Aria's POV
The elevator doors closed behind me with a soft, final ding.
I didn't cry.
Not yet.
Not even as the private lift descended, floor by floor, through the glass tower that housed the Sinclair empire…peeling me away from the life I had fought so hard to belong to. From the man I had once believed would never turn his back on me. From everything I'd given up just to be "enough."
I held the sonogram in my hand, clutched so tightly it crinkled. A tiny shape. A flicker of life. A heartbeat I had yet to hear again. Damien's child. My child. Ours.
"You don't belong here."
His voice still rang like a judge's gavel inside my head. Final. Dismissive.
Not, "Who are you, Aria?"
Not, "Tell me the truth and I'll believe you."
Just… leave.
My heels echoed across the polished marble as I stepped into the lobby. Silent. Empty. Except for the doorman who gave me a hesitant glance but said nothing. He didn't have to. His silence was loud enough.
They all knew.
Everyone in that building…board members, assistants, security, staff…they'd all heard whispers. That Aria Sinclair, the wife of the great Damien, had been caught. Pregnant with another man's child. Thrown out like a scandal in stilettos.
Outside, the cold slapped me full in the face. The rain, ever poetic, poured like the city itself had conspired to make my misery cinematic.
I raised a shaky arm to flag a cab.
The first two passed me.
Finally, one slowed.
The driver barely glanced at me. "Where to, miss?"
I opened my mouth… but nothing came out.
Not the penthouse. That was his.
Not the tiny apartment I had before marriage. I'd given that up years ago.
Not Elias's loft. I was too proud. And too broken.
So I gave the only honest answer I had.
"Midtown," I murmured. "Just drive."
He nodded and pulled into traffic.
The city swallowed me whole.
IN THE BACKSEAT
I leaned my head against the window as the lights of Manhattan blurred past, streaked with raindrops and regret.
How many nights had Damien and I driven through these streets, hand in hand? How many promises had he whispered into my skin, warm against my ear, about forever and family and building an empire side by side?
Now he couldn't even look at me.
I opened my purse and pulled out the flash drive Elias had handed me…the last piece of truth in a world full of smoke and knives. Cold metal. A sliver of hope.
Exposing Miranda would mean war.
It would ruin her. Humiliate her. Reveal the lies.
But it might also bring Damien back.
And what if it did?
Would I want him?
Would I trust him?
I looked down at my barely-there bump, a quiet promise beneath my palm. I couldn't let this child grow up chasing crumbs of love the way I had.
So why was my heart still hoping he'd call?
MOTEL ROOM – LATER THAT NIGHT
The room smelled like disinfectant and desperation.
I dropped my bag on the bed, one small suitcase with everything I could carry, and nothing I actually wanted. I sat on the edge, numb, watching the flickering TV that wasn't even on.
Then I took off my wedding ring.
It came off too easily. Like it had been waiting for this moment.
I stared at it for a long time, the way I used to admire it when we first got married. Damien had proposed under a canopy of fairy lights, barefoot in his kitchen, with flour on his hands. No photographers. No PR. Just us.
The man who had whispered, "You're my peace." now couldn't look at me without thinking of betrayal.
I dropped the ring into the drawer next to the bed. A hollow clink. A sound like closure.
"Goodbye, Damien," I whispered into the silence.
Then I turned off the light and let the dark hold me.
THE NEXT MORNING
I brushed my teeth over the rust-stained sink, using a motel toothbrush wrapped in plastic that said "Complimentary" in bold letters…like this place had something to offer besides cheap loneliness.
My phone buzzed.
Elias.
I didn't hesitate.
"Hey." I answered.
"You okay?" His voice was gentle, almost too gentle.
"No," I said truthfully. "But I'm awake."
A pause. Then: "I dug deeper into the flash drive. Miranda's trail isn't just dirty…it's radioactive. She funneled the photos and transfers through a dummy PR firm. Offshore accounts. Staged leaks. Everything designed to look like you sold out both Damien and the company."
My mouth went dry. "She's been planning this."
"For a long time," Elias confirmed. "She even has ties to Enovate."
I blinked. "Damien's competitor?"
"More than that. She's been selling Sinclair secrets for years. Positioning herself to take over if Damien ever falters."
"And instead of seeing that, he saw me."
Elias didn't answer.
"God." I whispered. "She didn't just destroy my marriage. She betrayed his legacy."
"She made sure he'd burn it all down himself." Elias added.
I clutched the sink. "You think he'll believe it? When he sees the proof?"
"I don't know," Elias said carefully. "But the question is… do you care?"
I stared at my reflection. Hollow cheeks. Tired eyes. A woman I didn't recognize anymore.
"No." I said softly. "Not enough to stay."
"You're leaving?"
"I have to," I said. "This city… this life… I've lost myself trying to prove I belonged. I need to rebuild somewhere quiet. Somewhere clean."
"You have a child now."
"I know," I whispered. "That's why I have to go. I won't let this baby grow up in a world where love is a transaction and trust is a PR strategy."
"Where will you go?"
"I don't know yet. Portsmere, maybe. It's small. Forgettable. Safe."
"I can help." Elias offered.
"I know you can. But I need to do this alone."
A pause.
"Then promise me something,l." he said. "Promise you won't disappear completely. I want to know you're okay."
My voice cracked. "I promise."
AFTERNOON – MANHATTAN TRAIN STATION
The train station was loud. People everywhere. None of them knew me. None of them cared.
It was exactly what I needed.
I held a single suitcase. Wore a plain coat. No makeup. No glam. No Sinclair sparkle.
Just Aria.
The train to Portsmere pulled into the station, slow and steady. A lifeline wrapped in steel.
I stepped closer to the platform edge, the wind whipping against my coat.
Then my phone buzzed again.
I almost didn't look.
But I did.
Damien.
My heart stopped.
My thumb hovered over the green button. One press, and I'd hear his voice again.
I imagined him pacing his office, glass in hand, staring at the same sonogram he'd once dismissed. Maybe Elias had shown him the files. Maybe Damien finally believed me.
Maybe he'd say sorry.
Maybe he'd beg.
Maybe I'd crumble.
I closed my eyes, listening to the ringing.
Then…
Voicemail.
I stepped onto the train.
The doors slid shut behind me.
No more second chances.
No more Manhattan.
No more Damien Sinclair.