Side Chick Tax: Everything

On the first day of her marriage, Lyra Leighton told her CEO husband, Wesley Cheswick, "I don't care if you fall for someone else later. But if she ever shows up in front of me, you'll never see me again." So when he did fall for a schoolteacher, he kept her tucked away. Gave her everything she wanted. Everything except permission to cross Lyra. But the side chick got bold on his affection and ignored the line. She showed up with a baby bump and shoved it in Lyra's face. "Wesley said it himself. He never loved you. He married you for your family's status. Know your place. Get an abortion and divorce him. Now. Otherwise, when Wesley dumps you, you won't get a dime." Lyra smiled and called her father. "Pull the investment from Cheswick Tech. I'm getting a divorce." Chapter 1 Ravenport, Carmoria Lyra Leighton sat in the VIP room of the nail salon while the technician shifted awkwardly. "Ma'am, the store credit on your account isn't enough." Lyra froze. Last month, her husband, Wesley Cheswick, had handed the loyalty card to her and said it had three thousand dollars on it. This was her first time using it. The technician checked the screen again. "Ms. Leighton, there was a twenty-eight-hundred-dollar charge last Thursday afternoon." "Last Thursday? Twenty-eight hundred?" Lyra's fingers stilled. "I was at the office that day." The technician hesitated. "M-Mr. Cheswick brought a woman in. Before leaving, she said to count twenty-six hundred as a tip for one of our staff." Lyra's heart slammed, a sharp buzz filling her ears. Last Thursday, Wesley had told her he was meeting a client. He hadn't come home until eight and complained nonstop about how exhausting the meeting was. She remembered cutting her own meeting short just to rush home and make him honey lemon tea. "Pull the security footage." Her voice stayed calm, even as her chest dropped. On the screen, Wesley walked in with a girl in a light blue dress tucked close to his side. The girl looked up and said something. Wesley smiled and ruffled her hair. Lyra stared. That easy intimacy made them look like a couple. If Wesley weren't her husband. Then, Wesley knelt under the technician's direction and started painting the girl's toenails. When he finished, he lifted her foot and pressed a kiss to it. Lyra's blood went cold. Wesley had actually lowered himself to paint another woman's nails. And that night, he'd come home and kissed her with the same mouth. Her stomach lurched. She gagged. The footage kept going. Wesley stayed glued to the girl's side. On their way out, he reached for her white handbag as if it were second nature. Lyra stared at the screen. That bag— It was identical to the one in her closet. Wesley had brought it back from his "business trip" last week as a gift. So it wasn't just for her. "Send the video to my email." Lyra stood, legs shaky, grabbed her purse, and rushed out. Back at the house she shared with Wesley, she went straight to the study. Her fingers trembled as she dialed the private investigator. "I want Wesley's full schedule. Everything." Three hours later, a dozen photos flooded her inbox. Wesley and the girl—Irene Shmuck—buying groceries. Holding hands at the movies. The worst one sat at the bottom. A photo of a marriage certificate. Dated over a year ago. Lyra couldn't stop trembling. She remembered Wesley standing at the altar, looking straight at her as he swore, "Lyra, I will never betray you in this lifetime." So this was his lifetime? That short? Her phone buzzed. The investigator sent a follow-up message: "Irene, 24, schoolteacher. The marriage certificate is fake. Wesley paid cash to have it made. He goes to her apartment every Wednesday and Friday afternoon." Her hands shook as she dialed. "Dad, if we pulled out of Cheswick Tech's renewable energy project..." "What happened?" Victor Leighton's voice sharpened. "Did Wesley do something to you?" That single question broke her. She remembered Victor at the wedding, eyes red as he placed her hand into Wesley's. "If you ever make my daughter suffer, I'll make sure you never work in this industry again." "He—" Her throat locked, thick and tight. Another memory surfaced. Last year, she'd been burning with pneumonia. Wesley had carried her into the ER in the middle of the night and stayed by her bed for three days. The man who'd lost sleep over her—how had he ended up "married" to someone else? "It's nothing for now." She bit down on her knuckle to keep her voice steady. "Wait for my word." She hung up just as the garage door opened. Wesley walked in with a folder, his expression warm and familiar. "You're home early?" "Yeah. Went to get my nails done." Lyra held out her hand. "Used the store credit card you gave me." Wesley froze for a split second. He smoothed it over fast, but