Chapter 3
The headline snapped my attention before I even realized I’d stopped scrolling.
“Quentin Brooks and Delilah Starling Spotted at Exclusive Auction–Sparks Still Flying After All These Years.”
My
t tightened, the pain sharp a
immediate, as though the words had struck me physically.
I froze, staring numbly at my phone screen, the smiling couple looking back at me like they were mocking the very foundation of my life. There they were–Quentin and Delilah. Immaculate. Radiant. Effortless. They stood close, as if the rest of the world didn’t exist, their magnetic glow nauseatingly palpable even through the
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glossy images. Their easy proximity, Delilah’s hand brushing his arm with intent disguised as casualness, and the intimate way his gaze lingered on her face–all of it made my stomach churn violently.
The photos were plastered everywhere, each one reinforcing the narrative spelled out beneath them. To the world, they were perfect–a golden duo whose chemistry seemed to defy time. But all I could see was betrayal. And to think, just days ago, he’d held my face between his hands, kissed my forehead, and told me he was off on a “business trip.”
This wasn’t business. This was something else. Something unforgivable.
As my trembling fingers scrolled through the article, each line pierced deeper. “Undeniable connection,” they wrote. “Years hadn’t dulled
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their spark.” That was all it took to shatter the fragile doubts I’d clung to like a lifeline. Each word felt like another nail in the coffin of my denial.
I couldn’t hold onto the phone anymore. It slipped from my hands and landed next to me on the couch with a muted thud. My vision blurred, tears hot and relentless as my mind reeled. My breath hitched in my throat, my chest a heavy knot I couldn’t untangle. Betrayal wasn’t just an idea anymore–it was reality, vivid and inescapable.
But then, through the chaos inside me, I felt the faintest reminder of something pure. I placed my hand on my stomach, the curve of my growing child grounding me. A new life, untouched by bitterness or despair, rested just beneath my fingertips. I closed my tear–filled eyes and inhaled. This baby didn’t ask to bear the weight of my pain. This baby
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deserved better.
I whispered to myself, “Be strong. Not for him. Not even for yourself. For them.”
That was the moment I decided to go to the hospital.
The sterile smell of the clinic filled my lungs as I walked in. It didn’t soothe me, but my doctor’s soft smile did. The cool glide of the ultrasound wand over my stomach gave way to the steady, fluttering rhythm of a heartbeat echoing through the room. It was my baby–a sound like salvation.
“Everything’s perfect.” The doctor traced a finger across the grainy screen. “You’ve got a healthy little fighter in there.”
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Tears brimmed in my eyes again, but this time, they weren’t fueled by despair. Relief and hope mingled inside me, breaking through my sorrow like light spilling through a cracked window. For the first time in weeks, I allowed myself to believe that not everything had to hurt.
Walking out of the hospital with that newfound courage blooming in my chest, I knew my next move.
The imposing skyscraper of Brooks Enterprises glinted in the late afternoon sun, its polished facade a stark reminder of how far I’d fallen from the life I had once called mine. Stepping inside the bustling lobby, with its sleek white floors and bright, artificial lighting, I was greeted with polite smiles–smiles tinged with surprise. Just
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months ago, this space had felt like an extension of my home. Now, I was a stranger in it.
I tightened my grip on the resignation letter clutched in my hand. Spotting an unfamiliar employee, I approached her. “Is Mr. Brooks in his office?”
The woman faltered under my steady gaze. “Yes, ma’am, but…you can’t go in right now.”
“Why?
My tone was sharper than I’d
intended. “I’m his wife.”
Her hesitation was a dagger. She shifted uncomfortably. “Mr. Brooks is with an important visitor…and he left instructions not to be disturbed.”
The color drained from my face at her words. I paused for half a beat before demanding,
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To do so
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“Who?”
Her lips parted as if she wanted to tell me, but instead, she cast her eyes downward. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I can’t say.”
I swallowed the anger rising in my throat. Important visitor? After everything, he didn’t even tell me he was back.
“Fine,” I s
tightly, my voice colder than ice.
I waited for her to turn away before slipping down the hallway toward his office, the letter still clutched in my hand. The door was slightly ajar. My heart rebelled against reason, pounding as I moved closer, my breath shallow and uneven.
And then I saw them.
Quentin stood next to his desk, his arms
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wrapped firmly around her. Delilah. Her lips whispered something too quiet to hear before she tilted her head upward, and his mouth met hers in a kiss so intimate it made the room spin. The way his hand found her waist–like it belonged there. The way her smile melted into the kiss, her eyes shutting with bliss.
It was too much. Too real. Too damning.
I backed away, the edges of my vision burning with unshed tears. He likely hadn’t even noticed the door was ajar. Wherever he was, in that moment, I wasn’t part of his world. There wasn’t even room for me in it anymore.
Without letting myself utter the scream building inside me, I left the resignation letter on his desk where he couldn’t miss it. Then I turned and walked away.
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Back at home, I packed anything and everything he had ever given me into boxes. Jewelry, trinkets, framed photographs of us when I still believed his lies–it all went into the blazing fire roaring out back.
The flames consumed everything with cruel efficiency, their heat licking at the memories I no longer wanted to keep. But before I could wallow in the destruction, she appeared.
“Delilah,” I whispered, stunned at the audacity of her showing up uninvited.
Without saying a word, she strode forward, kicked one of the burning boxes, and sent embers and scraps flying out of the pit. A patch of glowing ash even landed across her
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cheek. She didn’t flinch–instead, she tilted her head to flash that sickening smile.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I demanded.
“Oh, sorry. I slipped,” she said with mock innocence, brushing herself off. The smile never left her face. “Wait–are these all from Quentin? What, finally realizing how useless you are to him? How you didn’t deserve any of this?”
My hands balled into fists. “Excuse me?”
She leaned in, her voice a cruel whisper, sharp enough to slice through me. “You couldn’t even protect your mother back then… Couldn’t keep her alive. Just like you can’t hold onto Quentin now.”
The red haze of anger blinded me. Without
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thinking, my hand flew across her face. I barely grazed her cheek, but she stumbled backward and fell directly into the fire.
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