Empty. Like someone had sucked all the air out of it.

I stayed on the floor for ten minutes. Twenty. I didn’t know. Time had stopped making sense.

When I finally stood up, my legs were numb. My face was wet. My hands were shaking.

I grabbed my phone from the counter. No missed calls. No messages. Not even from my mother. She was asleep, sedated for chemo.

I had $200 in my bank account. No credit card. No savings. Adrian controlled everything.

What do I do now?

I looked around the apartment. Our apartment. The place I’d decorated, cleaned, made into a home.

Now it wasn’t mine anymore.

I dragged my feet upstairs. Into the bedroom. I grabbed the only suitcase under the bed. It was old, scuffed, the zipper broken. I threw in a few clothes. Underwear. Jeans. The sweater Adrian had given me last Christmas.

I didn’t take anything else. Nothing that belonged to him.

On the kitchen table, I left the house keys. And the pregnancy test.

Let him find it later. Let him wonder.

The front door felt heavy in my hand.

I paused at the threshold, looking back one last time.

The dining table was set for two. Candles still burning. Wine glasses still full.

I loved you, Adrian. I really did.

I closed the door behind me.

The hallway was cold. Empty. Just like my future.

I walked out without looking back.