“The one who isn’t loved is the real other woman. Lyra, you were never his first choice, just a convenience. He appreciates beauty the way I do, he shares my tastes, and he loves me.”
The messages were a running commentary on Caspian’s betrayal. The man who had been so distant with her for seven years had apparently mastered tenderness for someone else.
Lyra scrolled to the very first text. “You should know who I am. Did you like the flowers in your living room today? I sent them. He said they were beautiful.”
Of course, Lyra knew who it was. Isolde Finch, the celebrated floral designer whose arrangements graced the grand villas and lavish parties of the city’s elite.
Lyra had shown Caspian the messages before. He had dismissed them, claiming there was no proof they were from Isolde. He’d even suggested Lyra might have sent them to herself to cause trouble. Most of the messages were just text, and the few photos were too vague to be conclusive.
But today’s was different. Today’s was undeniable.
Lyra considered showing him the photo, but then her gaze fell to the bedside drawer. She pulled it open.
Inside lay the pregnancy test result from earlier that day.
She was pregnant with Caspian’s child. At the worst possible time.
Tears fell, blurring the ink on the paper. But what did it matter? Caspian’s heart had been gone for a long time.
Lyra wiped her face and picked up the lighter he had left behind. A small flame flickered to life as she held the test result to the fire.
Caspian had no idea that agreeing to the divorce would be the last thing she ever did for him. She had repaid her debt to him—not with money, but with seven years of her life.
She would never love him again.
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