she caught it. "Oh," she added lightly, "the staff said you brought a girl there last Thursday?" His expression flickered as he studied her face. When he saw her calm, he smiled. "Mrs. Brook's daughter from next door. She wanted to try it but didn't want to go alone, so I took her to the place you like." He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her. "Hungry? I'll make dinner." Lyra watched him walk into the kitchen, her chest tightening. If she hadn't found out, how long would he have kept playing her for a fool? She picked up her phone and texted Victor: "Pull out next week. I'm filing for divorce." After sending it, she looked toward the kitchen. Wesley was slicing vegetables, movements smooth and practiced. He must have learned all that in that side piece's kitchen over the past year. Lyra walked into the bedroom, slid her wedding ring off, and set it on the nightstand. Then she turned and went to bed. Chapter 2 Lyra lay there, staring at the ceiling light. Wesley had picked it, saying the glow would be easier on her eyes. She rolled over and buried her face in the pillow, breathing in the familiar laundry detergent. Wesley had switched brands too, claiming this one was gentler and wouldn't irritate her skin. She closed her eyes, but the security footage flashed anyway. Wesley with the girl in the light blue dress. Smiling down at her. Fingers brushing through her hair. That smile. Lyra knew it by heart. Three years ago, he'd looked at Lyra the same way when they first met. Back then, Wesley was the newly acknowledged illegitimate son of the Cheswick family. Ignored at the gala. Still, he worked up the nerve to approach her, ears burning red. "Ms. Leighton, may I have this dance?" She ignored him. He didn't quit. Every day, he waited outside her office with home-cooked meals, even when she never looked his way. Three months later, she finally agreed to a date. He lit up like a kid. He stood outside all night just so he wouldn't be late picking her up the next morning. On their wedding day, he dropped to one knee in the aisle, took her hand, and said, "Lyra, I'll never let you down in this life." She believed him. And for three years, he treated her well. When she lost her temper, he talked her down. Whatever she wanted, he gave her. Even when she craved cake from the east side of Ravenport in the middle of the night, he drove across the city to get it. She thought he really loved her. But now? *** The door creaked open. Wesley stepped in, still carrying a trace of the kitchen with him. He sat on the edge of the bed and reached for her face. "Lyra, dinner's ready." She turned away from his hand, silent. His brows pulled together. "What's wrong? Not feeling well?" She shook her head. "Your eyes are red." His voice tightened. "Headache? Do we need to go to the hospital?" He was still like this. Panicking over every little thing. Looking at his worried face made her chest ache. 'Is this concern real, or just another performance?' "I'm fine," she said at last. "Just hungry." Wesley let out a breath and smiled, pinching her cheek. "You little glutton. Come on, let's eat." The table was laid out with honey-glazed ribs, pan-seared fish in a sweet sauce, and roasted squash dusted with brown sugar. The sugary smell rushed at her, and her heart sank. She never ate sweet dishes. Wesley knew that. Lyra looked up at him. "Why is everything sweet?" Wesley paused with the serving spoon, then forced a smile. "You've been stressed at work lately. Thought something sweet might help." She didn't answer. Just kept staring. His smile slipped. He set the plate down, sounding rattled. "Should I... make something else?" "Yes." She nodded. He stood right away and turned toward the kitchen, but his phone rang. He glanced at the screen, panic flashing across his face. "Something urgent came up at work. I have to go." He grabbed his jacket. "Just eat what's here for now. I'll cook something new when I get back." Lyra set her cutlery down. "I want to eat the food you make. Tonight." Wesley froze mid-step, his frown deepening. "Can you stop being so unreasonable? What difference does it make?" The moment the words left his mouth, even he looked shocked. Lyra stared at him, like something inside her had just shattered. His tone softened immediately. