1 A little over a year ago, my boyfriend of seven years suddenly announced his engagement to my best friend, Nina. While everyone waited for me to go on a warpath and tear the other woman apart, Gary Rockefeller, one of Manhattan's most powerful CEOs, swept into my life with a whirlwind romance. Before long, I had willingly given up my career, my ambitions, everything, to marry him and become the enviable Mrs. Rockefeller. I was six months pregnant when I heard it all. I overheard his phone call with his father. "You went to all that trouble to get Nina’s biggest rival—both in love and her career—out of the picture by getting her pregnant and forcing her into retirement. Elara's almost due now. You've done more than enough for Nina over the years. Surely, you're going to let her keep the child." Gary’s voice was cold, decisive. "I will not have a child with any woman other than Nina." My world turned to ash. All the passion, all the love—it was a performance. I was nothing but a pawn in their twisted, lingering affair. Fine. I'll give you what you want... ... I lay on the cold operating table, the medication inducing contractions that tore through me, an agony that felt like death itself. The doctor was performing the D&C, cleaning my womb. My stomach felt like it was filled with poison, and my entire body trembled uncontrollably. "The fetus has been removed." After the procedure, my breasts began to leak milk, an involuntary, cruel reminder. The sight of the tiny, discarded form broke me completely. Six months. You could already see the faint, perfect outline of a baby. So lovely, so innocent. My belly was empty, a hollow ache, but my body couldn't forget the life it had carried. This was the child Gary had begged for, his voice a husky whisper against my ear night after night for half a year. He would always say, "Elara... I love you so much... Please, give me a child..." After I got pregnant, Gary was consumed by work. I was left alone, filled with a fragile joy, attending every prenatal appointment, drinking bitter tonics daily to protect a pregnancy my family history deemed high-risk. I wanted this baby more than anything in the world. There’s a genetic condition in my family that makes childbirth perilous. The day the test results came back showing the baby was perfectly healthy, I was ecstatic. I thought Gary would be just as thrilled. I rarely went up to the attic, his private office. But that day, the door was ajar. I crept toward it, planning to surprise him. Instead, I heard his father’s voice on the phone. "You went to all that trouble to get Nina’s biggest rival... by getting her pregnant and forcing her into retirement. Elara's almost due now. You've done more than enough for Nina... Surely, you're going to let her keep the child." The words struck me like a bolt of lightning. Before I could even process the pain, I heard Gary’s chillingly calm reply. "I'll slip something into her prenatal tonic. She'll miscarry." "I cannot, and will not, have a child with any woman other than Nina." That single sentence shattered the entire illusion. In an instant, his vows of undying love became a cruel joke, the designer dress on my back a symbol of my own foolishness. All of it—the whirlwind romance, the grand gestures—it was all just a scheme to keep me from competing with Nina for her ex-boyfriend, to push me out of the race for the top spot in the design world. I collapsed to the floor, my hand clamped over my mouth to stifle the sobs that threatened to tear out of my throat. I remembered what I’d seen in his study once. An entire wall, covered in photos of my "best friend," Nina. The world thought Gary Rockefeller doted on me, treated me like a precious gem, would move mountains for me. But on that wall he stared at day after day, there wasn't a single picture of me. The irony was so bitter it felt like a joke. Tears streamed down my face. Gary, are you trying to kill me with this pain? When I returned from the clinic, Gary was waiting for me at the door. He saw me and, without missing a beat, leaned in to place a tender kiss on my cheek. "You're back late. Where have you been wandering?" Where he couldn't see, I wiped the spot his lips had touched. The moment I stepped inside, the strong scent of a brewed herbal tonic filled the air. It smelled different from my usual one. Gary was always so busy; I was the one who diligently prepared and drank the bitter medicine every day to ensure our child’s survival. Today was the first time he'd come home early to make it for me. His words to his father echoed in my mind: I'll slip something into her prenatal tonic. He brought the bowl to me, his eyes soft with feigned affection. But the faint scent of a woman’s