Chapter 2: Elena's POV

By the time my check-up was over, I still hadn’t received another reply from Adrian.

No apology text.

I should have been used to it by now. He always ignored me unless it was absolutely necessary to speak to me.

Outside the hospital, a row of luxury cars lined up neatly in front of the entrance. The sunlight bounced off their polished black surfaces, each one gleaming like it belonged in a magazine ad.

The rest of the Lancaster family didn’t even glance in my direction. They walked quickly toward the cars, speaking quietly among themselves, their voices full of a cold politeness that excluded me completely.

No one offered me a seat. No one even asked how I would be getting home.

I stood there, watching as they slipped into their expensive cars with effortless grace. The doors shut with soft but firm clicks, and the convoy rolled away without a second thought, leaving me standing alone on the sidewalk with nothing but the fading sound of engines.

I let out a slow breath. It wasn’t like I expected anything different.

Fine. I could walk for a while.

⸻

I wandered down the quiet street, the scent of freshly cut grass drifting on the breeze. My steps slowed when I noticed a young girl out on the open lawn of a nearby sports club. She was swinging a tennis racket, her movements quick and confident, the ball bouncing off with sharp, satisfying pops.

She was so full of life.

My chest tightened as memories stirred. I used to look like that once—full of energy, my eyes bright with ambition.

I’d started playing tennis when I was barely old enough to hold a racket properly. My coach always said I had the kind of determination that could take me far. And I believed him. By the time I was twenty, I had begun to make a name for myself.

Then my adoptive father, Martin, passed away. His death had thrown our already fragile family into chaos. Everything fell apart so quickly—money problems, debts, people who once smiled at us suddenly turning their backs.

But I kept going. I poured everything into my training, telling myself that if I could win, I could save us.

I still remember the thrill of winning my first prize money. I had rushed home, clutching the envelope as if it contained the key to our future. I went straight to my adoptive mother, Helen, my heart bursting with hope.

I thought she would be proud.

Instead, she smiled in a way I now recognize as calculating. That night, she got me drunk—something I didn’t think much of at the time—and sent me into a hotel room where Adrian was, also intoxicated.

The next morning, my life was no longer my own.

When I found out I was pregnant, Helen wasted no time. She went to Dora Lancaster—Adrian’s mother—and with the help of the media, cornered Adrian into marrying me.

From then on, Helen's life changed. She began living extravagantly, buying designer clothes, jewelry, and expensive trips, all while dumping the bills on me and Adrian.

It didn’t take long for the Lancaster family to see me as a gold-digger. No matter what I said, no one believed me. I became the outsider wife, unwanted and untrusted, my name whispered in gossip behind closed doors.

Three years passed in that haze. Three years of swallowing my pride just to survive.

⸻

But today… something felt different.

Watching that young girl swinging her racket, full of fire and freedom, made me realize how much I had lost—and how much I wanted back.

I was only twenty-three. My worth shouldn’t be tied to whether I could give the Laurent family an heir. I was more than that.

A spark lit inside me.

Before I could second-guess myself, I turned on my heel and started walking fast.

No… not walking. Practically running.

⸻

By the time I reached the Lancaster Group headquarters, my heart was pounding, partly from the rush and partly from nerves. The tall glass building loomed over me, intimidating but somehow also giving me the push I needed.

I went straight to the top floor where Adrian’s office was. The receptionist gave me a startled look as I walked past without stopping. I didn’t care about the rules. Not today.

The door to his office was half open. He was there, seated behind his sleek black desk, typing something on his laptop. His posture was relaxed, but there was that same cold distance in his eyes that I had come to know too well.

I didn’t wait for an invitation. I stepped inside, went right up to his desk, and leaned forward with my palms pressed firmly against the polished surface.

For the first time in a long while, I looked him straight in the eye without flinching.

“Adrian,” I said, my voice steady. “Let’s divorce.”

⸻

He barely looked at me. His gaze lingered for maybe three seconds before he turned his attention back to his computer.

His fingers kept moving over the keyboard as if I hadn’t just thrown my entire marriage onto the table between us.

“Didn’t you already say that?” he asked, his voice flat.

I felt the sting of his indifference, but I didn’t back down.

“Yes,” I admitted. “But you never gave me an answer.”

He didn’t even glance at me. Instead, he clicked the mouse and began replying to an email. “I answered you with silence,” he said. “Do I really need to explain again? You’re disturbing me. Leave my office immediately.”

⸻

I stayed where I was, my hands gripping the desk so hard that my knuckles turned white.

It hurt—of course it hurt—but for the first time in years, I realized that my pain didn’t matter to him, and it never would.

And maybe that was the answer I needed all along.