Chapter 3
By the time I stepped out, Ethan and the others were already gone. Only Dorian and Miranda remained in the living room.
I deliberately made some noise as I approached—just enough to give them time to adjust.
Now wasn’t the time to confront them. Not yet.
Miranda’s cheeks were still flushed as she pretended to give Dorian a work report.
“Dorian, there’s a meeting tonight that requires your personal attendance. The car’s waiting outside.”
When she spotted me, she put on that sugary-sweet smile.
“Hello, Luna.”
Then her gaze slid to my belly, and the corner of her mouth curled with smug satisfaction.
“Your belly looks even bigger now. You’re so blessed, carrying Dorian’s quadruplets all at once.”
I stared at her fake face, too drained to respond.
Sensing the tension, Miranda quickly excused herself. But just before stepping out, she turned back and shot Dorian a glance—some silent signal I wasn’t meant to catch.
Dorian’s brows furrowed slightly when he saw me emerge from the guest room.
“When did you get back?” he asked carefully. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
His tone was casual on the surface, but I could hear the undercurrent of unease.
I saw the moisture still glistening at the corner of his lips, and my chest tightened like something sharp was lodged there.
It was so obvious now. And yet, somehow, I’d been blind for so long.
I forced a bitter smile and looked away. “I was tired when I got back. Fell asleep in the guest room. Just woke up.”
Relief washed over his face. Like he was off the hook.
“How was the check-up today? I really wanted to go with you, but something urgent came up at the pack.”
He sounded guilty. And once upon a time, I believed that guilt was real.
I used to reassure him—work came first, I’d be fine on my own.
Not anymore.
“It went fine. The healer said the babies are healthy.”
He asked a few more detailed questions before finally seeming satisfied.
This was how he always was—meticulous, attentive, asking after every little thing. I’d mistaken it for love.
Now I knew better. That concern wasn’t for me. It was for the babies.
Dorian came over and rested a hand on my belly, speaking softly to the pups inside.
The old me would’ve smiled through tears, overwhelmed by happiness.
But now, all I felt was blood dripping from my heart.
I clenched my fists to stay calm, but my throat burned, and my eyes stung.
He didn’t notice. He never noticed—because he didn’t care.
“There’s a last-minute meeting tonight. I’ll be back late,” he said, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Take care of yourself while I’m gone.”
I forced a nod. “Okay.”
Once he left, I gripped the stair railing and slowly made my way upstairs.
Since my belly had grown too large to see the steps below, I’d moved into the downstairs guest room five months ago—for safety.
It had been a long time since I’d set foot in our bedroom.
I pushed the door open—and the sight nearly knocked the air from my lungs.
The bed was still messy, the sheets tangled and stained with the evidence of their betrayal.
Our wedding photo sat in a frame on the nightstand beside the bed.
What a cruel joke.
Pain pulsed through my chest, sharp and relentless. Tears streamed down my cheeks before I could stop them.
But I wiped them away and forced myself to move. I dug through drawers and cabinets, gathering all my documents and IDs.
Just before heading back down, I found myself drawn to the window.
And when I looked out, I saw it.
The car still hadn’t left.
It rocked back and forth, rhythm uneven and unmistakable.
I shut my eyes. The nausea surged instantly.
That night, Dorian returned past midnight. His shirt smelled like Miranda’s perfume.
He laid beside me and reached out, gently cupping my belly as if it were sacred.
I stayed still, eyes closed, pretending to sleep.
But memories flooded my mind—his hands, his words, the promises—and my tears soaked silently into my hair.
I didn’t understand.
But it didn’t matter anymore.
The next morning, I went to the healer.
She frowned the moment I walked in. “You’re nearly seven months along, Isabella. Terminating now is extremely risky. I can’t recommend it.”
My expression didn’t shift. I gave her a calm, rehearsed lie.
After a long series of evaluations and consultations, we settled on a date for the procedure—three days from now.
I returned home drained, both body and mind.
Three days to get ready.
And before I left, I’d leave Dorian Sinclair one final gift—one he’d regret for the rest of his life.
