He Loved Her, Not His Wife

Aniya POV:

Bella shoved the folder back into my chest, a triumphant, contemptuous smirk on her face. "There. It' s done. Now get out of our lives and never bother Donnie again."

She thought she was signing some document to pay me off, to finalize my humiliation. The irony was so thick I could choke on it. The divorce agreement I had just been granted was exactly what I wanted. She had just handed me my freedom on a silver platter.

I wanted to laugh. I wanted to tell her she was a fool. "You have no idea what you just did," I started to say, but the words were drowned out by a deafening sound.

An alarm. A piercing, high-pitched wail that sliced through the ballroom' s genteel chatter.

Panic erupted. People screamed. The well-dressed crowd turned into a stampeding herd. Someone shoved me hard from behind, and I stumbled, the precious folder flying from my grasp.

The force of the crowd was like a tidal wave. I was knocked off my feet, landing hard on the marble floor. Bella went down beside me, her designer dress tearing.

A sharp, searing pain shot up my leg as someone' s stiletto heel ground into my shin. I cried out, but my voice was lost in the chaos. People were trampling over me, their shoes kicking my ribs, my arms, my head. The pain was excruciating.

"DONNIE!" Bella shrieked, her voice shrill with terror. "DonNIE, HELP ME!"

Through the forest of panicked legs, I heard his voice, sharp and commanding, cutting through the noise. "BELLA! Where are you?"

He was coming back.

A tiny, stupid flicker of hope ignited in my chest. He' s coming back for us.

I saw him then, a force of nature parting the sea of terrified people. His eyes were wild, scanning the floor, searching. For a split second, my eyes met his. He saw me. I know he did.

But his gaze passed right over me, as if I wasn't there.

He located Bella in an instant. With a guttural roar, he lunged forward, shoving people aside. He gathered her into his arms, cradling her as if she were made of glass.

He held her tight against his chest and turned to fight his way back through the crowd, leaving me on the floor to be trampled.

He didn' t even glance at me. Not once.

"Donnie," I whispered, my voice a broken croak. The word was swallowed by the terrified screams around me. The heel of a boot caught me in the temple, and the world began to blur.

Just as my vision started to fade, I saw him stop. He had almost reached the exit, Bella safe in his arms. He was turning back.

He' s coming back for me. The thought was a desperate, drowning prayer.

He pushed his way back through the chaos, his face a mask of grim determination. He was getting closer. My heart, the stupid, stubborn thing, hammered against my ribs.

He reached the spot where we had fallen. He bent down.

My hand twitched, ready to reach for his.

But he wasn't looking at me. His eyes were fixed on the floor. He picked something up.

It was a single, diamond earring that must have fallen from Bella' s ear.

He clutched it in his fist, turned, and without a single backward glance, disappeared into the crowd, leaving me bleeding on the floor.

From the relative safety of the exit, I could hear Bella' s voice, muffled but still clear. "My earring! Donnie, did you find it?"

His voice was a low, soothing murmur. "I found it, baby. I have it. I' ll always find what' s yours."

Her happy squeal was the last thing I heard before the world went black.

I was less important than a piece of jewelry.

The pain of that realization was worse than any physical injury. It was a soul-deep wound, a final, fatal blow to whatever was left of my love for him.

I woke up in a hospital again. The same private suite. The same sterile smell.

A doctor informed me that I had a concussion, three broken ribs, and a fractured fibula. My body was a roadmap of bruises.

"You' re lucky," he said. "You' ll need surgery on your leg, but you' ll make a full recovery."

As they were prepping me for the operating room, the doors to my suite burst open.

Two of Donnie' s bodyguards, the same ones who were always with him, stormed in. They were huge, impassive men who looked like they were carved from granite.

"What is the meaning of this?" the surgeon demanded, stepping in front of them. "This is a sterile area!"

They ignored him. One of them grabbed my arm, his grip like a steel vise.

"Let go of her!" a nurse shouted.

With a single, brutal motion, they dragged me off the gurney. The pain in my leg was so intense, so blinding, that I screamed. It felt like my bone was tearing through my skin.

They hauled me through the hospital corridors like a sack of garbage, my bare feet dragging on the cold linoleum. My thin hospital gown offered no protection, no dignity.

They threw me onto the floor of another room. A much more luxurious one.

My vision swam, but I could make out the scene before me. And it was a scene that would be burned into my memory forever.