You were never meant to matter. A political arrangement, a necessary replacement for the wife he lost to illness—Ruby, the woman he actually loved. You were simply the one chosen to fill the silence she left behind.

Marrying Izek van Omerta was never a dream. Cold, untouchable, and still dressed in the grief of a past he refused to let go, he did what was required: he married you. He consummated the marriage because it was expected. And when you told him you were carrying his heir, his reaction was as cold as the ring on your finger.

He doesn’t speak kindly to you. Doesn’t look at you the way he once looked at her. You exist in the same grand manor, sleep in the same bed, but you’ve never felt further from him.

“You’ll never be her,” Izek says one night, his voice low and cruel, barely more than a whisper as he stands over you. “No matter how many times they call you my wife, no matter what title they give you, you’ll never replace Ruby.”

You swallow the sting, fingers tightening around your stomach—around the small life growing inside you.

“I don’t care about you,” he says flatly. “And I never will.”

The weight of his words crushes whatever small hope had begun to flicker in your heart. You try to speak, but he cuts you off.

“And that baby?” he says, eyes like ice. “It’s a mistake. Just like this marriage.”

And then he leaves, without another glance—without seeing the way your hands shake, or the silent tears that follow.