Oh God.
I pull the bag out to deal with it later, then open the file. It’s a petition for dissolution of marriage. My eyes descend to the names—Kane Morgan and Brielle Antonov-Morgan.
My stomach roils, and since there’s no way I’m going to make it to the bathroom, I lean over the garbage can next to Kane’s desk and throw up everything I ate and drank this evening.
He wants a divorce.
After everything he went through to force me into this marriage. After spending months trying to convince me that he actually cared about me. He wants a divorce.
I look at the date on the paperwork and find it’s a few days after he found out I was raped and forced to have an abortion.
“… you’re now damaged goods.”
A single tear slides down my cheek as my father’s words play on repeat in my head.
I’m pregnant with Kane’s baby.
And from the pharmacy bag, my guess is, I’m pregnant because he fucked with my birth control.
Against my better judgment, I let him in.
I fell in love with him.
And now he no longer wants me because I’m damaged goods.
“Meow.”
I glance down at Molly circling my feet, and I pick her up, holding her close to my chest.
“C’mon, pretty girl,” I say through a sob. “We need to pack.”
32
Kane
The momentI step into my house, I know something is off. For one, the guards aren’t manning the door, and it’s quiet … too quiet. Brielle usually has music playing or the TV on, and when I walk inside, the cat usually prances to the door to greet me.
“Brielle,” I call out.
I pull my phone out and call Giani, not wanting to waste any time. If something happened to her, I’ll tear this fucking town apart until I find her. I promised her she’d be safe, and I’m not a liar.
“Sir.”
“Where the hell is my wife?” I ask, cutting right to the chase.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t say.”
I run up the stairs and into our room, but it’s empty.
I check the bathroom, and my eyes land on the engagement ring, still in the soap dish, only next to it is also her wedding band.
She left me.
“Can you at least tell me that she’s safe?” I rasp, emotion clogging my throat.
“She is,” Giani tells me. “We’re with her.”
“Let me talk to her.”