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. It really is urgent. I'll be back soon." He left without another word. The soft click of the closing door landed like a slap. In all the years they'd been married, he had never spoken to her like that. Lyra sat at the dining table, staring at the sugary dishes—the kind that side chick liked. She stood and walked into the kitchen. The cutting board held half-sliced vegetables. The pot of water was almost boiled dry. She turned off the heat, grabbed her car keys, and went after him. Rain started to fall as she followed Wesley's car to an unfamiliar apartment building. The elevator stopped on the twelfth floor. When the doors opened, a syrupy voice drifted down the hall. "Honey, you finally came." "Silly girl," Wesley said, using that same gentle tone. "Did you eat properly today?" "I couldn't without you," the girl complained. "Well, I'm here now." His voice softened. "Even if you don't feel like eating, the baby needs to. Be good, okay?" The keys slipped from Lyra's hand and clinked against the floor. Wesley spun around. The color drained from his face when he saw her. "Lyra... what are you doing here?" Lyra turned and walked away. Irene was pregnant. Lyra got in her car, rain and tears blurring everything. In the rearview mirror, she saw Wesley running after her. His mouth kept opening, calling her name. She didn't want to hear a single word. Chapter 3 Rain hammered against the windows. He pounded on the door, shouting through the downpour. "Lyra! Let me explain!" Lyra sat in the driver's seat, fingers tapping lightly on the steering wheel. Watching the two of them soaked in the rain, she suddenly found it a little funny. She slowly rolled the window down. Wesley's voice rushed in. "When did you get here?" "Just now." Her smile was cold. Wesley's expression shifted. The words tumbled out fast. "She's the one—Mrs. Brook's daughter. Her power went out, so I came to check on her." Lyra reached for the window switch. She didn't want to hear another word. "Lyra!" Irene ran over and planted herself in front of the car. Rain soaked her white dress, leaving her looking fragile and pitiful. "This is all my fault. There's really nothing between us. Please don't be mad at Wesley." Lyra frowned and turned the wheel, ready to drive around her. Bang. Irene suddenly threw herself onto the hood, stumbled, and collapsed onto the wet ground. Lyra slammed the brakes, her heart jerking hard in her chest. "Irene!" Wesley rushed over and helped her up. Then he turned on Lyra, eyes blazing. "I'm fine," Irene said weakly, her face drained of color. "Wesley, go comfort Lyra." "I've been comforting her for years!" Wesley snapped. "To her, I'm just some pathetic doormat. And now you're hurt, and you're still worried about her? Why are you so darn kind?" Lyra froze in the driver's seat, fingers curling tight. She had never heard him sound like this. The edge in his voice, the raw disgust, felt like a mask finally torn away. "She threw herself at the car," Lyra said after a beat. "Enough!" Wesley cut her off. "It's bad enough you misunderstood me. Now you're accusing her? Do you even realize she's pregnant?" Each word drove straight into Lyra's chest. "Is it yours?" she asked. Wesley went rigid, like the question finally caught up to him. His lips parted. "Lyra, don't say that." "Ah!" Irene suddenly cried out and collapsed. "Irene!" Wesley panicked. He yanked open the passenger door. "I need the car. I have to get her to the hospital!" Lyra sat in the passenger seat as Wesley took the wheel, his hands shaking as he gripped it. In the backseat, Irene lay unconscious—though her lashes kept trembling. "You're this nervous," Lyra said quietly. "Is the child really yours?" Wesley floored the gas. "This is about someone's life. Can you stop causing drama right now?" Lyra turned toward the window. She knew this road too well. Three months ago, she'd had acute gastroenteritis. Wesley had driven her to the hospital the same way, tearing through the streets. He'd been so frantic he put his shoes on the wrong feet, repeating over and over, "Lyra, I've got you." "Wesley, you've really outdone yourself," she said now, leaning weakly against the glass. Wesley leaned on the horn and cut past another car. "Whatever you want to say, save it for home!" At the hospital, he barely stopped before jumping out and lifting Irene into his arms. Lyra stood off to the side, silent, watching his hurried back. It looked exactly like the day he'd run through the ER carrying her when she had a fever. "Move!" Wesley shouted as he slammed into her shoulder. She stumbled and went down hard, palms scraping against the rough pavement. When she looked up, all she saw was Wesley's back vanishing into the ER with Irene in his arms. A nurse hurried over. "Ma'am, are you okay?" Lyra shook her head and pushed herself up against the wall. Her knee burned, but it was nothing next to the hollow ache tearing through her chest. From inside the ER, Wesley's voice cracked with panic. "Doctor! How is she? Is the baby okay?" The nurse handed her a tissue. That was when Lyra realized she was crying. She took it, but the tears wouldn't stop. So even when a heart dies, the body still feels pain. The ER doors swung open. Wesley rushed out, then froze when he saw her. He