The CEO's Billion-Dollar Divorce Regret

Seraphina POV:

I woke to a world of blinding white and a pain so sharp it seared through me.

A voice was shouting, distant. "Massive internal bleeding! Get her to an OR, now!"

I was on a gurney, being rushed down a hallway. The ceiling lights blurred into a single, painful streak.

"Hang on, ma'am," a kind voice said near my ear. "We're going to take care of you."

A different voice, more distant, barked out orders. "Page Dr. Evans. And check her vitals again. She's eight weeks pregnant."

Pregnant.

The word sliced through the fog of my pain. A tiny, impossible flicker of joy ignited in the center of my terror. A baby. Our baby.

"Blood pressure is dropping! We need O-negative, now!" a nurse yelled.

"The bank is nearly empty!" another replied, her voice tight with panic. "Dr. Santos just used the last six units for a VIP patient in plastics."

Dr. Santos. The name snagged on something in my mind. Dante.

The nurse with the kind voice was on the phone. "Dante, it's Chloe. I've got a Jane Doe here, a car crash victim, and she's critical. She's pregnant. We're losing them both. I need you to authorize a diversion from the private reserve. It's the only way."

I could hear his voice, tinny and impatient over the speakerphone. "I can't. Those reserves are for Isabella. She might have post-op complications."

"Dante, she's stable! This woman, and your... this baby will die!" Chloe pleaded.

"Isabella is my priority," he said, his voice a blade of ice. "Do not contact me on this line again."

The line went dead.

I understood. For a potential minor complication for Isabella, Dante had just signed my death warrant. And our child's.

A faint, fluttering sensation deep inside me, like a tiny bird's wing brushing against my soul. A hello and a goodbye, all in one.

Then, darkness.

I woke up. The searing agony had faded to a dull, heavy ache. The surgery was over. Chloe, the kind nurse, was sitting by my bed.

"You're stable," she said softly, her eyes full of a pity I couldn't bear. "The surgery was a success."

She took a breath. "I'm so sorry. The baby... the baby didn't make it."

The words hung in the sterile air. I felt them, but they didn't land. I was already hollow.

"Isabella?" I asked, my voice a dry rasp. "Is she safe?"

Chloe's face tightened. "Her... minor cosmetic procedure was a success, yes. Dr. Santos ensured she had the very best of everything."

A bitter smile touched my lips. Of course he did.

I reached for the nightstand. For my purse. For the black leather ledger inside. With a hand that felt disconnected from my own body, I wrote the final entry.

-5 points: He let our child die to save her.

The score was zero.

Every bond, every memory, every last, foolish hope I had for Dante Santos was severed. It was all gone.

That night, I signed my own discharge papers against medical advice. I went back to the empty house.

On his pillow, where his head would lie, I left two things.

The signed divorce agreement.

And the black ledger, opened to the very last page.

I picked up the one small suitcase I had already packed, walked through the silent, cavernous rooms one last time, and pulled the front door shut behind me.

I didn't look back.