Chapter 2

I cradled my belly as Seraphina's words looped endlessly through my mind, along with the image of Dorian rushing to her side without hesitation.

"Seeing you both living in the blueprint I designed... it really moves me."

Every time I heard those words in my head, my heart felt like it was being carved out.

Dorian never came home that night. Not even a text. I was left there—an abandoned bride—ending the spectacle under everyone's pitying stares.

The doctor said I needed to stay calm, but Seraphina's words kept circling through my mind like poison.

"Blueprint... what did she mean?" Was every corner of this villa really her design?

I took a deep breath and headed for Dorian's study.

Business files in the drawers, real estate materials in the filing cabinet, architecture books on the shelves...

My fingers searched every corner, my heart racing.

Just as I was about to give up, I stood on my toes and touched a folder pushed far back on the highest shelf.

"Malibu Dream House - Original Blueprint"

My pulse spiked.

I opened it with trembling hands. What I saw hit me like a punch to the gut.

Every corner bore meticulous notes, but these specifications... all designed around one person:

[Master Bedroom: S loves morning light, large east-facing windows]

[Kitchen: S's preferred island height 36 inches]

[Walk-in Closet: Adequate hanging space for S's wardrobe style]

[Master Bath: Tub large enough for two persons]

The most damning detail sat in the bottom right corner—the date: March 15, 2019.

I'd met Dorian in April 2020.

"Three years..." My voice trembled in the empty study. "I've been living in her dream this whole time?"

I stared at those notes, my head spinning. Anger, humiliation, disbelief—waves of emotion crashed over me.

The morning sunlight, the kitchen counter height, the bathtub... every single detail of my life had been carefully designed by another woman.

My phone buzzed. A text from Dorian: [Running late tonight. Get some rest.]

My sadness hardened into rage.

Still running away? Did he really think one dismissive text would make me forget yesterday's humiliation, forget this devastating evidence?

I clutched the blueprints. I wanted answers. Today.

I sat in the living room all day with those plans, questions tumbling through my mind. Every minute felt like torture.

At eight PM, the lock turned. Dorian dragged himself through the door, freezing when he saw me waiting on the couch.

"You're still up? The doctor said you need sleep." He tried to deflect. "Let me just grab a shower..."

"We need to talk. Now."

I stood, slamming the blueprints onto the coffee table. The sharp crack echoed through the room.

"Dorian, I want an explanation. Who is Seraphina? Why is our home designed around her dreams?"

The color drained from his face, but he quickly recovered. "Valentina, you... you went through my things?"

"I asked you a question, Dorian." Steel edged my voice. "Every detail she noted on these plans—it's exactly how this house looks now. Even the bathtub placement is identical!"

"That's in the past, don't read into it." Dorian walked to the bar, his back to me as he poured whiskey. "Designers always have specific requirements."

"In the past?" I grabbed the plans, jabbing at the date. "This is from March 2019! A year before we met! We've been together three years, lived together for two, and I've been living in your ex-girlfriend's dream house this entire time!"

The whiskey glass paused in his hand before he downed it. "Valentina, you're pregnant. Don't get yourself worked up. Seraphina just helped with the design, nothing more."

"Just helped?" Dizziness washed over me—not from pregnancy, but from rage. "Then why did you abandon me at our wedding to take care of her? A hundred people were watching! My parents..."

"She's my friend. I couldn't just leave her like that." Dorian turned, his eyes avoiding mine. "You should understand."

"Friend?" I let out a bitter laugh. "What kind of friend says those things at someone's wedding? What kind of friend makes you abandon your wife on your wedding night?"

Dorian's expression turned cold. "I told you, stop overthinking it. Seraphina's gone. Our life doesn't have to change."

"Doesn't have to change?" I gestured at the surroundings. "The sunlight I wake up to, the counter where I cook, the bathtub I use—all of it was designed for another woman! Dorian, do you have any idea what that feels like? Like a squatter in someone else's home!"

"Enough!" Dorian exploded. "Valentina, what do you want? A divorce?"

The air turned to ice.

In three years together, this was the first time Dorian had ever said that word.

I stared at the cold stranger before me, as if I'd never known him at all.

Neither of us spoke again that night. For the next two days, Dorian left early and came home late. We lived like strangers under the same roof.

On the third afternoon, I sat in my parents' cramped living room—that tiny two-bedroom I'd grown up in.

Compared to the villa's luxury, everything here looked shabby—secondhand couch, beaten-up coffee table, yellowing wallpaper.

"Divorce? Are you out of your mind?"

Mom's voice could cut glass. "You're five months pregnant! Valentina, what are you thinking?"

"Mom, I can't keep living like this..." My voice shook. "I feel like a guest in my own home."

"A guest? So what?" Dad slammed down his mug. "Look at where you're living now, then look at this place! Where would you even go if you left him?"

I looked around the small space that had held twenty years of my memories, something heavy settling in my chest. He was right. Where would I go?

"We can't afford to take you in, not with a baby." Mom's words cut deep. "You need to be realistic, Valentina! You think the world out there is easy?"

"But he doesn't even love me..." Tears spilled down my cheeks.

"As long as he's not cheating, you deal with it!" Dad cut me off. "Marriage isn't a fairy tale!"

"Besides," Mom added, envy flashing in her eyes, "Dorian treats you so well! The Malibu villa, private doctors, designer bags... Do you know how many women would trade places with you in a heartbeat?"

"You don't understand..." I closed my eyes. "Money matters, but..."

"But what? You want love?" Dad stood. "Valentina, wake up! Your mother and I have been married twenty-five years—you think we're in love every day? The baby needs a father. You need security. Stop being childish and go home. Apologize."

I looked at my parents' expectant faces, my last bit of hope crumbling.

Even the people closest to me couldn't understand my pain.

At ten PM, I drove back to the villa alone.

Dorian still wasn't home.

I touched my swollen belly, taking in this "home" that reflected Seraphina's taste in every detail. Each corner reminded me—I was nothing but a stand-in.

In the moonlight, I stood alone by the floor-to-ceiling windows, my shadow stark and alone.

The baby kicked gently, as if reminding me—no matter what, I wasn't alone anymore.

But was that fact a comfort or a chain?

I closed my eyes and asked silently: "Baby, what should Mommy do?"