Carrying His Heir: The Unwanted Wife's Escape

Julian stared at the broken glass on the floor, then at the blood beading on his hand. He didn't bother to wipe it away.

He looked at Eleanor, his expression completely devoid of any emotion she recognized. It was the look one gives to a faulty piece of equipment.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice flat.

Eleanor stood by the sink, her back ramrod straight. She didn't flinch from his gaze. "I'm sure."

He took a deep, steadying breath. "If anything happens to Seraphina," he said, the words cold and measured, "I will never forgive you."

A sharp pain lanced through her chest, but she just lifted her chin. "That's your problem, not mine."

He turned on his heel, the sole of his expensive leather shoe grinding shards of glass into the marble floor. The sound was grating, violent.

He snatched his jacket from the sofa, the fabric still damp with rain.

The front door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing through the cavernous apartment. A moment later, the electronic lock clicked, sealing her inside.

The strength drained out of her all at once. Her legs gave out, and she slid down the side of the marble island until she was sitting on the cold, hard floor.

A flash of lightning lit up the room, followed by a deafening clap of thunder. Eleanor cried out, a small, choked sound, and covered her ears. Her body began to tremble violently.

She curled into a ball on the floor, the cold of the marble seeping into her clothes. Julian's icy stare was seared into her mind, playing on a loop.

Half an hour passed. The storm subsided to a low grumble. Eleanor used the cabinet to pull herself up, her limbs stiff and aching.

She walked to the dining table. The Beef Wellington had cooled, the fat congealing into a pale, unappetizing film. The candles had burned down to puddles of wax.

Without a word, she picked up the trash can. She scraped the entire meal, plates and all, into the bin. The clatter of ceramic against plastic was the only sound in the room.

Next, she went to the foyer. She found the slippers Julian kept by the door and, one by one, kicked them deep into the back of the hall closet.

She went into the master bathroom and turned on the shower, stepping under the spray without waiting for it to warm up. The cold water was a shock, a punishment. She wanted to feel anything other than the hollow ache in her chest.

After her shower, wrapped in a silk robe, she walked into the living room. His phone, he'd left it on the coffee table. No, it was her phone. His was gone.

The screen lit up with a notification. A push alert from a New York gossip site.

Sterling Corp. CEO in Late-Night Hospital Dash.

Her finger trembled as she tapped the link.

The screen filled with a grainy, long-lens photograph. The location was unmistakable: the entrance of Mayfair Private Hospital. Rain was pouring down. Julian stood there, holding a large black umbrella.

Tucked under his arm, held tightly against his body, was a woman. Her face was pale, her expression fragile and pitiable.

Seraphina.

The caption speculated whether the reclusive heir to the Sterling fortune was making a late-night visit for a secret lover.

Eleanor's eyes zoomed in on the photo. She stared at the hand Julian used to shield Seraphina's head from the rain. The hand holding the umbrella.

On the back of it, stark against his pale skin, was the fresh, red cut from the broken glass.

A wave of nausea rose so fast and so violently it choked her. She dropped the phone on the rug.

She scrambled to the bathroom, her hand clamped over her mouth. She barely made it to the toilet before she was retching, her body convulsing with dry, painful heaves.

There was nothing in her stomach to come up. Only sour, bitter bile that burned her throat. The force of it brought tears to her eyes.

She lifted her head, catching her reflection in the mirror above the sink. Her face was ashen, her eyes wide and haunted. The pain in them slowly, surely, gave way to a flat, dead emptiness.

She turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on her face. As she stared at the stranger in the mirror, a decision formed in the quiet wreckage of her heart. A decision to end this. All of it.