Chapter46

Chapter46
Sylvia’s POV

The door was warm beneath my palm, like it was breathing—like his voice on the other side was still trapped in the wood.

“Please,” Derek’s voice cracked softly through the barrier. “Don’t let her win.”

But the truth was, she already had—at least for a moment.

Abigail’s words still rang in my head, sharp as glass: “Good news, I’m pregnant… with Derek’s child.”

I pressed my hand harder against the door, as if I could squeeze the poison out of my chest that way. My breath came in short, uneven pulls. I could hear chaos fading downstairs—the doctor’s calm tone, Mr. Navarro’s trembling words, the dull shuffle of feet. Then silence.

That silence was worse than the noise.

My reflection trembled faintly in the mirror across the room. Pale. Red-eyed. Hollow. I barely recognized myself.

I so much wanted to believe Derek. God, I wanted to. But the way his voice had faltered when she said those words—the half-second of disbelief, the way his eyes widened—was burned into me. That look of fear… it wasn’t the expression of a man entirely sure she was lying.

I turned from the door, wrapping my arms around myself. The room smelled like him—cedar, smoke, and the faint trace of his cologne clinging to the sheets. The same sheets that once felt like safety now looked foreign, tainted by doubt.

My head throbbed.

I sat on the edge of the bed, fingers curling around the edge of the blanket. Every part of me screamed to trust him. Derek had fought for me—bled for me. He’d chosen me against the world, against his own darkness. But Abigail knew where to cut deepest, and she never missed.

I closed my eyes. The memory came uninvited—like a ghost.

It was months ago. Rain thrashed the windows that night, relentless. Derek had come home late, the smell of whiskey clinging to him like guilt. I had stayed downstairs, pretending to read but really waiting—always waiting.

He had barely looked at me when he walked in. His knuckles were bruised, shirt half undone, jaw clenched in that familiar fury he only wore when he’d done something he regretted.

“Don’t,” he had said when I asked if he was okay. His voice wasn’t cruel, but it carried weight—an exhaustion that scared me more than his anger ever could.

Later that night, I heard raised voices—his and Abigail’s. Something about loyalty, about betrayal, about being used. I didn’t go in. I should have.

When I finally did, the air was thick—sweat, liquor, and fury. Derek was sitting in the armchair, head in his hands. Abigail had stormed out, eyes red but mouth twisted in triumph.

He’d looked up at me, hollow-eyed. “It’s over,” he’d said. “Everything.”

And it had been—at least for that moment. I never asked what had happened between them. Maybe because I was too afraid of the answer.
Or maybe was it a consequence of the stupid night when Derek fucked Abigail in my presence to make me jealous and yearn for him more,oh Derek but no- he used protection. I kept remembering the past trying to get to the bottom of this and not let Abigail win.

The memories faded as I opened my eyes, trembling. Abigail had just dug up that night and thrown it in my face like a weapon.

A soft knock came from the door again, gentle this time. “Sylvia… please. I need to see you.”

My throat tightened. His voice still had that ache that used to melt me instantly. But right now, I was barely holding myself together.

“Please,” he whispered again.

My lips parted—but no sound came out. I wanted to run into his arms, to demand the truth, to scream that I didn’t care what happened before me, as long as it wasn’t true now. But then I saw Abigail’s face again, the cold smile, the paper trembling in her hand.

Proof.

She had said she had proof.

Tears burned my eyes. “I just need time,” I finally whispered, voice breaking. “Please, Derek. Just give me time.”

Silence. Then the soft thud of his forehead against the door. A sigh that sounded like pain itself. And then, footsteps fading away.

When I finally let my knees give out, I sank to the floor, arms wrapped tight around myself. The marble was cold under my legs, grounding me.

That was when the dizziness hit again. The same spinning nausea I’d been feeling for days—worse now. The edges of my vision swam.

I forced a breath, pressing a hand to my stomach. Maybe it was stress. It had to be stress. Nothing else made sense.

But deep inside, a whisper I’d been ignoring started to speak louder.

What if it isn’t?

Hours later, the house was quiet as my mother had been stabilized and regained consciousness and finally moved to her room. Mr. Navarro had locked himself in the study. Derek’s footsteps had also faded long ago—probably outside, pacing, trying to cool the fire raging in him.

