Faking My Death to Divorce You

Julian's hands moved with mechanical precision as he pushed Victoria away from him, his movements sharp and efficient like he was closing a business deal. No shame flickered across his face, no guilt or surprise at being caught. He simply straightened his tie with the same cold indifference he showed when firing employees, his dark eyes meeting mine with something that looked almost like irritation.

"You shouldn't be here," he said, his voice flat and emotionless as he buttoned his shirt. "Go home."

The words hit me like a physical blow, each syllable driving deeper into my chest. Not 'I'm sorry.' Not 'I can explain.' Not even acknowledgment of what I'd just witnessed. Just dismissal, as if I were an inconvenient interruption to his evening plans.

Victoria laughed—a low, throaty sound that made my skin crawl. She made no effort to cover herself, instead running her fingers through her disheveled red hair like she was posing for a magazine. "Julian, darling, you don't need to be so harsh. She was bound to find out eventually."

The cramping in my abdomen intensified, sharp and vicious, like something was tearing apart inside me. I pressed my hand against my stomach, feeling the wetness spreading between my legs, warm and sticky against my thighs. The red dress—his favorite red dress—was probably ruined now, stained with the blood of the baby he would never know about.

"I—" I tried to speak, but another wave of pain cut through me, so intense I had to grab the elevator wall for support. The marble was cold against my palm, a stark contrast to the fire burning through my lower body.

Julian glanced at me with mild annoyance, like I was being dramatic. "Sophia, you're making a scene. This is a place of business."

A place of business. Where he conducted his affairs. Where he destroyed our marriage on the same conference table where he'd probably signed the contracts that made him rich off my father's company.

Victoria slid off the table, smoothing down her skirt with practiced ease. "Oh, Julian, I think she's having one of her episodes again. Remember last month when she got all hysterical about you working late?"

Episodes. Hysterical. The words echoed in my head as another cramp seized me, this one so brutal I doubled over, my knees hitting the cold marble floor. The gift box lay forgotten beside me, the pregnancy test inside—the proof of the life that was slipping away from me with each passing second.

"Something's wrong," I gasped, my voice barely audible. "The baby—"

But Victoria was already reaching for the phone on Julian's desk, her manicured fingers dancing across the numbers. "Security? Yes, this is Victoria Chen from the executive floor. We have a situation—Julian's wife is here making a scene. She appears to be intoxicated and is becoming disruptive."

Intoxicated. Disruptive. Not bleeding. Not losing our child. Not collapsing from the shock of discovering my husband's betrayal.

Julian didn't correct her. Didn't tell security to call an ambulance. Didn't even look at me as I bled onto his pristine marble floors.

The pain was getting worse, radiating from my abdomen through my entire body like waves of fire. I fumbled for my phone with shaking hands, my vision starting to blur around the edges. Sophie. I needed Sophie.

My fingers were slick with sweat as I scrolled through my contacts, the screen swimming in and out of focus. Sophie's number—I'd called it a thousand times, knew it by heart, but now the digits seemed foreign and impossible.

The call connected on the third ring.

"Soph? Do you know what time it is? This better be—"

"Sophie." My voice came out as a broken whisper, barely recognizable even to myself. "Help me. I'm at Julian's office, and I'm—" Another cramp seized me, stealing my breath. "I'm bleeding. The baby—"

"Baby? Sophia, what baby? What's happening?"

I could hear her moving around, probably grabbing her keys, her lawyer instincts kicking into high gear. But the words were getting harder to form, my tongue thick and clumsy in my mouth.

"I was pregnant," I managed to whisper into the phone. "Two weeks. I came to tell him, but he was—" I looked up at Julian, who was now fixing his cufflinks like nothing had happened. "He was with her. And now I'm losing—"

The phone slipped from my fingers, clattering across the marble as darkness crept in from the edges of my vision. The last thing I heard was Victoria's voice, sharp and satisfied: "The security team is on their way up to escort her out."

Then everything went black.

When consciousness returned, it came in fragments—the steady beep of machines, the antiseptic smell of hospital disinfectant, the scratch of starched sheets against my skin. My mouth felt like cotton, my body hollow and empty in a way that went far beyond physical.

I opened my eyes slowly, expecting to see Sophie's worried face or maybe a nurse checking my vitals. Instead, Julian sat in the chair beside my bed, a stack of legal documents spread across his lap, his gold pen moving with practiced efficiency across the pages.

He looked up when he noticed me stirring, his expression neutral and businesslike. "You're awake. Good. We have things to discuss."

No 'How are you feeling?' No 'I'm sorry.' No acknowledgment of what I'd lost—what we'd lost—in that elevator three days ago.

"The baby," I whispered, my voice hoarse and broken.

Julian's pen paused for a fraction of a second before continuing its path across the document. "The doctor informed me about the miscarriage, yes. Unfortunate timing."

Unfortunate timing. Like missing a business meeting or a delayed flight. Not the loss of our child, the future I'd dreamed of, the family I'd hoped would bring us back together.

"You knew?" The words scraped against my throat. "You knew I was pregnant?"

"The medical team was quite thorough in their report." He set down his pen and looked at me with the same expression he used when reviewing quarterly earnings—detached, analytical, utterly devoid of emotion. "Though I have to say, Sophia, your timing continues to be remarkably poor. Showing up at my office unannounced, creating a spectacle—it's becoming a pattern."

The machines around me beeped faster as my heart rate spiked. "A spectacle? I lost our baby, Julian. Our baby."

He picked up his pen again, returning his attention to the documents. "A pregnancy that was never discussed or planned. Perhaps it's for the best, considering the circumstances."

For the best. The words echoed in the sterile hospital room, bouncing off the walls like bullets. My husband—the man I'd loved for three years, the man I'd saved with my own blood, the man I'd given everything to—thought losing our child was for the best.

I stared at him, really looked at him, and for the first time in our marriage, I saw him clearly. Not the wounded man I'd fallen in love with, not the husband I'd hoped he could become, but exactly what he was: a stranger who had never loved me at all.