opened his mouth, his eyes dropping to the blood on her palm. "Go home. I'll explain everything later." Lyra nodded without a word. But as she turned, the world spun—and she collapsed. Chapter 4 When Lyra opened her eyes, the harsh white light made her lift a hand to block it. "Lyra!" Wesley's face filled her vision, eyes bright with excitement. "You're pregnant!" She went still, fingers settling against her flat stomach. Her period had been late, but she hadn't let herself think about it. "Lyra, this is on me." Wesley sat on the edge of the bed and reached for her hand, his voice gentle. "You got it wrong. Irene's baby is from her ex. I just felt bad she was all alone." Lyra pulled her hand away and let out a quiet, cold laugh. She didn't say a word. Wesley sighed and stood. "Get some rest. I'll go grab you something to eat." He left. His footsteps faded down the hallway. Lyra stared at the closed door, her hand drifting back to her stomach. Laughter suddenly spilled in from the next room. That soft, sweet voice—it was Irene's. Then Wesley spoke, low and warm, the same tone Lyra knew by heart. She grabbed her phone and called her bodyguard. "Bring me the divorce papers from the study drawer." Half an hour later, the bodyguard slipped in without a sound and handed her a folder. Lyra opened it, her finger hovering over the signature line. She knew Wesley wouldn't sign this easily right now. The door opened. She hid the papers just in time. Wesley walked in, all smiles. "Lyra, I apologized to Irene for you. She forgave you." Lyra looked up, her gaze cold. "I needed her forgiveness?" His smile twitched, then smoothed out. "So I made it up to her. I got tickets to a play. We'll go tonight with Irene, okay?" Lyra watched him for a few seconds, then slowly smiled. "Sure." *** At the theater, Irene wore a white dress. Again. She clung sweetly to Wesley's arm. She kept sneaking looks at Lyra, smugness flashing in her eyes. Lyra paused at the entrance, her heart stuttering as she took in the empty rows. "Mr. Cheswick booked a private showing," the manager said eagerly. "He didn't want a crowd causing any inconvenience. And look, it's your favorite spot." Front row. Center. Just like seven years ago. Back then, Wesley had been a nobody at his family's company. He'd saved three months of pay for two tickets. And through the entire performance, his eyes had stayed on her. "Irene should sit with us too," Wesley said. Irene hovered nearby, twisting the hem of her dress. "I need to use the restroom." Her eyes were red, like she'd been badly wronged. Wesley didn't hesitate. He pulled Lyra into her seat. "Remember our first play? You were—" "I remember," Lyra said. "You said you'd watch with me for the rest of your life." Wesley's smile flickered, then settled. "Of course. After the baby's born, I'll bring our kid too. The two of us will watch plays with you, our princess. For a lifetime." The stage lights came up. The actors stepped into their roles. At first, Wesley held her hand. Less than ten minutes later, his fingers started tapping against the armrest. "How is Irene still not back?" he muttered for the third time, checking his watch. "I'll go look for her." Lyra sat alone in the empty theater. The dialogue drifted past her, meaningless. She stood and followed. The hallway outside the restroom was dim. Lyra stopped at the corner. Soft, uneven breathing drifted from inside. "That whole show out there?" Wesley said with a quiet laugh. "That was for her to see. This one's just for you." Irene let out a teary laugh. "Then do the bunny again." "Alright, alright." His voice softened. "Look—hop, hop." Lyra curled her fingers into her palms. Three years ago, when she'd broken down over a work mistake, Wesley had done the same thing to cheer her up. He'd said that bunny was only hers. She turned away and walked back to her seat. Wesley and Irene returned one after the other, carrying the same scent. "What took so long?" Lyra asked, not looking at him. "Irene wasn't feeling well. I stayed with her for a bit." Wesley sat down like nothing was off, his right hand quietly sliding toward Irene. From the corner of her eye, Lyra saw their fingers tangle in the shadows—then jerk apart when she turned. "Lyra." Wesley leaned in to kiss her. She turned her head away and pulled a document from her bag. "You promised to sign this." In the dim light, Wesley's face locked up. His eyes skimmed the papers. His throat worked. "What's this?" "A promise note," Lyra said evenly. "Same as before." Wesley relaxed on the spot. He even smiled, soft and indulgent. "You..." He pulled out a pen and signed without hesitation. "About to be a mom and still acting like a kid." Lyra stared at the familiar signature. Over the years, Wesley had signed countless little notes for her— [I promise