Marrying The Protector: My Second Chance

Elena POV The silence in the apartment wasn't peaceful; it was heavy, a suffocating weight that pressed against my eardrums. I sat on the edge of the bed, the hospital discharge papers crinkled in my fist. Pregnant. The word felt less like a miracle and more like a sentence. Jackson came home two days later. He didn't notice the gaps in the closet where my things used to be. He didn't notice the empty spaces on the shelves that once held the artifacts of our life. He walked straight to his study, closing the door with a soft click that felt louder than a gunshot. I stood outside the door. I shouldn't have. I should have just left. But I needed to hear it. I needed the final nail in the coffin. "I know, Candida, I know," Jackson's voice was muffled but clear. "She's... she's acting strange. I think she suspects something." A pause. A silence that stretched too long. "No, I can't just kick her out. Not yet. The public image is too fragile right now. If the press finds out I finalized the divorce from the woman who took a knife for me, stock prices will tank." I pressed my forehead against the cold wood of the door. The air left my lungs. That was it. That was my value. I wasn't a wife. I was a PR shield. I was a diversity hire in my own marriage. "I'll handle her," he said, his voice dropping lower, darker. "I've given her enough money. She'll leave quietly when I tell her to. It won't affect our family. I promise, babe. Joey is my priority. You are my priority." My legs gave out. I slid down the wall, covering my mouth to stifle the sob that tried to claw its way out. He will always love me. That's what he said at the altar. In sickness and in health. He was talking about "handling" me like a problematic employee who needed to be downsized. I crawled back to the bedroom. The pain in my chest was so physical I thought I was having a heart attack. But then, a sharp cramp hit my lower abdomen. Stress. The baby. I looked at myself in the mirror. Pale, ghostly, pathetic. "No," I said. The word was barely a whisper, but it was solid. I picked up my phone. My fingers didn't shake this time. "Hello, Dr. Evans' office? This is Elena Medina. I need to schedule a termination." The receptionist asked for a date. I gave her the earliest one available. Tomorrow morning. I hung up and immediately dialed a lawyer Hamilton had recommended. "I want to file for divorce," I said, my voice trembling with a cold rage. "Or rather... I want to sue for the division of assets, since I was apparently divorced three years ago without my knowledge or consent." I spent the next hour outlining my demands. I wanted everything I was owed. I wasn't going to be the martyr anymore. Just as I hung up, Jackson's ringtone cut through the room. I stared at the screen. Hubby. I felt a wave of nausea. I deleted the contact name and changed it to Jackson. "Hello?" I answered, my voice flat. "Elena," he said. "I'm heading out again. Singapore this time. Do you need anything?" He was lying. He was in the study. He was calling me from the other room to avoid looking me in the face. "No," I said. "I have everything I need." "Good. Look, when I get back, let's talk. I want to... give you something. A structured settlement. Just to make sure you're secure." A buyout. He was preparing to discard me. "Sure, Jackson," I said. "We can talk when you get back." "I love you, El." The lie was so casual it almost sounded like the truth. "Goodbye, Jackson." I hung up. I walked to the bathroom and turned on the shower, standing under the scalding water until my skin turned red. I wanted to scrub his voice off my skin. I wanted to burn the memory of his touch from my body. I got out, wrapped a towel around myself, and looked at my phone. A notification popped up. Instagram. Candida had posted a new photo. It was Jackson, sitting in our study, holding Joey on his lap. The caption read: Daddy working hard for our future. Blessed. He wasn't in Singapore. He wasn't even trying to hide it from her. I felt a cold numbness settle over me. It was better than the pain. It was armor. I touched my stomach one last time. "I'm sorry," I whispered to the reflection in the mirror. "I can't let you come into this world just to be a pawn in his game. I won't let you suffer the way I have."