perfume on his collar—Nina’s perfume—and the glint of the same style of bracelet she always wore on his wrist were like daggers to my eyes. I tilted my head back and drank the sweetened poison down in one gulp. The sweetness lingered on my tongue, but the bitterness that slid down my throat made my entire body shake. A strange sense of humiliation washed over me, even though I had already taken matters into my own hands. I was a clown, a puppet dancing on his strings, pathetic and broken. Gary’s gaze dropped to my stomach, his voice laced with that same false tenderness. "When our son is born, he'll inherit everything, how about that?" A sour knot formed in my chest. Would you ever let him be born? A desperate, foolish part of me still hoped for a flicker of remorse, a sliver of mercy. But as the last drop of the tonic settled in my stomach, so did the last of my hope. It died, leaving only a cold, gray emptiness. 2 Today was the day of Nina's return. As the new lead designer for Rockefeller Industries, the company was throwing her a lavish welcome-back gala. Gary had been getting ready for hours, preening in his suit, checking his reflection in the mirror a dozen times. I pretended not to notice his giddy excitement. Before he left, he kissed my cheek. "Just a few contracts to sign at the office this morning." As Mrs. Rockefeller, my attendance was expected. I went to my closet, but as I searched for something to wear, a sickening realization dawned on me. I didn't own a single piece of clothing that was truly mine. Last night, out of morbid curiosity, I'd scrolled through Nina’s social media. I discovered my entire wardrobe consisted of duplicates of her outfits. Gary had been buying them for her and simply picking up a second one for me on the side. I opened my jewelry box. My favorite piece, a stunning pigeon's blood ruby necklace, was gone. It was the necklace Gary had bought for me at auction for a hundred million dollars when he was courting me. But even that, I now realized, was just another move on his chessboard, another piece of his strategy to pave the way for Nina. When Nina made her entrance, reporters swarmed her, mistaking her for the lady of the house. "That pigeon's blood ruby is exquisite! Mr. Rockefeller must adore you; a hundred-million-dollar necklace is no small gesture." I stared at the ruby glowing at her throat, a blood-red splash against her skin. So that’s where he had rushed off to this morning. To play the devoted admirer for her. Nina, radiant in a red gown, spotted me and waved. "Mrs. Rockefeller." She glided over, her voice a venomous whisper in my ear. "Enjoying your life as a housewife?" "Do you know why I've become such a sensation abroad these past few years?" The moment she stole my fiancé, Mark, any friendship between us had shattered. Now, with an air of smug superiority, she pulled a design portfolio from her clutch and handed it to me as if bestowing a great charity. I flipped it open, and the world tilted on its axis. Ninety percent of the designs in it were mine. Some were slightly altered, others were copied verbatim. I was still reeling, wondering how she could be so brazen, when she twisted the knife. With a playful smirk, she showed me her phone, scrolling through her chat history with Gary. Gary: These are from the design files she keeps on my laptop. She's retired now anyway, so it's not like she'll be using them. Don't worry about plagiarism; I've already deleted the original files from her computer. My laptop. Gary knew the password. I remembered the day I discovered those files were gone. I’d cried for three days straight. Gary had shown no pity then, and now I knew why. My hands shook as I messaged him. Why are my designs in Nina’s portfolio? His reply came as a sixty-second voice memo, his tone impatient and dismissive. Those drafts were just sitting there, useless. What's the harm in letting her use them to build her reputation and bring more profit to the company? Elara, why are you still so obsessed with your career? We've been married for ages. Can't you just be content staying at home, taking care of the family? Isn't this a good life? The Rockefeller family doesn't need the pocket change you'd earn. You love Nina so much, why didn't you just lock her away and protect her yourself? What did I have left? Nina watched my face crumble, a mocking smile playing on her lips. Even though I already knew the marriage was a sham to force my retirement, seeing the proof—that the man I loved had casually handed years of my heart and soul to another woman—was unbearable. My heart felt like it was being pierced by a thousand needles, a hopeless, searing pain.
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