Three months later.
The once-raging storms had faded, but inside Amelia White, a new storm brewed every single day.
Her slender figure had grown more fragile, the subtle curve of her lower abdomen barely visible beneath the oversized thrift-store sweaters she wore to hide her shame.
She stood at the cashier counter of a run-down café, her lips pressed tightly together, her face pale under the flickering fluorescent lights.
Her delicate hands trembled as she handed over the crumpled bills—barely enough to buy a warm meal and the prenatal vitamins she couldn't afford to skip.
The cashier gave her a pitying glance before shoving the change across the counter.
Amelia turned away quickly, blinking back the sting of tears.
I can't cry here… not in front of them.
Outside, the winter wind cut through her thin coat like icy blades.
She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, each step on the frozen pavement echoing like a reminder of how low she'd fallen.
Her mind drifted back to the warmth of the Blake mansion, the silk sheets, the luxury she once naively believed she deserved.
But all of it… just a cruel illusion.
A bitter smile tugged at her cracked lips.
It's fine. I don't need any of it. Not anymore.
As she trudged back toward her dingy apartment, her stomach cramped painfully.
She gasped, her knees nearly buckling under the sudden, sharp pain.
Her hands instinctively flew to her belly, panic flashing through her mind.
No… please… not the baby!
She forced herself to breathe, her fingers trembling as she pressed gently against her bump.
The pain slowly subsided, but fear settled deep in her bones.
I can't afford to be weak. Not now. Not for this child.
Her eyes lifted toward the darkening skyline, her resolve hardening like steel forged in the fires of her suffering.
"We'll survive this," she whispered to the tiny life growing inside her. "And when the time comes… you will know how strong your mother became without him."
Meanwhile…
At the top floor of the Blake Corporation tower, Ethan Blake sat alone in his dark office, a half-empty glass of whiskey dangling loosely in his hand.
Rain streaked down the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, a storm raging just beyond his reach.
His usually sharp, calculating eyes were unfocused, haunted by a memory he couldn't escape.
Amelia's tear-streaked face the night he left.
Her trembling shoulders.
Her broken smile as she stood in that rain-soaked wedding dress.
With a frustrated groan, he slammed the whiskey glass onto the table, the crystal shattering into sharp, glittering fragments—much like the life he'd thrown away.