to only love Lyra Leighton forever.] [I promise to say good morning and good night every day.] [I promise not to have dinner alone with other women.] He always laughed at how childish she was, then pulled her close and said, "I'm yours for life. I'll sign as many promise notes as you want." This time, he hadn't even looked at what he was signing. "Done." Wesley handed it back and pinched her cheek. "When have I ever broken a promise to you?" Onstage, the heroine cried through her tears, "You have no idea what you've lost!" Lyra gave a soft laugh and slipped the papers back into her bag. Chapter 5 By the time the play ended, Wesley and Irene were gone. A dull ache spread through Lyra's chest. She took a cab home, her face blank. Once inside, she started packing. Her phone buzzed. It was a message from Victor. [The withdrawal paperwork is done. It takes effect in three days. I'll send someone to pick you up then.] She replied with a simple [Okay] and kept folding clothes into the suitcase. Wesley didn't come back that night. He only sent one text: [Something came up. Go to bed early.] *** The next morning, Lyra had just finished getting ready. The bedroom door slammed open. Wesley rushed in, eyes bloodshot, and grabbed her wrist. "Come with me!" "What are you doing?" She stumbled as he dragged her along. He didn't answer. He shoved her into the car. The car tore down the road, blowing through several red lights. Lyra recognized the route. Irene's school. A crowd was packed around the gate. Irene sat on the ground, clothes smeared with dirt, tears streaking her face. The moment she saw them, she crawled straight toward Lyra. "Lyra, I really didn't seduce Wesley. Please, let me go." "Lyra, what do you have to say?" Wesley snapped, anger thick in his voice. "I didn't do anything." Lyra shook his hand off. Wesley sneered and yanked a bespectacled boy forward. "You tell her. Who told you to do it?" The boy glanced at Lyra, shrinking back. "I-It was this lady. She paid us to splash ink on Ms. Shmuck." "You're lying!" Lyra trembled with rage. "I don't even know you!" "Enough!" Wesley barked. "Apologize to Irene." Lyra shook her head. "Why would I apologize for something I didn't do?" Wesley's face hardened. He dragged her onto the school field, the sun beating down. Irene staggered after them, skirt dusty, knees already blooming purple. She sobbed, "Wesley, this is all my fault." Her legs buckled. Wesley caught her. His gaze snapped to the bruises on her knees. His jaw clenched. "Lyra, do you even know she's pregnant? You'll get the same treatment." "You wouldn't dare!" Lyra shouted. "My father won't let this slide!" "What a spoiled heiress!" Wesley blew up, fist bunching in her collar. "You think having your family behind you means you can do whatever you want?" He spun and barked at the bodyguards. "Hold her down!" Two of them immediately clamped onto Lyra's shoulders. She fought hard. "Wesley! There are cameras everywhere!" He gave a cold laugh. "They're already off." He leaned close to her ear. "You hurt Irene. Don't blame me for what happens next." Irene rushed in, playing her part. "Wesley, don't." "Stay out of it." He eased her aside, then snapped, "Press her down!" The bodyguards forced Lyra to the ground. Pain burst behind her eyes. She bit down to keep from screaming. Blood slid from the corner of her mouth. "That makes us even," Wesley told the bodyguards. "One hour. Watch her. Irene's weak. I'll help her back to the car. Do yourselves a favor." Pinned to the ground, a sharp, violent pain tore through Lyra's lower abdomen. Cold sweat soaked her back. "Wesley," she called weakly. "My stomach hurts." He glanced back. Hesitation flickered. Irene sagged into his arms. "Pregnancy makes people fragile. Lyra's not like me." Wesley's face hardened. "After everything she's done to you, you're still standing up for her? I'm getting justice for you today." He turned and got into the car. Through the window, Lyra saw him rest a hand gently over Irene's stomach. Her vision blurred. Then everything went black. Chapter 6 Lyra woke to the sharp bite of disinfectant. A dull ache lingered low in her abdomen. She reached down on instinct, fingers grazing the cold IV line. "Awake?" Wesley's voice came from her right. She turned her head. He sat beside the bed. He leaned in, reached toward her stomach, then stopped halfway. "Do you know what you did wrong?" he asked. Lyra closed her eyes. When she didn't answer, Wesley cupped her face. "If you'd been this obedient earlier, none of this would've happened." His thumb brushed her dry lips, his voice soft. "You wouldn't have had to suffer." "For a neighbor's daughter, you forced your pregnant wife to the floor." Lyra turned away. "Does that actually make sense to you?" Wesley's hand froze. He frowned. "I judge