He Saved His Old Flame. I Erased Myself

I was three months pregnant when our enemies ambushed me on a private drive in Manhattan’s East Side.

A bullet punched through the window. Glass buried itself in my shoulder. With the last bit of strength I had, I hit the Moretti family’s encrypted distress signal and called my husband, Adrian Moretti, for help.

He didn’t come.

Later, I found out he had pulled the Moretti family’s best trauma surgeon and security detail away that night to stay with his old flame, Evelyn Langdon. She had just lost her husband. She was carrying his child. She said a nightmare had left her gasping for air.

I lost our baby in the emergency room. When I woke up, the first thing I saw was Evelyn’s new post.

[Some people don’t need to ask. He’ll still drop everything and come running. Thank you, A. You always know what I need most.]

In the photo, Adrian was kneeling by her bed, fastening the ruby necklace around her throat. The same necklace he had promised me for our tenth anniversary.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t make a scene.

I called Professor Clark.

“Professor, I’ll take the classified seat at the Artemis Northern Institute. Start the Black Ice Protocol. Wipe my public identity as soon as possible.”

Three days after the miscarriage, Adrian Moretti finally came back to our villa by the Hudson.

I sat on the gray sofa in the living room with a hospital cashmere blanket over my shoulders. My lower abdomen felt hollow, as if someone had carved a piece out of me, and even breathing came with a dull ache.

Adrian stepped through the door with cold rain still clinging to his black coat. When he saw me, there was no worry in his eyes. Only anger he hadn’t bothered to hide.

“Selena, are you happy now?”

I looked up at him.

This man had once taken a knife for me at the most dangerous dock in New York. On the first Christmas after my parents died, he had driven three hours to bring me back to the Moretti estate. Adrian Moretti knew how to be gentle. His tenderness just had a pecking order.

And I was no longer first.

“The Commission sent me a warning,” Adrian said, tossing his leather gloves onto the coffee table. His voice was hard. “They said I moved the family medical team without approval and delayed support for the East Side convoy. Other than you, who would run to the Commission and snitch?”

I watched him in silence.

So he knew the East Side support had been delayed. He also knew the medical team should have been with me that night.

Still, he didn’t ask why I had been in the hospital or why I hadn’t answered his messages for three days. He only cared that the Commission had called him out.

“Evelyn just lost her husband, and she’s pregnant,” he said, rubbing his brow as if he was dealing with a difficult employee instead