When I walked in on the betrayal of the most powerful woman in the city, we were both unsettlingly calm. Confronted by my gaze, Margot Silvester didn't even flinch. She remained nestled in the man’s arms, her expression as cool as a corporate buyout. She asked me what I wanted—money, shares in the Silvester Group, or perhaps a high-ranking executive position. I simply shook my head. I told her I only wanted a divorce. At those words, the two people in the bed exchanged a look before erupting into sharp, jagged laughter. Margot flicked the ash from her cigarette with a lazy grace. She sneered, asking if I was planning to run back to my ex-wife. She claimed she knew Elena had come to see me a few days ago, questioning why I thought a woman like that would ever blow up her life for me. After her cold laugh died down, she traced the man’s throat, her voice dropping to a silken purr as she looked at him. She asked him—Dominick—if he knew best whether his ex-wife would actually go through with a divorce. Dominick smirked, his eyes glinting with a smug, predatory triumph as he nodded. Of course he knew. Because his current wife was the woman I had once called mine. ... “Big brother, just give it up already.” Dominick pulled Margot closer, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. “Honey, shall we go again? For old time’s sake?” Margot stubbed out her cigarette and reached for a fresh foil packet on the nightstand. As she tore it open, she shot me a mocking smile. “Still here? Waiting for a show?” “I don’t mind, Big Bro,” Dominick added with a rakish grin, kicking the duvet aside to flaunt himself. I clenched my fists, taking a slow, steadying breath. “I’ll draft the papers. Just let me know when you have a gap in your schedule for the filing.” Margot laughed, indifferent, and began to mess around with Dominick as if I were a piece of furniture. I couldn’t take it anymore. I turned toward the door. “Since you’re busy, I’ll take your silence as consent.” As I walked away, the biting winter wind made my eyes sting, turning them a raw, watery red. I thought I could handle this. I thought that having survived this exact nightmare before, I could navigate the wreckage with professional detachment. But I had underestimated the sheer, agonizing pain of an old scar being ripped open. Dominick called me "Big Brother" partly to spit in my face, but partly because it was the truth. We weren't blood, but I was the closest thing he had. My parents died young. I dropped out of school to work three jobs just to keep a roof over my head. I found him on the street—another orphan, just like me. I put him through college. On his first birthday after graduation, I had gone to the apartment I was paying for to surprise him with a cake. Instead, the moment the clock struck midnight, I walked in to find two familiar bodies tangled together in the dark. Margot knew exactly how much it destroyed me when my ex-wife cheated on me with Dominick. She knew the sordid, public mess of that divorce. Back then, she had been my savior. She had used her considerable influence to drive Elena and Dominick out of the city, just to give me a sense of justice. She was the one who pulled me back from the ledge when I was ready to end it all. And now, she had invited the very man who broke me into her bed. What a pathetic joke. The lifeline I thought I’d grabbed turned out to be a razor wire. I hadn’t even cleared the driveway before three black Escalades swerved in, pinning my car. “Mr. Beckett, Ms. Silvester says you aren’t permitted to leave yet.” The security detail didn't ask. They dragged me out of the car and hauled me back into the mansion. Upstairs, the sounds of their revelry echoed through the halls. I sat in the darkened living room, losing track of time until the house finally went quiet. Margot eventually descended the stairs, draped in Dominick’s arms. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said with a dry chuckle. My eyes snagged on their matching silk pajamas. Seeing my gaze, Dominick adjusted his collar with feigned casualness. “Like them, Big Bro?” he asked. “Margot told me you hand-stitched these yourself. Took you over a year, didn’t it? I could never do that kind of tedious work. I don't have the patience.” I looked away, my voice raspy. “They’re just ten-dollar clearance rack junk. Only a fool would spend a year making something so worthless.” Margot’s hand froze on her water glass. Her eyes turned to chips of ice. “If they’re so cheap, then I’ll just give them to Dominick.” I forced a smile, loosening my grip on my own hands. “Dominick is my brother, after all. And you’re the richest woman in the city, Margot. It’s a bit stingy to only give him a cheap pair of pajamas.” I grabbed Dominick by the arm and hauled him toward the walk-in closet. “Come on, little brother. Let’s see what else you like.” “Not bad,” he muttered, feeling the fabric of a bespoke suit. He turned to Margot. “Can I really have this, too?” The fury on Margot’s face softened instantly. She reached out and patted his head with sickening affection. “Of course, darling.” So, I started handing it all over. The custom-made couple’s outfits? Yours. The watches engraved with our initials? Yours. Even the tuxedo I wore to our wedding? Take it. Whatever memory those items held, I purged them. I handed them over with a hollow chest and steady hands. By the time I was done, the massive closet was nearly stripped bare. As I reached for one last watch, Margot grabbed my wrist, her teeth gritted. “Gideon Beckett, you’re certainly being generous today!” she hissed. “Fine. Why stop at the clothes? Why don't you just pack your bags and let him move in?” She stared at me, a flash of something—was it hurt?