“I don’t care if she’s pregnant,” he said flatly. “And if she dies, then she dies. What does it matter?” His next words were even crueler. “Her blood matches Helena’s. Helena needs it more. If I have to choose, I’ll pick Helena every time. Seraphina is nothing. She isn’t even my wife. Proceed.”
The machines hummed louder, blending into an unbearable roar. My thoughts shattered. I wanted to scream, to move, to beg them to stop—but my body refused to obey. The darkness rushed back in, swallowing everything whole.
When I surfaced again, pain greeted me like a tidal wave.
My veins felt hollow, my muscles screamed, and my entire body throbbed as though life itself had been siphoned out of me. The words I’d heard before tangled with my thoughts. Had it really happened? Or was it just a nightmare born from trauma?
A nurse noticed my eyes flutter open and approached with a tight, sympathetic smile. “Miss Seraphina, please don’t move. You lost a significant amount of blood. You were rescued after drowning and brought here unconscious. You need rest.”
My throat burned as I swallowed. “I… was I pregnant?” The question barely made it past my lips.
She paused, surprise flickering across her face before her expression softened. “There’s no indication of that in your records.”
But I knew. I had heard them. I felt it—in the aching emptiness deep inside me. My chest tightened, my womb felt unbearably hollow. Tears slid silently down my temples.
“What about… my husband?” The word tasted bitter even as I said it. Dominic wasn’t my husband. Just the man I had loved. The man who carried Adrian’s heart. The man I had trusted with everything.
“Did anyone come to see me?” I asked.
The nurse hesitated before shaking her head. “No. You’ve been unconscious for three days. No visitors.”
I forced my lips into a fragile smile. “Please… I want to be alone.”
Once she left, the silence crushed me.
That was when the real pain settled in—not the physical agony, but the kind that gnawed relentlessly at the soul. I had mistaken familiarity for love. I had believed five years of devotion meant commitment. I had convinced myself that his care was genuine.
But to him, I had never been love.
I was convenience. I was pity. I was a substitute.
And I was foolish enough to mistake borrowed warmth for permanence.
My thoughts drifted back to Adrian.