The elevator doors hissed open, and a chorus of whispers erupted from my former colleagues. Their eyes, hungry for gossip, zeroed in on me. I ignored them, making a beeline for Drake Alexander's office.

A new woman was already on his lap. I whipped out my phone, found the trending video, and slammed it onto his desk.

Drake glanced up, a smug smirk playing on his lips. "Look who it is. Come crawling back?"

"Drake, just leave me alone!"

He stood, his fingers digging into my chin. "Cecilia, didn't you used to look down on me? Didn't you call me a broke poser?"

I stared, utterly confused, shaking my head.

He tossed his phone onto the desk, the sound sharp. "See for yourself," he spat, venom lacing his tone. "Cross me, and you'll pay."

I picked up the phone. The screen glowed with chat logs – conversations supposedly between me and some contact I didn't recognize. The messages were completely foreign.

The 'me' in those texts was spilling the tea: Drake grew up dirt poor, only finding out his family was loaded when he turned eighteen – a total nouveau riche cliché. Apparently, every investment he touched tanked, making him the biggest joke in the elite circles. The polo team he sponsored? Their games were a straight-up comedy show.

My eyes scanned the unfamiliar messages. "This is impossible," I choked out. "I never said any of this. It's a fake!"

"Fake?" His voice was ice. "I saw it on your phone that day on the yacht. Tell me, who else could have gotten their hands on it?"

I had no comeback. Sure, there were other people on the yacht. But the only one who could have gotten near my suite was Drake himself.

I scrambled to explain. His insecurities were an open book to me. He hated anyone mocking his investments, despised being called nouveau riche. In public, I always steered conversations away from those topics. Privately, I was extra careful. How could I have been bad-mouthing him to some random person? And besides... he'd even said he was going to marry me that day.

But he wasn't buying a single word.

As he turned to leave, his arm slung around the new woman, I stepped in his path. "Believe what you want. Just stop messing with my life with your shady tactics!"

Bang!

"Get out."

My body was still weak from the recent miscarriage. I couldn't react fast enough when he shoved me. I hit the floor hard. He just walked away.

Clutching my throbbing abdomen, a warm gush spread between my legs. I whispered his name, but he kept walking, getting smaller and smaller.

Then, a former colleague shrieked, "Blood! Cecilia, you're bleeding!"

Just as darkness swallowed me, I heard frantic footsteps. Drake's panicked face loomed over me.

When I next opened my eyes, the doctor explained it was a severe post-operative hemorrhage. I was lucky I made it in time.

Drake was by my hospital bed. The worry that had flickered on his face vanished the moment I woke, replaced by his usual cold mask. "About to get married, and you still went and got an abortion?" he stated flatly.

I opened my mouth to respond, but Julien Stephens and his parents swept in. Seeing them, Drake pushed himself up and left without a word, sparing me further humiliation.

Julien asked what happened. I looked down. "I was pregnant," I admitted.

To my shock, his parents – and Julien himself – visibly relaxed. Their expressions softened with concern. "Cecilia, you've been through so much," his mother said. "We knew about the baby. You should have kept it. We would have helped you raise it."

I stared at them, dumbfounded. So Julien had been keeping such a close watch on me, he even knew about the pregnancy.

Tears of unexpected gratitude welled up. "It's okay," I whispered. "The baby's gone now. Once I'm better, I'll give Julien a child of our own..."

Before I could finish, Julien stormed out, leaving his flustered parents behind.

I watched them, bewildered, until Julien charged back in. He grabbed the collar of my hospital gown and slapped me hard across the face.

Before I could even process the blow, he was jabbing a trembling finger at me. "Who told you to get rid of Drake Alexander's kid!"

"Julien, what is wrong with you...?"

"Do you have any idea how much that child was worth? You useless waste! You actually got rid of it!"

His parents, who had seemed so saintly moments before, piped up. His father’s voice was sharp. "On TV, women get mansions after just a few months with him. You followed him for years and got nothing!"

So that was it. They only saw the baby as a payday, a way to extort Drake. What a performance.

I looked at the family with chilling disdain. "You're all disgusting. I want a divorce."

"We're disgusting?" Julien's mother shrieked, hands on her hips. "You should be grateful anyone would take a used-up woman like you! You should be on your knees thanking God!"

Julien raised his hand to strike me again, but a doctor's sharp voice cut through the room. "What is all this commotion in a hospital room!"