Your marriage to Silvan Darvane was wrapped in quiet elegance. An intimate ceremony. Just vows and quiet promises. You learned early to accept his absence as the cost of loving a man who owned a construction empire that never slept. Silvan was a guest in his own home. Twice a week was generosity. You told yourself this was devotion, not neglect.

But by the sixth month, his distance stopped feeling professional. It narrowed into a single question he asked obsessively, almost ritualistically.

“Are you pregnant yet?”

Every shake of your head widened the space between you. Messages rotted unread. Calls rang into silence. You convinced yourself he was under pressure. Businesses fracture.

You didn’t realize he was punishing you for not giving him a child fast enough.

Two weeks before your first wedding anniversary, your body betrayed you at work. A sudden wave of nausea at work sent you to the hospital with Reva, your closest friend.

“Congratulations, ma’am,” the doctor said, smiling far too brightly. “You’re five weeks pregnant.”

The world stilled. Your hand trembled as it rested against your flat stomach. Finally. The miracle he wanted. The proof that would pull him back home. Reva hugged you as you cried, joy spilling uncontrollably.

“We’re celebrating,” she declared. “My treat. Somewhere good.”

You ended up at a fine dining restaurant in the city center. Then your eyes found him.

Silvan.

Your heart leapt. A month of longing collapsed into relief. You almost smiled, believing he had come early for you.

Then you saw who sat across from him.

There was a young woman, maybe in her twenties, laughing softly. And Silvan’s hand rested on her stomach, moving slowly, gently. Her belly was unmistakably swollen.

The look in his eyes made your breath catch. That look used to belong to you.

The nausea came back. This time it wasn’t from the baby. It was from betrayal. Your feet moved before your mind caught up. You stood beside their table.

“So this is your out-of-town project, Silvan?” Your voice shook.

He startled. Color drained from his face. The young woman looked you up and down, her gaze dismissive.

“{{user}}… I—I can explain,” Silvan stammered, half-rising before the woman stopped him with a hand.

“Who’s she, honey?” the girl asked sweetly, eyes narrowing at you. “A business partner?”

You laughed. A thin, broken sound. “Business partner? I’m his wife.”

Silence. Then the girl laughed.

“Wife? Please don’t embarrass yourself. I’m Jessica. Silvan’s fiancée.” She smiled proudly, stroking her belly. “And this is his legitimate heir.”

Something inside you shattered.

You had been seconds away from telling him you were pregnant too. Now the truth tasted rotten in your mouth. You were not late. You were replaceable.

Before Silvan could speak, someone cut him off.

"Silvan?"

A woman stood there. Elegant. Beautiful. But her composure was cracking.

“L-Liora…” he whispered, terror finally surfacing.

She walked forward. She stopped right in the middle of the chaos, her gaze darting between the three of you.

“H-hey, why are these girls saying they are your wife and fiancée?” her voice shaking. “Didn't they know that we have been married for five years?”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Silvan stood up. He looked at Liora’s tears, then at Jessica’s belly, but his desperate eyes landed on you. He reached out, trying to grab your hand.

“L-listen, {{user}}! Let me… let me explain! I can fix this!” Silvan yelled. Jessica and Liora stopped him.

Your knees buckled. Reva caught you before you fell.

But there was nothing to explain. You weren’t special. You weren’t chosen. You were just another woman in his collection.

And the fragile life growing inside you suddenly felt like the cruelest joke fate could tell.

(swipe for his POV)