Chapter 2 Tell Me It's Not True

Elena 

His eyes were cold and murderous. I wondered if they were the same eyes that had once looked at me with nothing but pure love and great admiration.

I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came. I was still holding his phone. I'd just seen the message from Sophie. The photograph was still in my phone, a ticking time bomb that was about to destroy everything.

The pieces started clicking together with sickening clarity. 

This couldn't be happening. 

I'd just found out I was carrying Damien's child, the child we'd both wanted so desperately. I'd been so happy, so full of hope, so certain that everything was finally falling into place. 

So how… where…

My chest was tightening up. I couldn't breathe. I felt like I could die any moment. Tears streamed down my face as I stared at him.

He was still as handsome as the day I met him, tall and broad-shouldered, his dark hair swept back from a face that could have been carved from marble.

His expression hasn't wavered. His cold eyes were now fixed on his phone in my hand. "You shouldn't be here," He said, his voice sharp. "What do you want, Elena?”

I wiped my tears with the back of my hand and stood on shaky legs. My whole body was trembling.

Damien crossed the room in three strides and took the phone from my hand, his jaw tightened as his eyes flicked to the screen. 

For half a second, something cracked in his expression. Then it was gone, smoothed over like it had never been there at all.

"So what?" He said. His voice was emotionless.

"So what?" My voice cracked. I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to calm my racing heart. "Damien, Sophie said she is pregnant. The girl we have been helping and you say so what?"

"There's nothing to explain." He said coldly. 

"Nothing to…" I let out a broken laugh. "You…" 

"Elena." He cut me off. "You are making a scene here. I do not have time for this."

"Making a scene?!" Tears streamed down my face endlessly. I couldn't believe what was happening. "Your mistress is pregnant and I am making a scene? You destroyed our marriage and I am the one causing problems?!"

"I said, there is nothing to explain." His voice raised.

I was already losing my mind. This man standing here couldn't be my husband. He couldn't be Damien who promised till death do us apart.

I had no choice but to beg. I couldn't help myself. "Damien, please. Just talk to me."

He didn't say anything. He walked to his desk and pressed the intercom instead, like I wasn't even standing there begging him.

The door opened almost immediately. Lucas stepped in, and his eyes went straight to me, to the tears streaming down my face, then to Damien, whose expression was unreadable. 

"Take my wife home," Damien ordered. "She is not feeling well."

I shook my head violently, clutching the edge of his desk to steady myself. "No. I'm not going anywhere until you explain this to me!" My voice rose, cracking down the middle. "Damien, look at me. Look at me! Tell me you did not sleep with her!"

Damien's face hardened and his voice turned to ice. "Keep your voice down. I will not have you embarrass me in my office space. Not in front of my staff!"

"Embarrass you?" I was shaking now. "I caught you cheating and you say I'm embarrassing you?"

"Elena." His voice was a warning now, low and final. "Go home. We'll talk later."

"No. No, I want you to tell me right now that this is a mistake. Tell me Sophie sent that to the wrong person. Tell me…"

My legs gave out beneath me. The room tilted sideways, and I was falling. But Lucas caught me before I hit the ground.

"Sir…" Lucas started.

"Take her home," Damien said again, already turning his back on me. Indicating he was done with the conversation. 

I wanted to scream. I wanted to grab him by his expensive suit and shake him until something, anything, cracked behind that ice-cold mask. But my body had stopped listening to me. 

Lucas half-carried me out of the office, past the assistants who suddenly found their computer screens very interesting, into the elevator, then into the car.

I pressed my face into my hands and sobbed. The sound that came out of me was not human. It was the sound of everything I had believed in crumbling to dust. I rocked back and forth.

Lucas did not say anything. He just reached back and offered me a handkerchief.

I took it with shaking hands and pressed it against my eyes, trying to stop the tears, but they kept coming. "Thank you," I whispered.

He nodded once and drove in silence.

The house was empty when I walked in. Of course it was. Damien was still at his office, dealing with his empire, dealing with... what? Sophie? The baby she was carrying?

The house that had once been my haven suddenly felt different. Every photograph on the wall suddenly felt like it belonged to someone else's life.

Then, I went upstairs and started packing.

I didn't know why. My hands just moved on their own, folding sweaters, pulling dresses from hangers, and stuffing them into a suitcase like my body had made a decision my heart hadn't caught up to yet.

Halfway through, I stopped and sank onto the edge of the bed, and the tears came again. I heaved and gasped, trying to get oxygen into my lungs.

This has to be a dream, I thought. Damien and I were perfect, there were no flaws. We had been through everything together. The early years when we had nothing. The struggles, the sleepless nights, the dreams we built side by side.

I curled into a ball on the floor, hugging my knees to my chest, and I cried until there was nothing left.

I kept checking the clock. Seven. Then nine. Then eleven.

Damien hasn't returned.

He didn't even think to come home early, I thought bitterly, wiping my swollen eyes. Not even after what happened today.

It was nearly midnight when I finally heard the front door open. I sat frozen on the edge of the bed, listening to his footsteps climb the stairs.

He stood in the doorway, looked at me, then at the packed suitcase beside my feet. 

I studied his face desperately, searching for any sign, any crack, any proof that this had all been some horrible mistake, some prank.

But there was nothing.

"Why are your bags packed?” He asked flatly.

I pushed myself up on shaky legs. My whole body ached. My head pounded. My heart felt like it had been ripped out of my chest and stomped on. My voice was hoarse, barely recognizable.

"Tell me Sophie made a mistake, Damien." I took a shaky step toward him. Fresh tears were streaming down my face. I could barely see him through them. "Tell me she meant to send that message to someone else. Tell me you're not her boyfriend. Tell me the bracelet was just a coincidence." My voice broke completely. "Tell me you're not… having an affair."

I was begging now. I could hear it in my own voice. 

I pressed my hand against my forehead, shaking my head back and forth. Please, I thought. Please just tell me I am wrong. Tell me I am crazy. Tell me anything but the truth.

The silence stretched between us. It was suffocating.

He met my eyes, and I saw nothing. No guilt. No shame. No regret. Just cold, clinical indifference.

"Damien," I whispered. "Please. Just tell me it is not true. I need to hear you say it."

He walked past me to the dresser, loosening his tie. He did not even look at me when he spoke.

"Why would I tell you something that is not true?"