First love. First wife. First girlfriend.
That's what I was to him. His high school sweetheart.
I thought I was his everything.
I loved him more than he loved me. Maybe that was the problem. Because when he cheated, when he got another woman pregnant, I stayed.
He begged me. Snot dripping from his nose, eyes red from crying, his hands gripping mine so tight I couldn't feel them. His mouth spilling promises—never again, I swear, I love you, don't leave me.
I believed him. And I stayed.
From high school until now, I'd only ever loved Kyle. I couldn't imagine life without him. The thought alone scared me. So I forgave him.
Everyone makes mistakes, right?
For a while, things went back to normal. The woman and her son lived in the boys' quarters. Kyle didn't let her step into the main house. That was my only condition. He agreed without hesitation. He abandoned her, and it made me believe I still came first.
Life was good again. Or so I thought.
The sting on my cheek burned. The ringing in my ears hadn't stopped. I stared at him in shock, my mind unable to process what had just happened.
Kyle had never yelled at me. He had never, ever hit me. Until now.
"Danny—oh God, Danny, I'm sorry." His hand rubbed the back of his head, his eyes wide with regret.
I couldn't speak. My lips trembled, my chest heavy with disbelief.
"Sweetheart, I didn't mean to."
Behind him, a little boy stood frozen. Kyle's son. His exact copy. His wide eyes blurred as fresh tears filled mine.
"Take him away," Kyle snapped at Miriam, the boy's nanny. She rushed out with the child, leaving us alone.
In the silence, Kyle dropped to his knees. "Danny." He grabbed my hand, kissing it desperately. "I didn't mean to." Then, in one motion, he stood and pulled me against him, holding me tight.
I couldn't breathe. His words echoed in my head.
I didn't mean to. I won't do it again.
The same words my father had used on my mother. Words that meant nothing. Because he always did it again.
I pulled away. My heart was breaking, but I refused to be her.
"You broke my trust. I forgave you. You had a child with another woman—I forgave you. The first time you hit me, I told myself it was a mistake, and I forgave you. But this?" My voice cracked. "You hit me because—"
Kyle's eyes widened. "I know. I was wrong. I shouldn't have raised my hand. I'm sorry, Danny. Please—"
Tears spilled down my face. "He was throwing things. I told him to stop, and when he didn't, I took the remote. That's it. And you hit me for that?"
"My love, listen… he came crying, said you hit him."
"And you believed him. Without even asking me?"
"I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you. For the rest of my life, I'll make it up to you."
But I knew the truth. My heart already knew.
"I can't stay." The words escaped before I could stop them.
Kyle froze. "What?"
"I'm done with this marriage. I won't put up with this anymore." My voice was steadier now, even though I was trembling inside.
His expression darkened instantly. The man I'd loved for twelve years vanished before my eyes. His hand fell from mine, and his voice turned cold.
"If you want to leave me," he said, "then you'll leave the same way I met you. Empty."
Empty.
The word cut deeper than his slap.
For years, he told me not to work. He wanted to provide everything. He pampered me, made me believe I was the luckiest wife alive. Our friends envied me. He asked for my opinion before every decision. He put me first—or so I thought.
Now he wanted me to leave with nothing.
"You can't mean that," I whispered.
"You heard me, Danny. I can't let you go. If I have to be cold to make you stay, then so be it."
I realized then—I had already lost the man I fell in love with. The slap was proof. His words were confirmation.
So I packed one small luggage. Only the clothes I had bought for myself. Nothing else.
He watched me drag the bag toward the door. His eyes were dark, but his voice was soft, almost mocking.
"No man will ever love you like I did. No man can handle that temper. No one. Think again, sweetheart. I still love you."
I looked at him one last time. My chest ached, but my decision was clear. Even if I had to sleep on the street, I would never come back.
The night air was cold as I crossed the bridge, pulling my luggage behind me. My tears wouldn't stop. My life felt like it was ending.
Kyle was my best friend. My only friend. Now I had no one.
A small voice whispered in my head—had I overreacted? Kyle wasn't a violent man. Was I projecting my father's sins onto him?
The thought haunted me. But my feet kept moving forward. As if they knew there was no turning back.
I was just about to stop and rest when I saw him.
A small boy, standing on the edge of the bridge. His hands gripped the rail, his eyes fixed on the dark water below.
My heart stopped.
"Hey!" I ran forward. "Don't do that!"
He turned, and tears streamed down his cheeks. "I don't want to live anymore." His voice cracked, and I felt my chest tighten.
He couldn't be older than ten.
"Why would you say that?" I asked softly.
"My father…" His little body shook. "He's going to marry a wicked woman. She pretends to like me, but when he isn't around, she hits me."
I pulled him into my arms without thinking. He clung to me, sobbing harder.
"It's okay. It's alright," I whispered, though the words felt useless.
"Why don't you tell your father?" I asked.
"I did." His voice broke. "I wrote him a letter. He read it… but he's still marrying her."
I froze. What kind of child wrote letters instead of speaking? And what kind of father ignored them?
"What's your name?"
"Adrian," he sniffled.
"And your father?"
He hesitated, then whispered, "Rolland Hues."
I almost laughed. That was impossible. Rolland Hues was the owner of Pharaoh Group. A sixth-generation business dynasty. He was the richest man in the country. He didn't just own companies—he owned chains of hotels, restaurants, a luxury car brand, even a football club. He was wealth itself.
And he definitely didn't have a son.
"Who's your father?" I asked again.
The boy looked at me with serious eyes. "Rolland Hues. I'm his son. But you can't tell anybody."
Before I could respond, men in black suits appeared, surrounding us. Their presence was sharp, dangerous.
"Step away from the boy," one of them ordered.
Adrian grabbed me tighter. "I don't want to go with them!"
My heart raced. "Do you know them?"
"Yes. They're my father's bodyguards. But I don't want to go."
The men stepped closer. "Release him, madam."
I tightened my hold on him. "He said no. I won't let you drag him away like this. He's a child, for God's sake."
One of them reached out. Adrian hid behind me, clutching my hand.
"Stop!" I shouted. "If you want him to go, I'll go with him. We can do that right?"
The bodyguards exchanged looks. Finally, one of them gave a small nod.
I knelt to Adrian's level and whispered, "I'll go with you. I'll make sure your dad listens."
His lips curved into the faintest smile. He nodded.
They led us to a black car. The ride was silent, heavy. My heart was still breaking from Kyle, but this strange boy's presence distracted me.
When the car stopped, I stepped out and froze.
A mansion. Bigger than anything I had ever seen. Tall iron gates. Marble walls. Endless lights.
Had he been telling the truth?
"This is your home?" I whispered.
Adrian smiled faintly and nodded. "Yes. This is my father's house."
He held my hand tightly, refusing to let go, as the grand doors swung open.
And I couldn't help but wonder… what world was I walking into?