Chapter 3

chapter3

Mia clenched her fist tighter around the crumpled pregnancy test. “If I really were pregnant, I wouldn’t have agreed to the divorce so easily.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Maya sneered, her eyes raking over Mia with disdain. “A gold digger like you wouldn’t miss an opportunity to secure a seat at the table with a pregnancy. But even if you were carrying a child, Tim would never let you keep it. You’re a peasant; you don’t deserve to give the Barrett family an heir.”

Mia turned her back, walking toward the closet to continue packing, but Maya was relentless. She followed close behind, her voice sharpening. “Hold on. Show me that paper you took from the bedside table.”

The more she thought about it, the more uneasy Maya became. She couldn't leave any room for doubt. If Mia were truly pregnant, that child had to disappear.

Mia held the paper to her chest. “This is my private business.”

“Private business? I bet you’re trying to steal something valuable on your way out! Hand it over!” Maya lunged forward, prying at Mia’s fist and raising her other hand to strike.

Instinct took over. Having grown up in a rough environment, Mia didn't hesitate; she grabbed Maya’s arm and threw the woman over her shoulder. Maya hit the floor with a thud and immediately began to wail. “My leg! My hand! Oh, it hurts!”

“What the hell are you doing, Mia?”

A voice, cold and sharp as a winter wind, rang out from the doorway. Mia froze. Timothy stood there, his presence suffocating. Her heart jolted. “Timothy, it’s not what you think…”

He didn't even look at her. He brushed past Mia as if she were invisible, sweeping Maya into his arms. As he did, his gaze fell on the coffee table nearby, where the divorce agreement lay. He saw Mia’s signature, written clearly on the final page.

Timothy stared at it for a beat longer than necessary. She signed it that quickly?

“Tim?” Maya whimpered, drawing his attention back.

Timothy lowered his gaze, his voice softening. “Are you okay?”

“My hand hurts, Tim. Is it broken? What if I can’t play the piano anymore?” Maya sobbed, burying her face in his chest.

Timothy placed her gently on the bed. “You’ll be fine. I’ll have a doctor look at you immediately.”

Then, he turned to Mia. The warmth he had shown Maya vanished instantly. “Apologize to her. Now.”

Mia’s heart felt like it was being squeezed. Maya was the heiress of the Lane family, doted on by three powerful brothers. Timothy was "protecting" her, but the way he said her name—Maya—stung the most. Their names were so similar, yet in three years, Timothy had never once pronounced "Mia" with that level of care.

Even on the one night they had spent together, in the heat of the moment, he had whispered that name. She had fooled herself into thinking he was just mispronouncing hers. Now, she realized the bitter truth: she had always been a shadow, a temporary placeholder for the woman he truly loved.

The ache in her chest turned to a dull, heavy numbness. “Apologize?” she asked hoarsely.

“You laid a hand on her first. Even a child knows you apologize when you're in the wrong,” Timothy snapped. “Do you have any idea how important a pianist’s hands are?”

Mia almost laughed. A strand of Maya’s hair was worth more to him than Mia’s entire existence. She was a blade of grass by the roadside, meant to be stepped on. She had spent three years being the perfect, submissive wife, but she couldn't take it for one more second.

“I don't care whether you believe me or not,” Mia said stubbornly, her chin tilted high. “She’s the one who made the first move!”

Kaleb, the butler, appeared at the doorway. He glanced at Maya’s sobbing form and then at Timothy. “Mr. Barrett, I saw it from the hall. Mrs. Barrett pushed Ms. Lane.”

Timothy’s brow furrowed. “Apologize!”

“What if I refuse?”

Surprise flashed in Timothy’s eyes. Mia had always been the quiet, obedient girl who followed his every whim. Where had this sharp tongue come from?

He pursed his lips, his voice dropping to a threatening low. “You’ve grown a spine, have you? Fine. Think about your uncle James. He’s still lying in that private ward, isn't he? Do you want to see what happens when his funding is cut?”

The air left Mia’s lungs. Her uncle, James Stone, was her only living relative who had ever been kind to her, now comatose after a tragic accident. She couldn't believe Timothy would stoop so low as to use a dying man to threaten her.

She looked at Maya, who was now lying on Mia’s bed, looking perfectly at home. The wedding photo hanging above them felt like a cruel joke. Mia finally gave in to the crushing weight of reality.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice raw.