—flickering in her eyes before it was replaced by rage. “What? Can’t let go after all?” she taunted. “I knew you weren’t this noble. Never mind...” I ripped my hand back, my expression cold. “There’s nothing to let go of. I think your suggestion is excellent.” I walked into the master bedroom. Margot followed, barking threats. “I’m giving you exactly sixty seconds to pack. Anything left behind goes in the incinerator...” She stopped mid-sentence. I hadn't even opened a suitcase. I just grabbed a simple canvas duffel bag and headed for the door. She hurried to block my path, breathless with indignation. “That’s it? That’s all you’re taking?” “Yes,” I said flatly. “Fine. Great,” Margot snapped, her eyes scanning the room, looking for something of hers that I might be stealing. Finding nothing, she pointed toward the driveway. “Then you aren't taking the car, either. I bought that for you.” She had forgotten. She was the one who had begged me to take that car. She told me back then that with a car like that, no one—not even my ex-wife’s hired thugs—could ever throw me out on the street again. She promised she would always be my backup. Now, the metal of the key fob felt like a piece of dry ice in my palm. I tossed the keys to Dominick. “This is yours, too.” He caught them, a slow smirk spreading across his face. “You know, ever since we were kids, you always gave me whatever I wanted. I guess some things never change. You’re so good to me, Big Bro. Thanks!” He stepped forward to clap me on the shoulder. I stepped back, avoiding his touch. “Don’t thank me. Thank Margot. If she hadn't reminded me, I would have forgotten to give it to you.” Margot’s knuckles turned white around her glass. “Those second-hand scraps don’t mean anything,” she said, her voice trembling with forced steel. “Dominick, whatever you want, I’ll get you a brand new version. Better than anything he ever touched.” Dominick wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, nuzzling her neck. “Thanks, Margot.” The two of them were locked in their own world. I didn't look back as I walked out of the gates. Luckily, the Uber I’d called was already waiting. I headed to another property, a small condo in the city. But when I arrived, a line of security guards blocked the entrance. “Mr. Beckett, Ms. Silvester has given orders. You are not permitted to stay here.” I froze, then remembered. The deed was in my name, but it had been a gift from her. It’s funny how easily "gifts" are reclaimed when the giver decides they don't like you anymore. I had been naive enough to think she was different. The wind cut through my thin jacket. I sighed. Fine. A hotel. “Sir, I need to see your ID,” the hotel clerk said. I reached into my bag, only to realize with a jolt that my wallet and ID were still in the center console of the car I’d just given away. “Looking for this?” The familiar voice came from behind. Margot was standing there, twirling my ID between her fingers like a poker chip. I knew she wasn't going to just hand it over. “Apologize,” she said, her face a mask of indifference. “For what?” Before I could finish, a man stepped into the lobby, his face bruised and his fists clenched. “Big Brother, I’m sorry. I don’t want the car anymore,” Dominick said, trying to shove the keys into my hand. “You left your ID in there just to remind me that it’s yours, didn't you? Fine. I don’t want any of it...” He grabbed my arm, and before I could react, he slammed my own fist into his jaw and threw himself backward onto the marble floor. “Dominick!” Margot rushed to him, catching him as he fell. I, however, stumbled and hit the floor hard. A sharp, white-hot pain flared in my abdomen. The world began to blur, voices echoing as if from the bottom of a well. The last thing I saw before I blacked out was Margot’s back as she carried Dominick away. ... Three days later, I woke up in a VIP hospital suite. Margot was sitting by the bed, clutching a piece of paper, her face livid. Hearing me cough, she turned toward me, her voice trembling with suppressed fury. “Did you sleep with her that day?” I was weak, my head spinning. I had no idea what she was talking about. “Who? Sleep with who?” She threw the paper onto my lap. “Gideon, how long are you going to keep playing the martyr? She’s pregnant! Five weeks! Exactly five weeks!” “Count the days, Gideon. Five weeks