right and wrong, not feelings." "I need to rest." Lyra pulled the blanket higher. "Please leave." Wesley looked thrown. He stared at her for a few seconds, then checked his phone. "There's an emergency at the company. I'll come back later." At the door, he turned. "What exam do you have tomorrow? I heard you talking to the doctor." "Just a routine prenatal check." Lyra paused. Wesley's gaze swept her face. He suddenly stepped back, grabbed her phone from the nightstand. "Password?" "My birthday." Lyra let out a cold laugh. "You even remember it?" He entered it wrong twice before getting it right. He scrolled through her call log fast. Finding nothing, he tossed the phone back onto the bed. "Irene's in the room next door. If you're fine, don't go bother her." When Lyra didn't respond, he smiled. "What, jealous? She's just the neighbor's daughter." Lyra gave a mocking smile and nodded. Once the door shut, she immediately pressed the call button for the doctor. "The abortion procedure is set for nine tomorrow?" the doctor asked, flipping through her chart. "Yes." Lyra's voice stayed soft. "You don't need to tell him." Not long after the doctor left, the ward door slammed open. Irene rushed in wearing a hospital gown, limping hard. Her eyes were unnervingly bright. "You're getting rid of Wesley's baby?" Lyra slowly pushed herself upright. Irene didn't look fragile anymore. "Know your place. Get an abortion and divorce him. Now." Irene gripped the bed rail. "Otherwise, when Wesley dumps you, you won't get a dime." Lyra laughed. "Did Wesley forget to tell you who's been keeping his company alive?" "Cut the crap!" Irene's voice went sharp. "Wesley said it himself. He never loved you. He married you for your family's status. If it weren't for that project, he would've—" Smack. The sound cracked through the room. Irene's head snapped sideways. Red flared across her cheek. "That one's for knowing exactly what you were doing," Lyra said, shaking out her stinging hand. Smack. The second hit landed harder. Irene stumbled. "And that one's for setting me up." Irene covered her face and stumbled back, rage burning in her eyes. Then she spotted a figure moving outside the door. Her expression collapsed. She screamed, threw herself toward the wall, and slid weakly to the floor. The door flew open. Wesley rushed in, car keys still clenched in his hand. He froze when he saw Irene on the floor, then spun toward the bed, eyes blazing. "Lyra! If anything happens to Irene, I'll make you pay with your life!" "You should ask what she said first," Lyra replied, steady. Wesley was already scooping Irene up. He sneered. "What could a patient possibly say?" His gaze flicked to Lyra's swollen palm. "You didn't exactly hold back." Medical staff rushed in, lifting Irene onto a gurney. Wesley followed them out. At the doorway, he suddenly turned around. "Someone keep an eye on her." His stare was cold. "If anything happens to Irene or the baby, you'll regret it." Lyra watched them vanish down the hallway, then eased herself back onto the bed. She picked up her phone. Her lock screen lit up with her wedding photo with Wesley. In it, his smile looked real. His eyes were soft when he looked at her. Now, for a side chick, he'd said he'd make her regret it. Her finger hovered over Victor's name. After a beat, she lowered her hand. Footsteps stopped outside. Two bodyguards in black suits stood beyond the glass, their looks icy. Lyra curled inward, hugging herself, her forehead resting against her knees. Pain rolled through her lower abdomen in steady waves. Worse was the ripping ache in her chest. Five years of marriage. And in the end, it meant nothing. Chapter 7 Lyra was jolted awake. When her eyes opened, Wesley's face was right there. Dark. Empty. Not a trace of warmth. "Irene lost too much blood. She needs a transfusion," he said flatly. "You have the same blood type. Get up." Lyra went still, then shook her head. "I'm already anemic. If I give blood, something will go wrong." Wesley laughed under his breath, cold and sharp. "When you hurt her, did you think about consequences?" Her eyes flew open. "I hurt her?" "Drop the act." Wesley flicked his hand in irritation. Two bodyguards stepped in at once, gripping her arms. "Once the blood's drawn, we're even." Lyra struggled, but she was no match for two grown men. They hauled her out of bed and dragged her toward the transfusion room, her steps unsteady. The hallway lights were harsh. Her vision swam, and a memory surfaced from when they'd just gotten married. She'd been dizzy from anemia back then. Wesley had made tomato soup, feeding her one spoonful at a time, worry filling his eyes. "Lyra, if you ever feel sick again, you have to tell me," he'd said softly. "I can't stand seeing you suffer." Now he watched without emotion as she was forced into the transfusion chair. Blood flowed steadily into the bag. Her face drained of color. Her lips went pale. Her fingers turned icy. The doctor frowned and lowered his voice. "Mr. Cheswick, your wife is too weak. If this continues, it could be dangerous." Wesley looked at Lyra's bloodless face. His brow tightened, hesitation flickering for a split second. Then his voice hardened. "Continue." Lyra closed her eyes. It felt like her heart was being crushed. 