GAME OVER ETHAN: HER FINAL MOVE

ANASTASIA'S POV "Mrs. Carter, the doctor will see you now," the nurse called from the doorway. I looked up from my phone, nodded, and shifted uneasily in my seat. For months, I had been dealing with persistent bloating, pelvic discomfort, and irregular periods. The occasional pain in my lower abdomen had become difficult to ignore, and my inability to conceive had finally pushed me to seek medical attention. My phone beeped just as I reached for my bag. I pulled it out, expecting another notification, but the photograph on my screen made my fingers go still. My husband, Ethan, was on one knee, holding out a red velvet box with a sparkling gold ring inside. He was proposing to another woman. I zoomed in, hoping my eyes were playing tricks on me. The sender had kept their identity anonymous, but I barely noticed that detail. It was the woman standing in front of him. Mia. I stared at her face, my lips parting as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing. For two years, Ethan had introduced her to me as his cousin, and I had never questioned their relationship. She was a junior staff member at Whitmore Corporation, someone I had welcomed into my home without suspecting a thing. Yet there she was, accepting a proposal from my husband. "Mrs. Carter?" the nurse called again. I quickly locked my phone and slipped it into my bag. "Yes, I'm coming." I followed her into the consulting room, but my mind remained fixed on the photograph. Even when the gynaecologist motioned for me to sit, I could barely bring myself to look at her. "Your test results are ready," she said, reaching for a file on her desk. Her expression made me grip the edge of my chair. "Is everything all right?" I asked. She paused before sliding the file towards me. "The results are quite complicated, Mrs. Carter." I picked it up, my fingers trembling against the cover. I had planned to wait until I got home before looking through the results, but the way she was watching me made that impossible. I opened the file and scanned the first page. Then my eyes settled on the diagnosis. Stage IV High-Grade Serous Epithelial Ovarian Cancer. I read it once, then again, but the words refused to change. My hand slipped against the paper as I turned to the next page. Estimated prognosis: approximately six months. "Six months?" The words escaped my mouth before I could stop them. The doctor leaned forward, her expression softening. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Carter." I looked up at her, waiting for her to say there had been a mistake. "Are you sure this is my result?" She nodded slowly. "I'm afraid the diagnosis is confirmed, but we'll discuss the available options and what happens next." I stared at the file, unable to take in anything else she said. Six months was all I could hear. I barely remembered leaving the hospital or driving myself home. By the time I reached my living room, the photograph of Ethan and Mia had become a distant thought. I dropped my bag onto the sofa and sank beside it. My eyes returned to the hospital file, which I had carried home as though leaving it behind would somehow change what it contained. How could I have cancer? How could my body be failing me when all I had ever wanted was to become a mother? My gaze drifted towards the cabinet where Ethan kept the supplements he had bought for me. A year after our marriage, he had brought Mia home and introduced her as his cousin, and I remembered how casually she had asked why I hadn't conceived yet. I could still picture Ethan holding my hands and kissing them. "God's time is the best, baby," he had told me, and the following day, he returned with supplements he claimed would help me conceive. He never let me miss a dose, and I had taken them faithfully. Now, I couldn't stop wondering whether there was something in those bottles I had never known about. My phone began ringing, making me jump. I glanced at the screen and felt my jaw tighten when Ethan's name appeared. I let it ring twice before answering. "Hello?" "Baby," he greeted, his familiar voice filling my ear. "How are you doing?" I pressed my lips together and glanced at the photograph still saved on my screen. He had told me he was attending a business meeting with the CEO of Harrington Corporation, but apparently, he had found time to propose to his mistress too. "How's the meeting going?" I asked, keeping my voice steady. "Good," he replied. "But I miss you." A bitter smile crept across my face. Three years of marriage, and I had never suspected that the man I trusted was capable of making a fool of me. Two years of carrying on with Mia, and he had managed to keep me completely in the dark. I wondered who had sent me the photograph, because that person had just exposed the biggest lie of my marriage. "I miss you too," I said. "I'll take a flight tomorrow, okay? I'll come home to you, so don't miss me too much." I stared at the hospital file while he spoke. "All right, I'll be waiting." The call ended before I could say anything else. I lowered my phone and let my eyes settle on the diagnosis again. Six months. My husband was busy planning a future with another woman while I was struggling to understand how much of my own future I had left. I pressed my palm against my forehead, trying to steady my thoughts. My father, Richard Whitmore, had never approved of my marriage to Ethan. As the CEO of Whitmore Corporation, he had always wanted me to marry someone from a family he considered suitable, but I had wanted a simple life. Dad was constantly arranging blind dates for me, and I had rejected most of them without a second thought. On the day I finally agreed to attend one, I met Ethan at the restaurant instead. He wasn't from a prominent or high-society family, and that had appealed to me. He seemed ordinary, and I thought I had finally found someone who wanted me for myself rather than my family name. I helped him climb the corporate ladder, even though I could have easily asked my father to employ him at Whitmore Corporation. I didn't want my carefully hidden identity as the Whitmore heiress exposed, so I approached Dominic Harrington, my childhood friend whose family had been acquainted with mine, and asked him to give Ethan a position at Harrington Corporation. I picked up the hospital file and placed it on the coffee table. My decision to help Ethan had brought him into my life, and now I was left wondering whether he had played me from the beginning. My eyes moved to the supplements again. I didn't have proof that they had anything to do with my diagnosis, but I wasn't going to ignore the possibility. I reached for my phone and opened my contacts. Dominic Harrington's name appeared on the screen, and I pressed the call button. He answered after a few rings. "Anastasia?" "Dominic, I need you to do something for me," I said, my fingers tightening around the phone. "I want you to demote Ethan."