He Wanted Me Back, but I Belonged to Someone Else

Morning arrived quietly, almost unnaturally so. The apartment felt like it was holding its breath, tense, waiting for something—someone—to snap. Probably me.

Lucas was standing at the doorway, posture sharp, presence claiming the entire space as if he owned not just the apartment but everyone in it. His voice was flat, precise. “Valentina, you’re moving to the guest room. Anabella stays here.”

I opened my mouth, ready to scream, to argue, to tell him I wasn’t some backup option in his life. But the words didn’t exist. They had fled, devoured by all the lies I’d swallowed over the past weeks.

I nodded.

I packed my belongings slowly, as if moving might salvage some fragment of myself, some piece of dignity.

The guest room offered no comfort. It was smaller, colder, darker, a shadow of the master bedroom I’d once called mine. Its silence pressed down on me like a sentence.

Back in the main room, my life was being stripped away. Shoes disappeared from the rack, clothes vanished from the closet, the shelf where I kept perfumes and makeup? Gone.

Anabella had claimed the master bedroom completely. My silk sheets, my pillows, the robe Lucas had given me—she wore them like trophies, flaunting them as though she had earned them through conquest.

The first time I saw the bathroom towels, damp and twisted, my hands itched to tear them apart. Then I noticed the hair clogging the drain—mine, hers? It didn’t matter. The point was violation, intrusion.

One morning I caught the scent of my own favorite perfume clinging to her skin. The one I used to wear to feel alive. She laughed as she bathed in it, as if even the air I breathed was hers.

And then she started calling him “babe” in front of me.

Lucas didn’t correct her. Didn’t even twitch. Like I was a ghost hovering in the background.

One afternoon, she smiled at me—sweet, poisonous.

“I think stress isn’t good for the baby,” she said, voice dripping with mock concern. “Maybe you should take a walk when you feel tense? Fresh air might help.”

I wanted to spit in her face. Instead, I swallowed the bile and nodded.

Anabella cooked for him. They ate together, laughed together, moved through the apartment like it was their kingdom. I became a shadow, a silent witness to their stolen intimacy. More servant than girlfriend, cleaning up after their joy, their smiles, their shared warmth.

Then she started dragging me into their charade.

“Come to the OB appointment with us,” she asked one morning, all wide-eyed innocence and honeyed sweetness.

Lucas added casually, “It’s important. Valentina should bond with the baby now.”

I wanted to scream at them both. I wanted to rip their voices from the air. But I went. And at the clinic, the doctor congratulated Anabella, smiling and praising.

She faked tears, crocodile tears tracing down her cheeks, performing gratitude as though the miracle belonged to her alone.

I stood frozen, watching them. Watching the way Lucas gazed at her like she was his whole world while I dissolved into a shadow behind them.

Back at the apartment, Lucas handed me a bottle of prenatal vitamins.

“Make sure she takes these on time,” he said, calm and steady. “She forgets sometimes.”

I accepted the bottle, a bitter smile fixed on my face. Then I looked up at him.

“Would you be happy if I disappeared completely?”

His expression didn’t change. No flicker of recognition, no remorse.

“If it’s because you’re upset that you can’t have my child, Valentina, stop. Just accept that Anabella’s pregnant. I don’t love her. I’m still going to marry you.”

I held my breath. His words were ice, slicing through hope, love, and memory.

Marriage. Love. A future.

But inside, I was dying. And my child—my secret, seven-week heartbeat—was buried in silence.

That night… Lucas’s annual dinner.

It wasn’t a mere dinner. It was the event. The room packed with allies and inner circle, people who wore blood beneath their perfume and smiled through secrets. My name had always been on the guest list. I should have stood beside him, part of it.

I waited until the apartment quieted. Anabella was in the bath. Lucas had gone downstairs, probably reviewing security or pouring whiskey like the cold, calculating man he claimed to be.

I crept into the master closet. The gown should have been there.

A custom black satin dress, slit up the side, made for me after surviving the warehouse explosion. Wrapped in silver paper, Lucas had whispered, “Only death could outshine you in this.”

It was gone.

In its place—a crime scene.

The gown torn, ripped as if a knife had cut through each seam. Red lipstick smeared across the chest, mocking. Heels vanished. Earrings snapped. Deliberate, malicious, unmissable.

Anabella had done this.

I stormed out, fists tight around the ruined dress, voice trembling.

“What the hell is this?”

She was already dressed. Black velvet, tight, sleeves sliding off her shoulders. A widow at a funeral she orchestrated herself. Lucas stood behind her, zipping her up, careful, protective—like she was his and no one else existed.

Her gaze met mine, slow, deliberate, smirk sweet and sharp.

“Oh dear…” she said, soft and venom-laced. “Did something happen to your dress?”

I said nothing, burning with fury.

She touched her chest delicately, pretending concern. “Such a shame. I saw one of the maids earlier in the closet… thought she was helping. Didn’t realize she’d ruin it. Maybe speak to Lucas about hiring new staff.”

She tilted her head, eyes wide, innocent. “Don’t worry, I’ll bring you dinner. You need to rest.”

I turned to Lucas, silently pleading for him to say something—anything. To defend me. But he adjusted his cuff.

“We don’t have time for drama tonight, Sav,” he said. “The car’s already waiting.”

Like I was some tantrum he needed to manage. Like I hadn’t bled beside him, kept his secrets, buried his enemies.

Anabella looped her arm through his. “Come on, babe. We’ll be late.”

They left.

The moment the door clicked shut, silence swallowed everything.

Lights dim. The kitchen empty. Her perfume lingering like poison.

I sat at the counter, staring at the prenatal vitamins he left behind.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just… waited. Until my phone buzzed.

Unknown number.