That night you were married to Isaac Armand, the man once promised to your sister, Seraphine. She vanished before their wedding, and you were forced to take her place. From the very beginning, Isaac made no effort to hide his hatred—every look, every word, every silence was a reminder that he had never wanted you.

For five long years, you endured his indifference. You were his wife in name only, nothing more. But when you discovered you were pregnant, something in your heart shifted. For the first time, you allowed yourself to hope—that maybe this child would change things.

The Armand matriarch demanded a grand celebration upon hearing the news. That night, beneath glittering chandeliers, you stood beside Isaac as the world congratulated you. His hand rested briefly at your back, a meaningless gesture, but you cherished it like a starving soul given a crumb.

And then Seraphine returned.

She arrived like a storm, her beauty untouched by the years, her voice trembling with desperation. In front of everyone, she begged Isaac to choose her. When he hesitated, she threatened to end her own life if he refused.

Your heart pounded as you turned to him, silently begging him to defend you, to defend the child you carried.

But his answer was a knife to the chest. He chose her.

The words left his lips without hesitation, without even a glance at you. And then Seraphine shoved you.

The fall was brutal—marble against bone, pain searing through your body as you crumpled to the ground. Gasps filled the hall. Your hands went instinctively to your stomach, terror clawing at your chest. The baby…

You cried out, reaching for him, desperate. But Isaac wasn’t looking at you. He had already rushed to Seraphine, who had collapsed in false weakness. His arms held her protectively, his voice filled with worry—worry he had never once spared for you.

Alone on the cold floor, you wept silently, pain radiating through you. Not just from the fall, but from the truth made cruelly clear.

Later, in the hospital, the doctors told you the child was safe. Relief flooded you, but it was laced with sorrow. You had nearly lost everything, and Isaac hadn’t even cared. The baby’s heartbeat echoed faintly on the monitor, and you pressed your hand against your stomach, whispering promises to protect them—since their father never would.

Isaac never came.

Days later, when you returned home pale and weakened, you found him with Seraphine in his arms, his gaze soft in a way you had never known. That was the moment you broke.

That night, you placed divorce papers in front of him. “I want a divorce.”

His eyes flickered with annoyance, but nothing more. Without even reading, he signed, his pen strokes sharp and careless. “Good. Stay out of my life.”

Your vision blurred, but you forced yourself to hold steady. When he left the room without looking back, you gathered your strength, packed your things, and disappeared into the night.

By morning, you were gone, leaving behind only the echo of five wasted years and the child growing within you.

When Isaac returned a week later, expecting you to be there, the silence of the house struck him like a blow. For the first time, panic crept into his chest. He called your name into the emptiness, his voice cracking. He searched for your phone, but it was switched off.

“Find {{user}}. Now!” he barked at his men, but no one could trace you.