Chapter 2

I spent the night locked in the guest bedroom, as far from Alexander as possible. Our bedroom—the one we'd shared for three years—now felt contaminated. Every memory there was suspect, every intimate moment called into question. Had he been thinking of Victoria even then? Had he been comparing us?

The thought sent me rushing to the adjoining bathroom for the third time that night. There was nothing left in my stomach to expel, just bitter acid that burned my throat as I heaved. When the spasms finally subsided, I slumped against the cool tile wall, my body trembling with exhaustion.

Two years. They'd been laughing at me for two years.

My wedding ring caught the dim light as I raised my hand to wipe my mouth. The diamond that had once symbolized forever now felt like a shackle. I twisted it off and clutched it in my palm, the metal edges biting into my skin.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to break things. I wanted to storm into Alexander's room and demand answers to questions I wasn't sure I could bear to hear. Instead, I curled into myself on the bathroom floor, sobs wracking my body until there were no tears left, just dry, painful gasps that seemed to tear something vital inside me.

Dawn found me still there, hollow-eyed and empty. The house remained silent—no footsteps, no signs of Alexander or any staff. I dragged myself to the shower, turning the water as hot as I could stand, as if I could scald away the memory of what I'd seen.

When I finally emerged from the guest room, the house was empty. On the kitchen counter sat a note in Alexander's precise handwriting:

*Elena,*

*I trust you've had time to process our discussion. I have campaign events today. Remember our arrangement. The Donovan fundraiser is Saturday at 8. Wear something appropriate.*

*A.*

No apology. No acknowledgment of the pain he'd caused. Just cold instructions, as if I were an employee rather than a wife. I crumpled the note in my fist, then smoothed it out again, folding it carefully and tucking it into my purse. Evidence. Of what, I wasn't yet sure.

The drive to the hospital was a blur. I moved on autopilot, muscle memory guiding me through traffic lights and turns while my mind replayed yesterday's scene in endless, torturous loops. Victoria's laugh. Alexander's cold eyes. The practiced way they moved together, speaking of countless encounters.

The hospital parking garage was nearly full when I arrived. I was late—something that had never happened before in my career. I hurried through the staff entrance, keeping my head down, praying no one would notice the redness around my eyes or the slight tremor in my hands.

"Dr. Vance!" The charge nurse waved me over. "Your first patient is already prepped in exam room three. Labs came back showing elevated white count."

I nodded, grateful for the immediate distraction of work. This was my domain. Here, I was Dr. Elena Vance, respected physician. Not the fool who'd been betrayed by her husband and best friend.

The morning passed in a haze of patient consultations, lab reports, and medication orders. I functioned, but barely—like a machine running on backup power. Several times I had to ask nurses to repeat information. Once, I nearly prescribed the wrong dosage before catching myself.

"Elena?" Dr. Samuel Parker's voice broke through my fog as I stood staring blankly at a patient chart. "Are you alright?"

Samuel was the senior cardiologist, a kind man in his sixties who had mentored me since my residency. His concerned gaze felt like a spotlight, exposing all my raw edges.

"I'm fine," I said automatically, the lie bitter on my tongue. "Just didn't sleep well."

He studied me for a moment, his experienced eyes missing nothing. "You look more than tired. Is everything okay at home?"

The question hit like a physical blow. Home. What home? The beautiful house where my husband was sleeping with my best friend? The marriage that had apparently been nothing but a political strategy?

"Everything's fine," I managed, blinking rapidly to hold back the sudden sting of tears. "Just... campaign season. You know how it gets."

Samuel's expression softened with sympathy. "Alexander's schedule must be brutal right now. But don't let his career consume yours too. You're one of the best doctors on this floor."

If only he knew. Alexander wouldn't just consume my career—he'd destroy it entirely if I stepped out of line.

"Thanks, Samuel. I appreciate the concern, but really, I'm okay." I forced a smile that felt like it might crack my face. "I should check on Mrs. Hernandez's post-op labs."

He nodded, clearly unconvinced but unwilling to push further. "My door's always open if you need to talk."

I escaped to the nearest supply closet, leaning against shelves of gauze and antiseptic as I fought to regain control. Five deep breaths. Ten. I couldn't fall apart here. Alexander's threat loomed large—one call about my 'emotional instability' could trigger an investigation. I had to keep it together.

By noon, the dizziness started. At first, I attributed it to missing breakfast and the emotional toll of the past eighteen hours. But when the room tilted dangerously during patient rounds, I had to grip the edge of the bed to stay upright.

"Dr. Vance?" One of the residents looked at me with concern. "Should I continue the presentation?"

"Yes," I managed. "Please do."

I made it through rounds, then retreated to the doctors' lounge. The dizziness persisted, accompanied now by a wave of nausea that reminded me of—

No. It couldn't be.

But as I counted back the days since my last period, a cold certainty settled in my stomach. I was late. Not dramatically so, but enough that combined with the symptoms...

I slipped down to the lab during my lunch break, drawing my own blood with shaking hands. The lab tech, Mia, raised an eyebrow but didn't comment when I handed her the vial with my ID number instead of a patient's.

"Stat?" she asked.

I nodded, unable to trust my voice.

Twenty minutes later, Mia found me in the charting room. "Dr. Vance? Your results." She handed me a sealed envelope, then squeezed my arm gently. "Congratulations," she whispered before walking away.

The envelope trembled in my hands. Congratulations. So it was positive.

I locked myself in a bathroom stall before opening it, needing privacy for whatever reaction might come. The numbers confirmed what Mia already knew: I was pregnant. Approximately five weeks along.

A baby. Alexander's baby.

I pressed my hand against my still-flat abdomen, trying to process this new reality. Yesterday, this news would have filled me with joy. Alexander and I had discussed children—someday, when his career was established, when the timing was right. I'd been patient, understanding. Now I knew those conversations had been as empty as his vows.

Yet despite everything, a tiny flicker of hope kindled inside me. A baby might change things. It could be the reason to fix what was broken, to make our marriage real instead of the political arrangement Alexander claimed it had always been.

Or it could be another chain binding me to a man who saw me as nothing more than a convenient prop.

I folded the lab results and tucked them into my pocket. Alexander would be home tonight. I would tell him about the baby. His reaction would tell me everything I needed to know about our future—if we had one at all.

As I left the bathroom, my pager beeped with a code blue. I ran toward the emergency, pushing everything else aside. For the next few hours, I could be just Dr. Vance again, focused solely on saving lives.

But beneath my professional calm, the knowledge of the life growing inside me changed everything. Whatever game Alexander was playing, the stakes had just become infinitely higher.