Chapter 4

Orion didn't come home for two days. But he was everywhere—on another woman's Instagram.

In Sabrina's latest photo, she lay propped against white pillows, an IV line wrapped around her wrist, looking fragile and exquisite. Orion sat on the edge of the bed, head bowed, his fingers laced over the back of her hand.

The caption was a single word: Safe.

The comments section flooded with dozens of messages—"Made for each other." "True love." "He only has eyes for her." Every comment was a needle piercing my heart.

The pain lasted a long time. Until suddenly, I realized I couldn't feel anything at all.

Maybe my heart had already died somewhere in those endless days of being ignored.

I started packing. Folding silk blouses into suitcases. Sorting documents into folders labeled "Keep" and "Destroy." Canceling joint credit cards one by one. Confirmation emails pinged into my inbox, each one like cutting another thread that bound me to this gilded cage.

Three more days until my flight. Then all of this would shrink to a tiny dot beneath the clouds.

Liz texted at noon: Dinner tonight? Seven o'clock, Osteria. No excuses.

She knew I was leaving. This was goodbye.

See you then, I replied.

Seven o'clock. Osteria glowed with warm light, silverware clinking softly.

Liz ordered Prosecco and bruschetta. I pushed my fork around, pretending to listen as she complained about a client who'd tried to bribe her with courtside Knicks tickets.

Then I heard that laugh.

Low. Warm. So familiar it made my ribs tighten.

My head turned before I could stop it.

Across the corridor, a private dining room door stood slightly ajar. Through the gap, I saw them—Orion and Sabrina, surrounded by capos and their wives. The inner circle, celebrating something.

Sabrina was radiant. Her hand rested on her stomach, and my blood turned to ice water.

A woman in emerald silk raised her champagne glass. "To Sabrina! Honestly, you're barely showing and you're already glowing. Absolutely beautiful."

The word detonated in my mind.

Pregnant.

Orion's voice drifted through the gap, softer than I'd ever heard it. "She needs plenty of rest. Doctor's orders. I'll make sure she takes it easy."

"So protective already!" someone teased.

Sabrina ducked her head, feigning shyness, her fingers tracing circles on her belly. "He's always been so caring. I don't know what I'd do without him."

The room erupted in congratulatory laughter. Orion's hand settled on her waist—steadying, possessive, tender.

That hand. The one that once pinned me against walls. Those fingers that once traced the crescent moon on my collarbone, whispering "mine."

My chair scraped back with a screech.

"Helia?" Liz's voice came from somewhere far away. "Helia, what—"

But I was already on my feet, already stumbling past waiters and tables, shoving through the front door and into the rain.

The rain hit me like fists. Within seconds, my dress clung to my skin, mascara ran down my cheeks, hair plastered wet against my scalp.

I didn't stop. Couldn't stop. I half-ran, half-staggered down the block, no destination, no direction—just escape.

Pregnant. She was carrying his child.

All those nights he didn't come home. All those emergencies that pulled him from our bed. The way he looked at her—like she was something precious. Something worth protecting.

It all made sense now.

My back hit a brick wall and I slid down, knees hitting the soaked concrete. Rain pounded my shoulders, my head, the fresh tattoo below my collarbone throbbing with dull pain.

That sunflower. That stupid, hopeful sunflower—inked over a moon that had never returned my love.

My fingers found the raised skin, tracing petals I couldn't see. Every line burned like the day it was carved in, as if my body understood everything before my mind caught up.

I was never his wife.

I was just a placeholder. Warming his bed, watching his back, waiting at empty tables until the real one came back.

And now she was carrying his heir.

A ragged scream tore from my throat—ugly, broken, swallowed by the storm. I pressed my palm hard against the tattoo, hard enough to bruise, desperate for this pain to drown out everything else.

You're so stupid. So goddamn stupid.

I thought his silence meant he was starting to feel something. I thought those rare tender moments—his thumb brushing my cheek, his arms pulling me close in the dark—meant something was growing between us.

I thought if I just waited long enough, loved quietly enough, stayed invisible enough—

He would finally see me.

He never saw me.

The rain kept falling. I sat there until my legs went numb, until the cold seeped into my bones, until time dissolved into gray silence.

My phone kept buzzing. Liz. Once. Twice. Three times.

My fingers wouldn't move.

When I finally struggled to my feet, my body didn't feel like my own anymore. Only three things remained in my head—Boston, the acceptance letter, the one-way ticket.

But none of it felt like enough anymore.

How do you escape someone who's carved into your bones?

I sobbed in the pouring rain, the sunflower pulsing beneath my skin—a silent scream, a desperate prayer.

Run. Run while you still can.

I was done being someone else's ghost.