Chapter 4

Aryana's POV:

For about an hour, I just sat on the floor of my studio, the positive pregnancy test lying on the counter like a tiny, plastic bomb.

My first instinct was to call him. To drive back to his office, throw the test on his desk, and watch his perfect, controlled world explode.

Part of me wanted to see it. To force him to finally, truly, see me.

I actually picked up my phone, my thumb hovering over his name. But then, I remembered the look on his face in his office. The cold annoyance. The impatience.

He wouldn't see a child. He'd see an asset. An heir. A complication to be managed.

He would try to control it. Control me. He would lock me back in the gilded cage I had just escaped, and this time, he'd throw away the key. For the good of the baby, of course.

My child would not be another one of his possessions.

The debate was over. I was not just saving myself anymore. I was saving my baby.

My first call was to my lawyer. "Sarah, it's me. File the papers, but can you put a two-week hold on the official notification being sent to his office?"

"Consider it done," she said. "Are you okay, Aryana?"

"I will be," I said, and I meant it.

My second call was to Brenton. I told him I was leaving for the residency immediately. I didn't tell him why, or that I wasn't coming back. He didn't ask. He just said, "Good. Go make something beautiful. And be safe, Aryana."

The last thing I did was pack a single duffel bag. My sketchbooks. A few changes of clothes. The signed divorce paper. And the positive pregnancy test.

I took a taxi back to the penthouse one last time. It was like visiting a museum of a life that was never really mine. I walked to the massive entryway table and laid my wedding ring on the cold marble.

Next to it, I placed a photo album I'd put together. It was full of pictures from the last four years. Me at his galas, his fundraisers, his award ceremonies. Always smiling. Always alone.

A visual record of my invisibility.

Then I walked out and didn't look back.

At the private airfield, a friendly woman named Ellis, the residency coordinator, greeted me. She was warm and normal, and for the first time in days, I felt like I could breathe.

As she led me toward our small chartered plane, I saw them.

Across the tarmac, Cameron and Kacie were boarding a sleek private jet. They were laughing, heads close together. They looked happy. Powerful. A perfect match.

Seeing them didn't hurt. It was clarifying. It was the final, absolute confirmation that I had done the right thing.

My own plane took off, banking north over the Pacific. I watched the San Francisco skyline, with the gleaming spire of Oneill Tech at its center, shrink until it was just a memory.

I placed a hand on my flat stomach.

For the first time in years, I felt a deep, profound sense of peace.