A Love That Ruins

Chapter 2: Cracks In The Diamond

Anna woke up to sunlight pouring through the full-height windows and the smell of fresh espresso. For one blissful second she forgot everything except the heavy, perfect weight on her left hand.

She rolled over, expecting Abel’s warm body, but the bed was cold.

A note on his pillow in his sharp, slanted handwriting: Couldn’t sleep, so I went to the gym. Breakfast on the terrace when you’re ready.

You’re my fiancée. Say it out loud; I love hearing it.

~A

She grinned like an i***t, held the ring up to the light, and whispered, “I’m engaged,” just to feel the words from her tongue. She bounced out of bed, threw on one of Abel’s white dress shirts, and padded barefoot to the porch.

The table was set with avocado toast with scrambled eggs, fresh berries arranged like jewelry, a single white orchid in a crystal bud vase, and a bottle of vintage Krug chilling in ice. A small black box sat beside her plate.

Her heart skipped a beat. Another gift? She opened it. Inside was a sleek Maserati key fob. It had a post that read, "For my future wife. I'll pick you up at 7, wear something red."

Anna screamed, which startled the cleaner. She spent ten minutes texting everyone she loved, sending ring selfies until her phone begged for mercy.

By noon, the news had exploded across every society page and gossip site: CEO of Hartley Tech, Limited, proposes in fairytale rooftop extravaganza.

#AnnaRingGoals trended worldwide.

She didn’t see a single one of Abel’s texts that day. He was “buried in meetings,” according to his assistant, but she was too lost in the fantasies to give it a second thought.

Every hour a new delivery arrived, with two dozen roses with long stems, bridal white Louboutins, and a custom leather planner filled with his handwriting that contained wedding ideas, honeymoon dreams, and baby names.

Anna felt herself floating.

She had no idea that across the city, in a sterile glass office on the 52nd floor, Abel was spiraling.

Amanda sat across his desk, legs crossed, cream silk blouse stretched over her five-month belly.

"Sign." She slid the contract across the polished table: one million dollars, a Tribeca penthouse in her name, and a monthly allowance until the child turned eighteen, in exchange for an ironclad NDA and her permanent disappearance from his life.

There was no mention of termination anymore. That ship had sunk weeks ago when she didn’t show up to the doctor’s appointment, laughed in his face, and reminded him that at twenty weeks she was well past the legal window he’d tried to force on her.

Abel’s pen hovered. He’d spent the night awake, running numbers, worst case scenarios like Anna finding out, the board, and his investors. One whisper of the scandal and the Tokyo merger collapsed, everything he had worked for would be gone in seconds.

He finally signed. Amanda’s smile was sweet as poison. “Good boy.”

“You get the money, the apartment, everything. Just stay gone until after the honeymoon. Then we’ll figure out visitation later.”

She tucked the papers into her Hermes bag and stood.

“Oh, Abel. You still think you’re in control.” At the door she paused, hand rubbing the swell of her belly. “I used to imagine telling you I was pregnant and watching you light up. Stupid, right?”

Abel didn’t answer, so she left without another word.

He poured three fingers of Macallan, stared out at the city. Then he texted Anna a heart emoji and a promise to make it up tonight. After that, he called his fixer.

“Keep an eye on her,” he said quietly. “If she gets any idea about showing up around the city, handle it.”

When Amanda stepped into the elevator, she let the mask drop. She opened the recording app on her phone, which ran through the entire meeting, and saved the new file as Evidencepart3.mp3.

Then she dialed a number she’d been in contact with for years. “It’s done,” she said. “He signed, thinking he bought my silence.” She paused and let out a cold laugh.

“Tell the designer to get the dress ready. It should be blood red. I want to look unforgettable when I walk down that aisle and burn his entire world down.”

She rubbed her belly where the baby kicked hard, smiling at her reflection.

“Mommy’s going to give you the best origin story, my darling.”

Two months flew by in a blur of bridal magazines and champagne toasts. Anna had never been happier.

The wedding plans came to life: cathedral, five hundred guests, Vera Wang gown, and a family estate reception. Danielle handled the Vegas bachelorette. Barry had warned Abel again, but he laughed: "I promise, sir, your daughter is in safe hands."

The night before the final dress fitting, Abel took Anna to their favorite Italian spot in the village. He was attentive and harming, feeding her forkfuls of tiramisu and whispering things about the wedding.

Under the table, his phone buzzed; he ignored it.

It buzzed again.

Anna laughed. “Someone really wants your attention tonight,” she teased.

“You know how work can be,” he muttered, silencing it. But when they stepped outside into the warm spring air, his burner phone vibrated inside his pocket. He kissed her gently.

“Give me two minutes, love. It really seems important.” He ducked into the alley beside the restaurant, his heart hammering.

The text was a photo. A photo of Amanda, standing in front of a full-length mirror, nearly seven months pregnant, belly round and proud under a crimson dress that looks painted on.

The caption read, "See you tomorrow, darling. Don’t forget to save me a seat."

Below it was another photo containing the signed contract, his signature circled in red, next to the recording files neatly labeled and dated. His hands shook so badly he almost dropped the phone.

He called her, and she answered like she was waiting for it.

“You took the money,” he hissed. “You signed the NDA….”

“I signed nothing that matters, Abel Hartley,” she pronounced his full name, voice silk and venom.

“Oh, just to let you know. I’m very much in the city. Got my hair done this morning, chose the perfect dress. The one you said my legs looked like heaven on, remember?"

"You’re going to love how it fits the bump, baby.”

“Amanda, please…”

“No, Abel.” She said it calmly and coldly, like she had practiced this moment. “You don’t get to beg. You get to stand on that altar tomorrow and watch me take everything you love, just like you tried to take our baby.”

“Am…” but the line had gone dead. He tried the number again, and it went directly to voicemail.

He thought of Anna waiting patiently for him, thinking he’d only been answering business calls. He thought of the cathedral packed with cameras and influencers and his so-called future in-laws.

When he came back, his face was pale but composed. Anna slipped her arm through his.

“Everything okay?” she asked softly.

“Perfect, baby,” he lied as he forced a smile. “Let’s go home, fiancée. Big day tomorrow.”

That night, Anna fell asleep dreaming of orange blossoms and vows. Abel sat on the edge of the bed until dawn, staring at the ring on her finger, wondering how many hours he had left before the woman he was about to marry learned exactly what kind of monster she’d agreed to spend forever with.

Across the city, in a penthouse he’d never known she owned, Amanda Voss stood on her balcony, in the red dress, one hand on her belly, watching the sun rise over the cathedral spires.

“Tomorrow,” she whispered to the baby kicking inside her.

“Daddy gets to meet the consequences.”