Discovered His Will, Faked My Death

Elyse POV:

Dalton' s office was a blur of papers and hushed tones. He had found a small, discreet apartment for me. It wasn't fancy, just a two-bedroom unit in a quiet part of town. I didn' t care about the amenities. All I needed was a place to be alone, a place where I could breathe. "Just get me in tonight," I'd told him, my voice raspy. "I don't care about anything else."

It was already evening when I returned to the mansion, the huge house feeling colder and emptier than ever. Each step was an effort, my body heavy with the advanced pregnancy. I went straight to the kitchen, a familiar routine. Grayson would be home late, as always. He liked my cooking, or at least, he used to. I started preparing his favorite salmon, seasoning it just the way he preferred, brushing it with orange glaze. The aroma filled the kitchen, a bittersweet scent. It was automatic, this desire to please him, a habit deeply ingrained after seven years. I sighed, realizing how much of myself I had lost, how much I had tailored my life to his preferences.

Hours passed. The salmon sat under a warming lamp, then in the oven, then back under the lamp. I reheated it twice, three times. Each time, a fresh wave of despair washed over me. He wasn't coming. Or he was, just much, much later.

The front door finally creaked open well past midnight. I heard his heavy footsteps, then the faint scent of foreign perfume. Not mine. Kira's. It clung to him, sweet and cloying. My stomach churned. I felt a cold dread settle in my chest, confirming every suspicion. My eyes darted to his neck. A faint red mark, almost imperceptible against his tanned skin. My breath hitched.

He stumbled into the kitchen, his eyes glazed, reeking of alcohol. He barely registered my presence. He saw the plate of salmon. His lip curled. "What is this? Trying to play the dutiful wife again, Elyse? Fishing for sympathy?"

He pushed past me, his shoulder brushing mine, and headed for the stairs. He didn't even wait for an answer. My gaze fell to his left hand. His ring finger was bare. Completely. No tan line. No indentation. As if he had never worn a wedding ring at all. My heart shattered into a million pieces.

"Grayson," I whispered, my voice hoarse, barely audible. He paused, one foot on the first step, then turned, his expression unreadable.

"The divorce papers," I continued, my voice gaining strength. "They're on your desk. Sign them. Please."

He chuckled, a dark, humorless sound. "Divorce? What, did you find another document? Another 'misunderstanding'? " He scoffed. "And here I thought I was still alive." He laughed again, a harsh, grating sound that made my skin crawl.

Then he lit a cigarette, the acrid smoke filling the air, despite my obvious pregnancy. He didn't care. He never did.

"Let's not forget, Elyse," he said, taking a drag, his eyes narrowed. "You were simply a girl from a charity event. A project. You should be grateful I even looked at you." He blew a plume of smoke, watching it dissipate. "The will, as you so delicately put it, is just a formality. Kira has a weak heart. She's fragile. It's to ensure she's cared for, should anything happen to me. A contingency, as I said."

He sounded so sincere. So concerned. My mind replayed the scene at the clinic, the doctor's kind face, the healthy image of my baby on the screen. My hand instinctively went to my belly. He worried about Kira's fragile heart, but what about mine? What about the child growing inside me?

A decade. Ten years ago, he was just a desperate young man, clinging to life. I had found him, bleeding, after a hit-and-run. I pulled him from the wreckage, ignored my family's pleas to leave him to the authorities, and stayed by his side through weeks of recovery. I had even taken a knife for him during a gang confrontation, a memory that still sent shivers down my spine.

In the hospital, his voice had been thick with emotion, his eyes full of promises. "Elyse," he'd choked out, gripping my hand, "I swear, if I survive this, I will make you the happiest woman on earth. I will inherit my family's legacy, and I will give you everything. My life. My love. My fortune." He had even sworn, "If I ever betray you, may God strike me down."

He did inherit the legacy. He built an empire. But the happiness? That went to Kira. My wedding was a low-key affair, a courthouse ceremony. My dress was rented. My vows were exchanged with the cold, unyielding reality of a prenup.

I laughed, a dry, bitter sound that hurt my throat. My eyes burned, but no tears came. "And those vows, Grayson?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. "Do you remember them? Or did you forget those too, along with everything else?"

His face went rigid, his eyes turning cold and dangerous. "Don't bring up the past, Elyse. It's done. Over." He took another drag from his cigarette, then crushed it in a nearby ashtray. "What do you want, then? How much money will it take for you to disappear?"

My heart plummeted, the last vestiges of hope crumbling to ash. He thought everything could be bought. Everything had a price. And my love? My sacrifice? It was just another commodity to him.

"Nothing," I said, my voice barely audible, forcing the word out. "I want nothing from you. Just sign the papers. Let me go. Peacefully."

I turned, my back to him, and started to walk away. His voice, hoarse with sudden rage, cut through the silence. "You'll regret this, Elyse! You'll regret walking away from me!"

I didn't look back. There were no more tears left for him. Only for the girl I used to be, the one who believed in a love that never existed.