Chapter 2

Lena's POV

I woke up with a start, my heart pounding, my body drenched in sweat. I quickly checked the middle of my thighs. Clean. Nothing.

Relief washed over me. The nightmare—the one where Xander hit me, the one where I lost our baby—was just that: a dream. I wasn’t pregnant, and I hadn’t miscarried. My body ached, but it was real, and intact.

I rubbed my eyes and let out a shaky breath. A small part of me laughed bitterly at my own imagination. Why did I dream that? Why now?

The maid passed by, her footsteps soft on the polished floor. “Good afternoon, ma’am. Lunch is ready if you’re hungry.”

I forced a smile, nodding, but my eyes darted to the clock. Past twelve. My heels dug into the soft carpet as I sat at the dining table, my gown still pristine from the morning preparations. Candles flickered around me, the soft glow reflecting on crystal glasses and polished silverware. Everything was set for our anniversary dinner… and Xander still hadn’t arrived.

I shifted in my seat, smoothing my dress nervously, my heart twisting with frustration. I had everything ready—dinner, gifts, a night planned to perfection, even lingerie for later—but he wasn’t here. He hadn’t even rushed in, and my chest tightened with a mix of anger and disappointment.

Finally, the front door opened.

Xander walked in, calm as ever, his eyes glued to his phone. My teeth gritted. Not even a glance in my direction, not even a hint of apology for being late.

He finally looked up, scanning me from head to toe as if he didn’t understand why I was standing there, dressed, waiting, anticipating. I had reminded him this morning. I had said, “Xander, please come back early today for our anniversary dinner.”

But he didn’t care.

“Happy Anniversary, baby,” I said, holding out the carefully wrapped gifts. My smile was tight, controlled.

“Happy… anniversary,” he replied slowly, taking the gifts with a distracted air. His gaze skimmed over me, but it didn’t linger.

I waited. Surely he’d pull something out for me too? Surely he’d come prepared. But his hands remained empty.

“Shoot, Lena. I forgot to get you something,” he muttered, not even looking apologetic.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced my smile to stay in place. “It’s okay,” I said, my voice betraying none of the hurt twisting inside me.

“Let’s have dinner,” I suggested, trying to keep the evening from collapsing.

And so we ate, or rather, I ate. Xander spent the meal glued to his phone, pressing buttons, talking quietly on calls. Every buzz made my stomach twist. My patience wore thinner with each glance he didn’t give me, each word he didn’t share.

“Xa—” I began.

“Sorry, I have to take this,” he interrupted, standing and walking away to answer a call.

Five long minutes passed. I could hear him through the phone, his voice low and serious. When he returned, I waited for some explanation, some acknowledgment of the time he had wasted.

“Who was that?” I asked, trying to keep my voice even, calm.

He looked at me like I had asked the hardest question in the world. “It’s just business. Nothing you’d understand,” he said, dismissive, as if my curiosity were a trivial annoyance.

My chest clenched. I nodded silently, fighting back tears I refused to let fall.

After a short while, he pushed back from the table. “I’m full. If you need me, I’ll be upstairs.”

I quickly wiped my mouth, standing to follow him. Time for the part of the night he didn’t seem to remember—the part that was supposed to be ours.

I stepped into our bedroom, heart racing, anticipation mixing with lingering frustration. I pulled off my clothes, revealing the red lingerie I had carefully picked out.

Xander paused, his eyes lingering on me—not a touch, not a kiss—just an assessing gaze.

I moved closer, wrapping my arms around him, pressing myself to him, trying to elicit some warmth, some spark.

Then I noticed it. A faint but unmistakable scent of perfume—not mine. Strong. Lingering. Female.

I froze. Maybe it was a business client? Maybe someone congratulated him at a meeting? I tried to reason with myself, tried to calm the panic that bloomed in my chest.

But the hesitation in his movements, the reluctance in his touch… and then the unmistakable lipstick stain on his collar.

My stomach twisted, and a heat rose in my chest, a mix of rage and heartbreak.

“What the fuck is this, Xander?” I demanded, my voice sharp, trembling with anger.

His eyes flickered with surprise, then something defensive, then finally… nothing I could read. He opened his mouth, probably to explain, probably to lie, but instead, he paused.

I stepped back, my chest heaving. The world seemed to tilt. Everything I had built in hope for this night—this marriage, this trust, this love—felt like it was crumbling beneath me.