ago was the day you went to see her. No wonder you were so calm about the divorce. You couldn't wait to go back to her, could you? You thought a baby would make her choose you!” “But you miscalculated. She didn't keep it!” The words hit me like a physical blow. I grabbed the paper and squinted at it. It was a medical record for a termination. My ex-wife’s name was at the top. But the math didn't add up. It wasn't mine. As I let out a hollow, bitter laugh, a pair of strong hands grabbed my arms. Margot was barking orders at her guards to drag me out of the room. “You’re getting a vasectomy. Today. I’m not letting you have a future with her.” I wanted to laugh in her face. If she had bothered to look at how pregnancy weeks are calculated—starting from the last period, not the date of conception—she’d realize I couldn't possibly be the father. “Let go of me!” I found a surge of strength and kicked the guard away. “Get back!” “I’m going to say this once,” I panted, looking her in the eye. “There is nothing between us. Nothing.” She grabbed my collar, her eyes bloodshot. “You still want her that much? You want to go back to the woman who cost you your job and left you on the street? Gideon, are you really that pathetic?” Pathetic? I looked away, blinking back the moisture in my eyes. Yeah, maybe I was. My ex-wife tore my life apart, and I went and married a woman exactly like her. If that isn't pathetic, I don't know what is. She wanted me to have the surgery? Fine. Let's do it. Let's kill any possibility of a "family" once and for all. “Schedule it,” I said, my voice dead. “The sooner, the better.” Margot’s expression shifted from rage to a manic kind of joy. She threw her arms around me. “Oh, Gideon! I’m so glad you’ve come to your senses. I’ll set it up right now!” “Don’t be sad. Once you’ve completely cut ties with her, we can look into a reversal. We’ll have our own children.” I didn't push her away. I just let her hold me. But Margot, there will be no children. And there will be no "us." On the way back to the ward, she made three calls and settled everything. She sat by my bed, holding my hand with the same tenderness she used to show me. “Don't be scared. I’ll be here the whole time.” I pulled my hand away and picked up my phone. I sent her a document. “Look at this. If there are no issues, I’ll have it printed.” “I’d like to get the divorce filed before the surgery—” My voice was drowned out by her phone’s custom ringtone. “Hello? Dominick? What’s wrong?” She stood up, her face tight with worry, and rushed out of the room. The woman who just promised to stay by my side was gone in an instant. I didn't know if she read the agreement, but I had it printed anyway. I waited for her to come back so she could sign it. But the hours ticked by, and she never returned. I was wheeled into the operating room alone. While I was in recovery, I checked social media. My feed was flooded with photos of Margot and Dominick—at a bridal boutique, laughing over racks of white lace. The day I was discharged, she finally appeared. “I’m here to take you home,” she said. Dominick was standing right behind her. He rushed forward. “Big Brother, are you okay? Are you in pain?” He looked down, his face a mask of guilt. “It was all my fault. I was so clumsy that day. I’m just glad you’re alright.” I didn't bother explaining. I stepped back, creating distance between us, and handed Margot the divorce papers. “I’ve already signed.” She scanned the document, her brow furrowing. “Why? Just because of the surgery?” She spoke as if she’d forgotten the original reason—that I caught her in bed with another man. But it didn't matter now. Any reason was a good reason to leave. I put on my face mask to hide my pale, bloodless lips. “Think what you want. If you have no objections, let's go to the courthouse now.” Margot didn't speak. Her grip on the papers tightened until the edges crumpled. “By what right?” she hissed. “I’m willing to overlook your cheating, yet you’re the one demanding a divorce? Do you really love her that much?” A high-pitched ringing started in my ears. I didn't hear a word she said. I just saw her lips moving, her eyes burning with a strange, misplaced sense of betrayal. I nodded vaguely, just wanting it to end. “Are you signing or not? Just give me an answer.” Seeing my indifference, she marched over to the nurse’s station, grabbed a pen, and scrawled her name in a jagged, violent script. “If she doesn't take you back, don't you dare come crawling back to me crying!” The moment the papers were back in my hand, I felt a weight lift. My steps felt lighter as I walked toward the exit. At the hospital gates, a tall, elegant woman was leaning against a black sedan. Elena. “You’re here,” she said with a soft smile. Behind me, Margot’s phone chimed with a notification. It was a message from her private investigator. [Ms. Silvester, we’ve confirmed the medical records. Mr. Beckett’s ex-wife’s pregnancy had absolutely nothing to do with him.]
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