After He Chose Another

I woke to the sensation of wetness between my legs. For a moment, drowsy and disoriented, I thought perhaps my water had broken—an impossibility at just six weeks pregnant. Then the cramping hit, a vicious twist that pulled me fully into consciousness.

The sheets beneath me were stained crimson.

"No," I whispered, my voice breaking on that single syllable. "No, please, no."

I stumbled to the bathroom, trailing red droplets across the pristine marble floor. The pain intensified, doubling me over against the sink. When I looked in the mirror, I barely recognized the woman staring back—hollow-eyed, pale as death, still wearing yesterday's clothes because I hadn't had the strength to change after returning from that warehouse.

After Ethan chose her.

I called an Uber to Mount Sinai, unable to face our driver after everything that had happened. In the sterile examination room, the ultrasound technician's face told me everything before the doctor even arrived.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Cross," Dr. Levine said, her voice gentle. "There's no heartbeat."

I nodded mechanically, feeling nothing and everything simultaneously. The baby we'd dreamed of for years—gone. The future we'd celebrated on the plane—erased. And somewhere in this same city, my husband was with another woman.

"Would you like me to call someone for you?" the doctor asked, her hand warm on my shoulder.

"No," I said, sliding off the examination table. "There's no one to call."

I left before they could process my paperwork, before Ethan could arrive with his excuses and explanations. What could he possibly say? That he chose to save Isabella Reed because of some debt to her father? That he'd abandoned his wife—his pregnant wife—to a warehouse full of armed men?

That he'd abandoned our child?

The next two weeks passed in a fog of grief and isolation. I moved through our penthouse like a ghost, avoiding Ethan's attempts at conversation. He tried once to explain about Isabella's father, about some accident years before we met, but I turned away. Words couldn't erase what he'd done. Nothing could.

I threw myself into work, staying at the office until midnight, returning only when I knew he'd be asleep. Wintercross Enterprises became my sanctuary—the one thing he couldn't take from me.

Until Isabella Reed invaded that space too.

I was reviewing acquisition documents when Chloe burst into my office, her face ashen.

"You need to come now," she said, her voice uncharacteristically shaky. "Security just called. Something's happened on the executive floor."

The scene in the women's restroom looked like something from a horror film. Blood smeared the pristine white tiles. A designer heel lay abandoned by the sink. Strips of expensive fabric—the same shade of green Isabella had been wearing earlier—were scattered across the floor.

"The security footage," the head of building security said, gesturing to his tablet.

The grainy video showed Isabella entering the bathroom at 3:42 PM. At 3:44, a figure that made my blood run cold appeared in the hallway—me. Or someone who looked exactly like me, wearing an outfit I'd worn yesterday. The doppelgänger lingered outside the bathroom door, then disappeared from frame. At 3:51, the camera captured a glimpse of someone being dragged through a service exit—only a flash of green visible before the door closed.

I opened my mouth to protest when my office phone rang. Chloe answered, her face growing paler still.

"It's Mr. Cross," she whispered. "He's... he's coming up. And he's asking for security to detain you."

I barely made it back to our penthouse before Ethan. When the elevator doors opened, I knew immediately that something had changed. His eyes, once warm when they looked at me, now burned with a cold fury I'd never seen before.

"Where is she?" he demanded, stalking toward me.

"Who?"

"Don't play innocent," he snarled, grabbing my wrist. "Isabella. What did you do to her?"

"Nothing! I've been at the office all day. Ethan, you're hurting me—"

"Hurting you?" He laughed, a sound devoid of humor. "You tried to murder an innocent woman because of your jealousy."

"That's insane! I would never—"

He dragged me across the penthouse, his grip bruising. I struggled against him, but grief and exhaustion had weakened me. We reached our master bathroom, all gleaming marble and glass, and I saw a terrible purpose in his eyes.

"Ethan, stop!" I screamed as he shoved me toward the shower. "This isn't you!"

His hand reached for the controls, and I watched in horror as he turned the dial all the way to cold.

"You need to cool off," he said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "And atone for what you've done."