The device slipped from Elara's grasp, her phone hitting the floor with a dull thud.
Beatrice laid beside him, her head resting against his shoulder.
The angle was intimate, and with the looks of it, it was definitely intentional. There was no room for denial.
For a few seconds, Elara felt nothing―no sound, no tears, no breath. Her mind was buzzing with a weird numbness as heat rushed to her head. But quickly, things changed.
Pain flooded through her abdomen, and all she could hear was a sharp ringing in her ear, followed by the thundering of her heart. Her stomach cramped violently. Heat spread between her legs and her eyes widened.
"No…" she whispered, horror flooding her eyes as she looked down. Red soaked through her clothes, pooling beneath her feet. Tears dropped from her eyes when she realized what was happening.
Her baby.
---
The drive to the hospital passed in fragments—sirens, bright lights, hands guiding her onto a bed. She remembered clutching the sheets as a doctor spoke, remembered the sterile smell, the words echoing hollowly in her ears.
"We're sorry."
"There was nothing we could do."
"It's a stress induced miscarriage. You've lost the pregnancy."
By the time she returned to the villa, a few hours had passed. Elara felt hollowed out.
She remembered confronting Andrew months earlier, asking if there was something between him and Beatrice.
"You're imagining things," he had said coldly.
Another memory surfaced—her standing in his office doorway with food she had prepared, hoping to surprise him like other wives did.
"You're stalking me," he had accused, gripping her arm too tightly. "I can divorce you for this."
The thought made her laugh in mockery now as silent tears rolled down the corner of her eyes.
Her gaze raked across the living room of the villa. Every bit of this house had been furnished and decorated by herself. She had tried to make a home, but after everything that had happened, she no longer felt any sort of attachment to this place.
Elara then made her way to Andrew's study. She had been forbidden to enter freely, only the rare times she was summoned. But those visits were enough to tell her where her husband kept the documents she needed.
She pulled open the drawer, and the divorce papers slid out smoothly.
Already signed.
Andrew had prepared them long ago in an effort to shut her up when she last made a fuss about Beatrice. Back then, she had begged him to stay, promising she wouldn't bring up the matter any further. The matter of divorce was quickly buried, and both of them pretended that day had never happened.
This time, there was no hesitation in Elara's movements. She picked up the pen and swiftly signed her name.
Elara Frost. This was the first time she had written her full name in the last three years.
She removed the diamond ring from her finger and placed it beside the papers. It looked small. Insignificant.
Just like the marriage it symbolized.
Packing took less than thirty minutes. One suitcase. That was all three years of her life amounted to.
She took the framed wedding photo from the wall and let it fall. Glass shattered across the floor, just like her belief in love.
With a lighter, she lit the photo on fire, watching the flames devour the smiling strangers trapped inside the frame.
Once that was done, she whipped out her phone. It felt heavy as she dialed a number she had blocked years ago.
"Hello?"
The voice was rough. Familiar.
Her lips trembled. "X-Xylon… It's me…"
There was silence at first, but quickly, a panic voice blared through the speakers.
"Elara?! Is that you?" Xylon's voice cracked. "Where the hell are you?"
Tears spilled freely the moment Elara heard the familiar voice. A smile crooked her lips.
Xylon Jefferson, her named brother, a man she hadn't spoken to for three years. Yet, he still spoke to her so much more dearly than her own husband ever did.
"I'm so sorry, Xylon," Elara said, her heart stuffy. "I—"
"Answer me first," Xylon said, cutting her off. "Where the hell are you? Why do you sound like that? Have you been crying? I'll come get you."
"No. Don't come."
"How can you fucking say that?! Do you even know how hard it's been—"
"I'm coming home," she said softly.
"What?!" A yell came from the other end. "Elara, are you serious?"
"I'll see you later," she said before ending the call.
She left the villa without looking back.
Three years she spent trying to warm a heart made of ice. Three years she wasted on a man who was incapable of loving her. Elara was done waiting. If Andrew Lloyd wanted his freedom so bad, Elara was now more than willing to oblige.
In the taxi, she typed one final message and sent it before turning her phone off.
[A man who betrays his wife and kills his own marriage for another doesn't deserve love. This ends here.]