Chapter 3

Andre Nichols POV:

Panic seized me the moment I saw her eyes were open. They were fixed on me, but they were empty, void of the warmth and love that had always been my anchor.

"Haven," I whispered, my voice cracking. "Baby, you're awake. You scared me half to death."

I reached out, my thumb gently stroking her cheek, wiping away a tear I hadn't seen fall. Her skin was cold.

A wave of guilt and terror washed over me. What had I done? How could I have been so stupid, so reckless? It was just a mild sedative, something to help her sleep, to calm her down after the scene at the cafe. Kaliyah had been so insistent, so distraught. She' d cried, threatened to expose us if I didn't prove my loyalty. In a moment of weakness, of wanting to silence her, I had agreed.

"I'm so sorry, Haven," I choked out, dropping to my knees beside her bed. I buried my face in the crisp, white sheets, my body shaking with manufactured sobs. "I had a last-minute emergency at work. I had to go. I locked the studio door without thinking, it's just a habit from when we have guests, to protect your work. When I got home, I found you... I'm so, so sorry."

The lie tasted like ash in my mouth, but it was a necessary one. I couldn't lose her. Not now. Not ever. She was the perfect wife, the perfect mother for my child. She was the bedrock of the perfect life I had built.

I looked up at her, my eyes pleading. Her gaze was unnervingly steady. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken accusations. She had to believe me. She loved me. She always forgave me.

For the next few days, I didn't leave her side. I spoon-fed her broth, read her favorite poetry, and recounted stories of our happiest moments. I was the perfect, penitent husband, and slowly, I saw the ice in her eyes begin to thaw. Or so I thought.

Then came the call from my London office. A crisis that required my immediate presence.

"I have to go, baby," I said, kissing her forehead. "Just for a few hours. I'll be back before you know it."

She simply nodded, her eyes closed.

I left the hospital and went straight to meet Kaliyah. She was waiting for me at a private clinic, her face pale.

"I'm pregnant, Andre," she whispered, her eyes wide.

The world stopped. Another child. A son, maybe. My son. A surge of triumphant pride shot through me. I, Andre Nichols, was powerful enough, virile enough, to create two new lives, to secure my legacy twice over.

I dropped to one knee, my hand instinctively going to her flat stomach. "A baby," I breathed, my voice filled with a genuine wonder that surprised even me. "Our baby." I would have it all. The perfect wife and the exciting mistress. The legitimate heir and the secret love child. It was perfect.

I was so lost in my triumphant fantasy that I didn't see the shadow in the hallway. I didn't see Haven standing there, her face a pale, emotionless mask, watching my entire performance.

Haven Shelton POV:

I watched him kneel before her, his expression one of pure, unadulterated joy. It was the same look he'd had when I told him I was pregnant. The same tender awe, the same possessive pride. It wasn't unique. It wasn't special. It wasn't ours. It was a script he performed, and he had just found a new leading lady.

My heart, which I thought had already been shattered into irreparable pieces, somehow found a way to break even more.

My phone buzzed. A text from Kaliyah.

It was a picture of a newly constructed building, a sleek, modern structure of glass and steel. My design. A private art gallery I had been working on for months, a surprise for Andre.

The text below read: "He built it for me. A place to display my art. And soon, a place for our son to play. He calls it 'The Kaliyah Center'."

Numbness spread through me. I hailed a cab, my voice a monotone as I gave the address.

When I arrived, the party was in full swing. Andre's friends, our friends, were all there. They were gathered around Kaliyah, laughing, congratulating her, touching her stomach. They all knew. Everyone in our life, everyone I trusted, was in on the lie. I was the only fool.

"She's a feisty one," one of Andre's partners said, clapping him on the back. "Must be a boy. You'll have two sons, Andre! One for the day, one for the night!"

The crowd roared with laughter.

Andre smiled, wrapping a protective arm around Kaliyah's shoulders. "We'll see," he said, his voice smug. "I have to keep my wife happy during the day, but my nights..." He winked at Kaliyah. "My nights are for my queen."

They talked about them. About their nights. The things he did to her. The sounds she made. Intimate details of their affair, served up as party chatter for our closest friends.

My hand went to the large, ornate chandelier hanging above the crowd. It was a custom piece I had sourced from Italy. I knew its flaws. I knew the precise structural weakness in the chain that held it aloft.

With a strength I didn't know I possessed, I found the maintenance winch hidden behind a velvet curtain. I gave it a sharp, decisive yank.

There was a groan of stressed metal, then a sickening snap. The massive crystal fixture swayed, then plummeted downwards.

It was heading straight for me.

In that split second, I saw Andre's head snap up. Our eyes met across the crowded room. Panic flared in his face. He started towards me, a guttural cry tearing from his lips. "Haven!"

But then, Kaliyah shrieked. A high, piercing sound of terror.

Andre's body faltered. He stopped. He turned.

He chose her.

The world exploded in a shower of crystal and light. Pain, white-hot and absolute, consumed me. The last thing I saw before the darkness took me was Andre, shielding Kaliyah with his body, his back turned to me as my world came crashing down.

I was being lifted, the voices around me a muffled roar. I was on a stretcher. Andre was holding Kaliyah, who had fainted, rocking her gently.

"Is she okay?" he was asking the paramedics, his voice frantic. "Check her first! She's pregnant!"

They started to wheel me past him.

"Wait," he commanded, stepping in front of the stretcher. His face was a thunderous mask.

"Mr. Nichols, your wife is critically injured," a paramedic said, trying to push past. "We need to go."

"No," Andre's voice was steel. He reached down and yanked me off the stretcher, my body hitting the cold marble floor with a jarring impact. My head slammed against the ground, and the room spun violently.

"She can wait," he snarled, scooping the unconscious Kaliyah into his arms. "Take care of Kaliyah first. My son is in there."

He pushed past my stretcher, past my broken body lying in a pool of my own blood, and carried her out into the night.

I lay there, the taste of blood in my mouth, the laughter of our friends still echoing in my ears. The man I had loved, the man I had married, the father of my child, had just left me to die on the floor of a building I designed, in favor of the woman who had destroyed my life.

In that moment, I knew. The Andre I loved was truly gone. And in his place stood a monster.