His Disposable Wife Left With His Baby

Chapter 5 Camilla And Kieran

ELARA

I walked until my feet hurt. Until the cold seeped through my dress and I couldn't feel my fingers anymore.

My phone was still upstairs. My coat. My bag with my keys and wallet. Everything.

I stood on the corner of 52nd and Park, watching people rush past with their coffees and briefcases.

I needed to call someone. Borrow a phone. Figure out where to go.

A woman walked past, and I almost asked. But the words stuck in my throat. What would I even say?

Then I saw a pay phone. An actual pay phone, the kind that barely existed anymore. It stood there like a relic, scratched plexiglass and a receiver that probably hadn't been used in months.

I had Anya's number memorized. Had to, after she made me repeat it a hundred times in college. "In case of emergency," she'd said. "In case you're drunk or stranded or in trouble."

This qualified as all three.

I picked up the receiver. It smelled like metal and rain. Dialed. Waited.

She answered on the second ring. "Hello?"

"Anya."

A pause. "Elara? Why are you calling from—where are you calling from?"

"A pay phone."

"A what? Are you okay? Did something happen?"

"I quit."

Silence. Then she gasped, loud enough to hurt my ear. "You quit? You actually quit?"

"Yes."

"Oh my God. Oh my God, Elara, tell me you're serious. Tell me you finally walked away from that—"

"I'm serious." My voice cracked. "I quit. I left. I don't have my phone or my coat or anything. I'm just—I'm standing on a street corner, and I don't know what to do."

"Where are you?"

"52nd and Park."

"Don't move. I'm coming right now."

"Anya—"

"Don't move, Elara. I mean it. Stay right there."

The line went dead.

I stood there, receiver still pressed to my ear, listening to the dial tone. Then hung up. Leaned against the phone booth and waited.

---

Anya arrived in twenty minutes. I heard the Ferrari before I saw it. She pulled up to the curb, and people turned to stare.

She stepped out in an evening gown. Black, barely there, sequined. Her blonde hair was swept up in an elaborate updo, red lipstick perfect, heels so high. She looked like she'd just stepped off a gala.

"Jesus Christ, Elara." She took one look at me and her face fell. "You look—"

"Don't say it."

"—like absolute shit." She pulled off her coat and wrapped it around my shoulders. It smelled like her perfume and cigarettes. "Get in the car."

I did. Sank into the leather seat that was still warm from the heater. She slid back into the driver's seat and pulled into traffic without signaling, earning a honk from a taxi.

"So." She glanced at me. "You quit."

"I quit."

"And you left everything upstairs."

"Yes."

"Including your dignity, I hope. Because you shouldn't have had to give him any more of that."

"Where are we going?"

"My place. We're celebrating." She turned onto Fifth Avenue. "You finally did it, Elara. You finally walked away from that cold bastard who's been using you for three years."

"Anya—"

"No. Don't defend him. Not today." She reached over and squeezed my hand. "Today we celebrate you remembering you have a spine."

I stared out the window. Watched the buildings blur past. "I'm pregnant."

The car swerved slightly. Anya corrected, then pulled over. Right there on Fifth Avenue, hazards on, blocking traffic.

"What did you just say?"

"I'm pregnant. Seven weeks."

Her face went through several expressions at once. Shock. Anger. Horror. Then, grief.

"You're carrying that scumbag's child."

"Yes."

"Elara—"

"I know."

"Does he know?"

"No." I looked down at my hands. "And I'm not telling him."

Anya stared at me for a long moment. Then she put the car back in drive and merged into traffic. "We're going to the hospital."

"What?"

"You need to see a doctor. Make sure everything's okay. Make sure you have options."

"Anya, I don't—"

"You need to see a doctor," she repeated, her voice firm but gentle. "And I'm coming with you."

---

The hospital was quiet at this hour. Mid-afternoon lull before the evening rush. Anya walked in wearing her evening gown like it was the most normal thing in the world, her heels clicking on the linoleum.

"Wait here," she said, depositing me in a chair near the entrance. "I'll get you registered."

I watched her walk up to the reception desk, watched her charm the nurse with that smile she used when she wanted something. She was good at this. Good at taking charge when I fell apart.

I sat there, wrapped in her coat, feeling small and lost and—

I saw them.

Across the lobby, near the elevators. A woman with honey-blonde hair leaning into a man in a charcoal suit. Her hand on his arm. His head bent close to hers. They stood so close their shoulders touched, bodies angled toward each other in that way that spoke of intimacy, of comfort, of belonging.

Camilla. And Kieran.

I watched them wait for the elevator. Watched the doors open. Watched them step inside, still close, still together.

The doors closed.

They disappeared.

Something in my chest cracked. Just cracked a little more, a deeper fissure in something that was already shattered.

Tears slipped down my cheeks. Unstoppable.

"Elara?"

Anya was back. She took one look at my face and sat down beside me. "What happened?"

"Hormones," I said, wiping my face. "Just hormones."

She didn't push. Just put her arm around me and held me while I cried in a hospital lobby wearing her fur coat.

"I don't want to be examined," I said finally. "I don't want to stay here."

"Okay."

"I just want to go home."

"No." She stood, pulling me up with her. "You're not going back to that empty penthouse. Felix is coming home tonight. We'll have dinner at my place. The three of us. Like old times."

"Felix is back?"

"Got in this morning." She steered me toward the exit. "He's been asking about you, actually. Wants to catch up."

Felix. Anya's older brother. I hadn't seen him since college. He'd always been polite. Distant. Once, when Anya and I crashed her car senior year, he came to the hospital. But that was years ago. We weren't close.

"I'm too tired," I said. "I just want to sleep."

"Come to my place. Felix will be there. We can have dinner, and—"

"I can't, Anya." I pulled her coat tighter around me. "I need to go home. Get my things."

"You're not seriously going back there."

"I have to. Everything I own is there. My documents, my clothes, everything."

"Elara—"

"Just for tonight. I'll pack some things. Then tomorrow I can figure out where to go."

She stared at me for a long moment. Then sighed. "Fine. But if he so much as looks at you wrong, you call me. I don't care what time it is."

"I will."

"Promise me."

"I promise."

We got back in the Ferrari. Anya drove me to the penthouse in silence, her jaw tight with worry.

When we pulled up to the building, she grabbed my hand. "You don't owe him anything, Elara. Not explanations. Not apologies. Nothing."

"I know."

"Do you?"

I did. Finally, I did.

I got out of the car. Gave her back the coat. Watched her drive away.

Then I turned and walked into the building. Rode the elevator up to the penthouse. Used my key.

The penthouse was dark when I stepped inside.

Completely dark. Not even the usual ambient glow from the city lights through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

My hand found the wall, searching for the light switch. My fingers were still cold from outside, clumsy against the smooth surface.

"Don't."

I froze.

The voice came from somewhere in the darkness.

My heart slammed against my ribs. "Kieran?"

Silence.

Then I heard it—the soft clink of ice against glass. The sound of liquid being poured. He was sitting somewhere in the dark, drinking, waiting.

Waiting for me.

"Turn on the light," I managed. My voice came out smaller than I wanted.

"I said don't."

The authority in those two words made my hand drop from the wall.

I stood there in the entryway, coat still on, unable to see more than shadows. My eyes struggled to adjust. I could make out the shape of the sofa, the outline of the windows, but not him. Not where he was.

"Kieran, what—"

"How long have you been lying to me, Elara?"

My blood went cold.