Chapter 3
But by the third year of their marriage, nothing had changed.
Gideon treated her the way he always had—polite, distant, untouched. Like he was still her mentor, like they were just two people coexisting under the same roof.
Not husband and wife.
Not lovers.
Not anything.
It took her three years to finally accept the truth—
Gideon truly had no heart.
No one could be so indifferent otherwise. No one could ignore everything she had done for so long.
Ophelia had grown up in the powerful Volkov family, adored and spoiled, given everything she ever wanted.
She wasn’t the kind of woman to beg.
And yet, here she was.
Desperate.
Obsessed.
She should walk away. Any sane woman would.
She was still young, still beautiful.
She could find another man, one who would want her, one who would love her back.
But she couldn’t.
Ophelia lay beside him now, watching his face in the dim glow of the bedside lamp.
He slept like he did everything else—calm, unbothered, as if nothing in the world could shake him.
Tears burned in her eyes.
What do I have to do, Gideon? Five years. Five fucking years.
Isn’t that enough time for you to feel something for me? Anything?
She wanted to scream, to shake him, to demand answers.
But every time she saw that peaceful, unreadable expression, the words got stuck in her throat.
Even that night—the night she drugged him.
Even after that.
He had woken up the next morning as if nothing had happened.
No anger. No disgust. No regret.
Nothing.
And that—that—was the cruellest part of all.
Since discovering her pregnancy, Ophelia kept thinking about the girl she used to be before Gideon.
Back then, she had been the envy of Rosenfeld.
The beloved Volkov heiress, showered in wealth and affection from the moment she was born.
Her biggest dilemma had been choosing between designer gowns or deciding which private island to holiday on next.
To the outside world, Ophelia had everything. Even Dahlia, the maid who had been by her side since childhood, believed it.
But no one saw the loneliness. No one knew how hollow she felt inside.
She didn’t know how to let it out, where to put the ache, so all she could do was cry in silence.
She didn’t realise Gideon was awake until she felt his eyes on her.
She wiped her tears away, quick, almost frantic.
He frowned. ‘Leg cramp?’
She hesitated, then nodded.
Gideon sat up and took her foot in his hands. His fingers pressed gently into her arch, working out the tension with precise, practised movements.
Ophelia tried to keep up the act, not wanting him to realise the truth—but, as if her body wanted to betray her, the cramp became real.
She inhaled sharply. ‘Left side,’ she murmured.
His palm, warm and steady, kneaded at the pain until it faded.
Somewhere in the middle of it, exhaustion dragged her under.
As sleep took her, a desperate thought flickered in her mind—
Maybe once I give birth, he’ll love me.
By her eighth month, Gideon was preparing for yet another trip.
This time, Ophelia heard exactly where he was going.
To treat Princess Sofia.
The same woman who had once thrown herself at him.
She caught his hand before he could walk away. ‘Gideon, don’t go.’
He looked at her placidly. ‘Ophelia, don’t start.’
‘She’s doing this on purpose,’ she muttered. ‘You really think she doesn’t just want to see you? She’s a princess, surrounded by court physicians—’
‘She’s married.’
‘So?’ Ophelia shot back, folding her arms.
‘She’s pregnant.’ His tone was clipped. ‘A few days ago, she had a fall. The palace doctors couldn’t help, so they called me.’
Ophelia scowled. ‘You’re not even an obstetrician.’
And I’m pregnant too, she thought bitterly, but she swallowed the words.
Gideon exhaled, his voice softening just a fraction. ‘I won’t be gone long.’
Ophelia wanted to argue—wanted to tell him that she wasn’t doing well either, that being eight months pregnant without a doctor nearby was a huge risk—but in the end, she said nothing.
She had studied medicine at university. Never practised, never gained clinical experience, but she still understood far more than the average person.
Maybe that was why Gideon didn’t think twice about leaving.
Maybe, in his mind, she could handle herself.
Or maybe, this was just another excuse to get away from her.
She didn’t let herself dwell on it.
Instead, she packed his bags like always, neatly folding in the shirts and shoes she had bought for him last week.
Then, as she had done so many times before, she watched him walk away.
The days after Gideon’s departure dragged.
Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones, or maybe it was five years of buried frustration finally surfacing, but everything felt heavier.
The resentment, the loneliness, the exhaustion—it all sat on her chest like a fucking boulder.
Dahlia tried to comfort her, always bringing up Gideon, always reminding her that he’d be back soon.
Normally, that would settle her.
This time, it had the opposite effect.
Every mention of his name only made her feel more restless, more suffocated.
Like she was locked in a room with no air, no way out.
In the end, she gave up trying to ignore it.
‘Let’s go for a walk,’ she muttered.
Dahlia didn’t hesitate. She grabbed Ophelia’s coat and helped her outside.
A walk.
That was about the only outdoor activity she was allowed these days.
It felt ridiculous.
There had been a time—not so long ago—when she spent her winters snowboarding in the Alps, ice-skating on frozen lakes, skiing across pristine slopes.
She had loved the thrill, the adrenaline, the feeling of absolute freedom.
Now?
She could barely step outside without someone fussing over her like she was made of glass.
The accident happened fast.
They had barely made it to the courtyard when Ophelia realised she had forgotten her scarf.
‘Go grab it for me,’ she told Dahlia.
Her maid nodded and hurried inside.
Ophelia stayed behind, one hand bracing against her belly as she wandered forward.
And then—out of nowhere—
