Chapter 3

She woke to a familiar ceiling.

Eliana lay in the bedroom of the estate. One hand was in a cast. Her leg was wrapped in bandages. Every bone in her body ached as though she'd been taken apart and put back together wrong.

Oliver stood beside the bed, expression blank, holding a freshly printed set of divorce papers.

"Hard to understand why you're so vicious, and yet Mr. Wyndham still brought in his private physician to treat your injuries."

"Can you move your hand? Good. Sign it. I'm handing this to Mr. Wyndham personally — no more games."

Eliana said nothing. She took the pen with her casted hand, trembling, and scratched out her signature. The letters were barely legible.

After Oliver left, a notification appeared on her phone.

Serena Holloway had posted a photo: her hand intertwined with Adrian's, fingers linked, a diamond the size of a thumbnail on her ring finger — ten carats, at a guess. The background showed the freshly signed divorce papers.

My future husband is finally free! And he bought me the most incredible diamond as a reward. I know, I know — but I do feel sorry for those seven years he wasted.

Adrian had replied below.

As long as I have you, that's enough.

Eliana pressed the screen dark with her left hand and stared at her own reflection in the blank mirror. Pale face. Empty eyes.

She remembered when Adrian had said: Eliana, I'll never let you carry another hurt alone. Whatever Maxwell cost you, I'll give back ten times over. You'll always have me.

Now he despised her. Wouldn't hear a word she said.

And he'd given Serena a ring twice the size of hers had ever been.

Even his love comes with an expiry date.

Eliana touched the bare hollow of her throat. The little silver ring — the one he'd made with his own hands all those years ago — was gone. Lost in the chaos.

Let it be lost. The heart that had worn it was already somewhere she couldn't reach.

She pushed herself up from the bed and dragged a box out from the back of the wardrobe. Inside were all the small pieces of a life she'd collected over seven years — the ones she'd never been able to throw away.

She found a ceramic bowl and brought out her lighter.

Adrian had been relentless in the beginning, showering her with things she'd told herself she didn't want. She had kept every one.

There were photographs — taken from every angle, without his knowledge. A hand-knitted jumper she'd taught herself to make for him, blood from where the needles had pricked her fingers dried into the fibres. A food diary, handwritten, full of recipes she'd spent months perfecting to fix his stomach problems.

Her fingers found a single sheet of paper and stopped.

A medical report. From three years ago. Their first pregnancy, the one that had ended.

It hadn't been an accident.

A rival of Adrian's had planned to ambush him one night, half-drunk and vulnerable. She had stepped in the way, taking the blow herself. That was what had caused the miscarriage. She had never told him — she'd been terrified he'd fall apart with guilt. So she'd said it was her own carelessness. That she hadn't been careful enough.

He had always believed she didn't love him. That she'd used him for revenge against Maxwell Thorne. She had been too proud, too guarded, too afraid of what it would mean to let him see the truth. She had loved him for years in complete secrecy, and she had protected that secret even while protecting him.

The fire reached its peak.

Adrian came home.

"Eliana — what are you burning in here?"

She wiped her face quickly and stamped out the fire.

"I've already signed the papers. You should have received them by now. You can relax."

He paused, then spoke coldly.

"You're not threatening me with this, are you? Some kind of dramatic gesture?"

"No." She shook her head. "I want to live. I'm not threatening anyone."

His gaze stayed on her face for a long moment. He gave a flat, self-mocking laugh.

"Right. Thank you for that. Consider me released."

"The house isn't included in the settlement. You'll need to move out."

His voice was quiet, but there was something brutal underneath.

"Serena doesn't like the smell of another woman in the rooms. Make sure you take everything."

Eliana had already been thinking the same thing. She nodded.

"I'll start now —"

When she stood, pain shot through every joint at once, electric and immediate. She stumbled.

Adrian's hand came out automatically to catch her.

For a moment, the warmth of his grip was overwhelming. She went rigid. His scent was everywhere. Her chest ached with a grief she hadn't known she was still capable of feeling.

"What is going on —"

Serena's voice cut through the room from the doorway. A sharp cry.