I sat by the window, staring at the moonlight spilling over the garden. My reflection looked tired, older somehow.

Every time I blinked, I saw Abigail in white—pure poison wrapped in silk.

I touched my chest. My heart beat too fast. My thoughts wouldn’t settle.

I thought of running. Of packing a bag and disappearing somewhere no one could find me. But then I remembered Derek’s face—the man who had saved me when the world turned against me. The man who had kissed my scars like promises.

He couldn’t have done this. Not Derek.

But if he hadn’t… then what was Abigail playing at?

I rubbed my temples and stood, suddenly desperate for air. The room felt too small, too heavy with ghosts. I slipped into a cardigan, opened the window, and climbed out onto the small balcony overlooking the garden. The night air was cool, sharp, and cleansing.

The city beyond was quiet, a faint hum of cars somewhere far away. For a moment, I closed my eyes and let the breeze wash through my hair.

That’s when I felt it again—the faint wave of nausea that started low and rose sharp. I gripped the railing, swallowing hard.

It wasn’t just stress. I know that now.

I sank to the chair, my heart racing. The timing, the fatigue, the sensitivity to smell—all the signs I’d brushed off since the video leak came back like puzzle pieces I’d been too blind to connect.

My stomach dropped.

No. Not now. Not like this.

I reached for my phone, hands trembling. There were a dozen missed calls from Derek, a few from unknown numbers, and one from Grandma. I opened hers.

Come home. We need to talk. The family can’t stay divided.

I read it twice. Three times. Then I looked up at the moon again.

Divided.

That was the perfect word for what I felt—split clean down the middle.

Part of me wanted to drive home, to end all this madness, to be the daughter and lover everyone wanted me to be. But another part—the quieter, braver part—wanted to face the truth head-on. To know if the life growing inside me was real.

I wiped my tears, stood, and climbed back inside.

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I moved quietly, the house echoing with the faint hum of air conditioning. The guards outside nodded faintly as I walked past, assuming I was going to check on my mother I didn’t give them a clue.

My footsteps carried me to the side hall, then out the smaller service door where the cars were parked. Derek’s black SUV sat in the corner, engine cold. His jacket was draped on the hood, as if he’d been here earlier.

For a moment, I hesitated. Guilt coiled in my chest. What if he came back and found me gone? What if he thought I was running from him?

But I wasn’t running from him. I was running toward the truth.

I slipped into one of the smaller sedans and turned the ignition. The headlights cut through the darkness like blades. The road wound ahead—empty, endless.

Half an hour later, I parked near a 24-hour pharmacy at the edge of the city. The neon light flickered above the glass door, pale and unwelcoming. Inside, the scent of antiseptic hit me hard.

I walked to the counter, heart hammering.

The clerk barely looked up. “Can I help you?”

I swallowed. “I need… a test.” My voice came out a whisper.

She nodded, slid a small box across the counter, and rang it up without a word.

I paid, thanked her, and walked to the tiny restroom at the back.

Inside, the fluorescent light buzzed faintly. The mirror was cracked down one side. I looked at my reflection again—eyes rimmed with red, hair a mess, shoulders shaking.

I tore open the box. My hands were trembling so badly that the small foil packet slipped and hit the tile. I bent to pick it up, breathing hard.

Everything in my life—every lie, every promise, every heartbreak—seemed to balance on the edge of that tiny stick.

If it was positive, then Abigail’s lie would take on an entirely new kind of irony.

If it was negative, I’d still have to face Derek—and the truth of what she’d said.

Either way, nothing would ever be the same again.

I pressed a hand over my mouth, trying not to cry.

“Please,” I whispered to no one, maybe to the universe. “Please just give me something real.”

The seconds ticked louder than my heartbeat.

When I finally looked down at the small plastic window, my breath caught.

One line. Two. I couldn’t tell. My vision blurred with tears.

I sank onto the cold tile, the test clutched in my hand, the world spinning again—this time not from fear, but from something heavier, deeper.

I didn’t know whether to smile or scream.

All I knew was that the truth had finally started beating inside me.

And whatever war Abigail had just started—she had no idea what kind of fire she’d woken up this time.