Seven Days to Say Goodbye

The moment I hung up, the surgical wound on my back flared with a white-hot intensity.

I curled into a ball on the sofa, cold sweat drenching my clothes. Outside, the world was ending; thunder rattled the windows and lightning tore through the sky. Damian emerged from his study, phone in hand, looking hurried.

"Damian... I'm so scared," a woman’s voice whimpered through the speaker. In the quiet living room, her feigned sob was crystal clear.

"The thunder is so loud... the baby is kicking... I’m scared I can’t protect him. Please, can you come over?"

"Damian." My fingers dug into the leather of the sofa until my nails nearly drew blood. "Don’t go."

He paused, looking back at me with blatant impatience. "Selena, I told you, Evelyn’s situation is delicate."

"I don't feel well either," I whispered, my voice trembling as sweat beaded on my forehead.

"Can’t you stay? Just long enough to call a doctor for me?"

The crash had left me physically shattered. The sudden drop in pressure from the storm made the pain unbearable. I felt like I was drowning in a frozen sea, and he was the only life raft in sight.

Damian wavered for a second.

"Does Selena want to take the Chief Physician away again? Just like last time?" Evelyn’s pouting voice came through the phone.

Damian’s expression instantly turned to stone.

He stepped toward me, gripping my chin and forcing me to look up. His voice was laced with mockery. "The other day you went crying to the Commission because I moved the doctor, getting me a lecture from the Don. Now that Evelyn actually needs help, you’re staging a stomach ache."

"Selena, your jealousy has made you hideous."

I opened my mouth, but the words died in my throat.

He couldn't see how pale I was. His entire world was centered on a woman who was "scared of thunder."

"I’m not acting, Damian. I’m really—"

"Enough!" he snapped, shoving me back. "Evelyn just lost her husband. I’m all she has left. Can’t you learn to be a little more graceful instead of resorting to these petty tricks?"

"I’m staying out tonight. Don't wait up."

He left without looking back. As the heavy front door slammed shut, my heart shattered into the abyss.

He didn't know about the accident. He didn't know that to save our baby, I had endured a gash on my back so deep it showed bone—or that I had undergone the stitching without general anesthesia to protect the pregnancy.

And now, he was rushing to comfort another woman carrying another man's child.

I touched my belly, tears falling silently onto the floor.

Damian used to stroke my stomach with such tenderness. "Selena, when will you carry my heir? If it’s a boy, I’ll teach him to rule the family. If it’s a girl, I’ll give her every beautiful jewel in this city."

I had planned to give him the news of my pregnancy as a birthday surprise.

Now, I only wanted to take my child and leave.

The storm raged on. I picked up my phone; the screen lit up with a notification from a "Special Favorite" on Instagram.

It was Evelyn.

The photo showed a luxurious bedroom. A man was half-kneeling by the bed, his back to the camera, holding a steaming cup of milk.

Even from behind, I knew that silhouette better than my own.

The caption was a taunt wrapped in a brag:

"I told him I was scared of the storm, so he rushed over to comfort me and even warmed my milk himself. Such a good boy."

Good boy.

Those two words were a blade that twisted in my chest.

When I had practically begged him to stay after my "accident," he saw me as a burden. Yet, at a single mention of thunder from Evelyn, he abandoned everything to play the role of her "loyal dog."