'So he really doesn't care if I live or die.' After the transfusion, she could barely stay on her feet. Darkness swirled in her vision. Seeing her sway, Wesley reached out to steady her, his tone easing. "You look terrible." She didn't answer. She knocked his hand away and leaned against the wall, forcing herself forward. Wesley frowned and followed. "I had someone make tomato soup for you. Drink some later." Lyra stopped. She turned back, mockery filling her eyes. "What, worried I'll die and won't be able to give Irene blood anymore?" Wesley's face darkened. He was about to respond when a doctor hurried over. "Mr. Cheswick, Ms. Shmuck is bleeding heavily again. The blood earlier wasn't enough." Lyra's pupils shrank. She stepped back on instinct. "No. I can't do this again." Wesley looked at her paper-white face. Conflict flashed through his eyes. Then his jaw set. "Keep drawing." Cold flooded Lyra, like she'd been dropped into ice water. She looked at him, her voice barely there. "I'll die." He turned his face away. "You won't." After the second transfusion, Lyra was barely conscious. She sagged in the chair, breathing shallow, her vision cutting in and out. As he saw how drained she looked, panic finally flickered across Wesley's face. He reached for her. "Lyra." She shoved him away. Bracing herself against the wall, she made her way back to the ward step by step, slow and agonizing. Wesley watched her go. Her back looked so thin it seemed like it might give out at any moment, yet she never turned around. He stood there as she vanished down the corridor, a tight unease settling in his chest. Beside him, the doctor spoke up. "Mr. Cheswick, Ms. Shmuck's condition has stabilized." Wesley snapped out of it, nodded, and in the end, didn't follow Lyra. Chapter 8 Lyra lay on the hospital bed, her whole body freezing. The soup Wesley had sent sat on the nightstand. Cold now. She reached for it, trying to sip, but her hands shook too hard to keep the spoon steady. Pain knifed through her lower stomach, sharp and relentless. She grit her teeth. "Doctor," she called, barely loud enough to hear. The door swung open. The doctor took one look at her color, lifted the blanket, and froze. The sheets were soaked through with blood. "You're severely anemic," he said, voice tight. "This level of blood loss is dangerous—especially after donating so much. We need emergency surgery, now, or your life's at risk." She closed her eyes and nodded. "Okay." After a beat, she added quietly, "Don't tell Wesley." *** Lyra lay on the cold operating table, her awareness slipping. It felt like being dragged back five years. The first time they met, Wesley had waited for her in the rain, eyes soft, full of warmth. At their wedding, he'd held her hand and promised, "Lyra, I'll be good to you for the rest of my life." Later, he changed. He thought she was too strong, not gentle enough, always above everyone else. She believed it was her fault. That she wasn't enough. So she tried to behave, to obey, to soften herself into someone smaller. Only now did she understand. It was never that she wasn't good enough. He had simply never loved her. The anesthesia crept in. Cold instruments brushed her skin. She closed her eyes. One tear slid down. The baby was gone. And these five years of marriage were over too. *** After the surgery, Lyra was wheeled back to her room. The nurse tucked the blanket around her. "Ma'am, get some rest." Lyra asked softly, "Did Wesley come by?" The nurse paused, then shook her head. "No." Lyra pulled at the corner of her mouth. She already knew. She pushed herself up and walked to the window. In the garden below, Wesley was supporting Irene as they moved slowly along the path. Irene looked healthy, glowing, leaning into him as she acted spoiled. He bent toward her, eyes gentle, full of care. Lyra watched in silence. It felt like her heart was being cut open, piece by piece. Once, he'd taken care of her the same way. She turned away, pulled the signed divorce agreement from her bag, and set it neatly on the bed. Then she left without looking back. At the end of the hallway, the people Victor had sent were already waiting. "Ms. Leighton, the car's downstairs." Lyra glanced back one last time at Wesley helping Irene into the building. She stepped into the elevator and never turned back.