Chapter 3

I hailed a cab and followed her.

At the hospital, I stood outside the private room, a silent observer to the scene unfolding within. A sharp, piercing pain lanced through my heart. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, willing myself not to make a sound.

Julian’s son—their son—was on an IV drip, his small face pale and listless. He looked so fragile.

Julian was pacing the room like a caged animal, his voice a low growl of fury. “What the hell am I paying you people for? You can’t even treat a simple fever!”

The doctor trying to calm him was a man I recognized. Marcus Thorne, one of Julian’s oldest and closest friends.

“He has a cold, Julian, probably from getting chilled. It’s not your staff’s fault if you can’t take proper care of him,” Marcus shot back, his tone sharp. “I don’t know what you’re thinking. You said you were going to pay the woman off after the baby was born and send her away. Now you’re dragging me into this for a common cold? What if Elara finds out?”

There was a long silence. Then Julian’s voice, heavy with exhaustion and resignation. “What choice do I have? Every time I try to send Isabelle away, Ethan has a meltdown. They have a bond. I can’t just let my son cry himself sick.”

“Right,” Marcus scoffed. “Is it the kid who can’t let go, or is it you? You know the answer to that.”

Julian’s frustration boiled over. He rubbed his temples, a vein throbbing. “Don’t be ridiculous. The only woman I will ever love is Elara. But the Astors need an heir. You have to help me keep this from her. It would destroy her.”

He paused, his voice softening just a fraction. “And as for Isabelle… she gave me a son. I can’t just cast her aside.”

As if on cue, Isabelle chose that moment to enter, her face a mask of tear-streaked tragedy. “Julian, it’s all my fault. I didn’t take good care of Ethan. He started running a fever right after you left last night, and he was crying for you… I didn’t want to bother you and Mrs. Astor, so I waited…”

Julian’s anger melted away as he touched the boy’s hot cheek. His heart softened. He pulled Isabelle into his arms, comforting her. “Don’t cry, Isabelle. I’m not blaming you. He’s our son. If anyone’s failed, it’s me, for not being a better father.”

She clung to his shirt, her fingers tracing a line over his heart. “Julian, I know I can never compare to Miss Vance, but I just can’t bear to see our child suffer…”

Julian’s expression hardened. “No one will ever make my son suffer. But you need to take care of yourself, too. Look at you, your makeup is a mess from all the crying.”

He gently raised a hand and brushed a tear from the corner of her eye. The intimacy of the gesture was a dagger to my heart.

My hands clenched into fists, my nails digging into my palms, leaving bloody crescent moons. I felt nothing. No pain could compare to the agony ripping through my soul.

The heavens opened up again, and a cold, relentless rain began to fall. I walked away from the hospital, letting the downpour soak me to the bone. Rain streamed down my face, blurring the world around me, but it couldn’t wash away the filth and shame I felt.

By the time I reached the Vance Corporation headquarters, my ankles were raw and bleeding from my heels. The receptionist gasped when she saw me, rushing forward to help. “Miss Vance! What happened to you? Should I call Mr. Astor? He’ll be so worried if he sees you like this.”

My heart was numb. Yes, of course. The whole world believed in Julian’s perfect love for me. They had no idea that love was poisoned with lies and betrayal.

I gently pushed her away. “I’m fine,” I rasped. “It started raining unexpectedly. Could you just have a change of clothes sent to the nearest conference room for me?”

I handed her my black card and locked myself inside the room.

The moment the door clicked shut, the dam broke. I had thought seeing the photos had immunized me, that I had already faced the worst. But seeing them together—a perfect little family—had ripped open the deepest scar in my soul, leaving it raw and bleeding.

My ragged, heartbroken sobs echoed in the vast, empty room.

I wanted to scream at Julian. Why? Why was it you who made all the promises, and why is it you who is living a second life with someone else?

A soft knock on the door pulled me from my despair. The person was already gone, but a fresh set of clothes, my black card, and a glass of warm water were waiting for me. Tucked under the glass was a handwritten note: Don’t worry, Miss Vance. I didn’t call Mr. Astor. I know you wouldn’t want him to worry.

A wave of conflicting emotions washed over me. I tore the note to shreds and threw it away.

I changed in the restroom. A few minutes later, I emerged, once again the proud, untouchable Elara Vance. Nothing could break me.

I spent the rest of the day buried in work, my heels clicking purposefully on the marble floors of the executive suite. Julian sent a barrage of texts. I didn’t read a single one.

It was late evening when I finally dragged my exhausted body back to the villa, intending to pack my bags and leave for good in the morning.

But when I opened the door, the sound of a child’s laughter filled the air. And there, in my living room, stood Isabelle.