Chapter 2

ARIA

The sound of the door closing echoed in the empty bedroom.

He's gone. Again.

I lay in bed, my hand unconsciously drifting to my stomach. Last month when Blake returned from Tokyo, something was different. He was almost tender, almost present. He forgot protection—Blake Morgan never forgot anything. I didn't remind him.

The doctors said I'd never conceive. But miracles happen to fools like me.

The next morning, my head throbbed. Blake never came home. I sat alone at the breakfast table, the empty chair across from me mocking my expectations.

Why do I still wait for him?

Martha, the estate housekeeper, poured my coffee. "Mrs. Morgan, the maid found torn medical report fragments in your bathroom trash. From Redwood Medical Center?"

My heart stopped. "Just a routine check."

Lie. Everything in this marriage is a lie.

Blake walked in then, and I hated how my pulse quickened. Three years married and I still reacted like that thirteen-year-old girl seeing him for the first time.

"Why are you home?" I asked, surprised.

"Forgot some files." He frowned at my exhausted face. "You look terrible."

"Just didn't sleep well."

"I heard Martha mention something about a report. What was that about?" Blake asked, his eyes fixed on me.

"Just a routine physical. Nothing special." I avoided his gaze. "I'd like to take today off and rest."

Blake shook his head. "The Hudson Riverside project at Morgan Enterprises is at a critical stage. You're the project coordinator, you can't rest." He paused. "Besides, Aria, our contract doesn't require you to get pregnant. If you have ideas about that, better forget them."

Does he really hate the idea of having a child with me that much?

Ten years of loving him, and not a single moment was he mine.

I remembered the first time I saw Blake Morgan. I was thirteen, on my knees scrubbing the marble floor of the Grant family mansion when the grand doors swung open. Emma walked in laughing, her golden hair catching the sunlight. Behind her was Blake—tall, imposing, breathtakingly handsome.

"This place hasn't changed at all," he said, his voice deep and smooth.

I looked up, our eyes meeting for just a second before his gaze shifted back to Emma. The transformation was immediate—his ice-blue eyes softened, his stern mouth curved into a gentle smile, and his entire being seemed to glow with undisguised adoration.

He looked at her as if she had strung the moon and stars in the sky.

For years after that, I'd hide in corridors or behind curtains whenever he visited, just to catch glimpses of him. The household staff laughed behind my back.

"Poor girl thinks she has a chance with a Morgan," they'd whisper.

When we signed our marriage contract three years ago, his friends all assumed I was after his fortune. If only they knew the truth—I never wanted his money or status. I just wanted him. The real Blake, not the cold businessman, not the Morgan heir. Just him.

But he never once looked at me the way he looked at Emma.

Blake would never know that while he was designing blue diamond rings for Emma, I was falling asleep each night whispering his name.

The doorbell rang, breaking into my thoughts, and soon after, Elizabeth Morgan walked in with an icy expression on her face.

"Blake, I've been looking for you all morning," she said coldly, her gaze sweeping over me before quickly moving away.

"Mother, what is it?" Blake was clearly displeased.

Elizabeth looked directly at me. "Aria, I've arranged an appointment at Redwood Medical Center. To ensure the Morgan family bloodline continues, we need to start preparing for artificial insemination."

I felt all the blood in my body freeze. I opened my mouth, but couldn't say a word.

Elizabeth's words lingered, heavy and unspoken. Artificial insemination. The Morgan bloodline. As if I wasn't already carrying Blake's child in my womb.

"I don't understand," I finally managed to say, my voice barely audible. My fingers trembled against the edge of the breakfast table.

Elizabeth sighed heavily, her silver-gray hair styled despite the early hour. "What's not to understand? You've been married to my son for three years and failed to produce an heir. Meanwhile, Olivia is already three months pregnant naturally."

Her words stung like acid. Each syllable burned through my skin, my chest, straight to my heart.

Blake crossed his arms, standing between us. "Mother, Aria is still young. There's no rush for these procedures."

"Young? She's already twenty-three!" Elizabeth's eyes widened with impatience. "You're just spoiling her!" She leaned forward, her voice sharp. "You can't still be thinking about Emma, can you? After all this time?"

The atmosphere in the room changed instantly. Blake, usually so controlled, visibly stiffened. He shot Elizabeth a cold look. "Don't bring Emma into this."

It was the first genuine emotion I'd seen from him all morning. Just the threat to Emma's name was enough to crack his perfect composure.

Emma Grant. The golden girl. The one who got away.

Pain twisted in my chest as memories flooded back. Emma was the only daughter of the Grant family, where my mother Christine had worked as a housekeeper for over twenty years. For as long as I could remember, Emma had been everyone's little princess. Her sunlit blonde curls, her delicate features, her exceptional talent for dance.

Even my own mother loved Emma more than she loved me. I grew up watching Christine brush Emma's hair, help her with her costumes, attend every recital – things she never did for her own daughter. "Emma needs me," she would say when I asked why she couldn't come to my school events. "The Grants pay our bills, Aria."

And now she's back. The woman who was supposed to marry Blake before I supposedly ruined everything.

Elizabeth sniffed disapprovingly. "I hope you're at least trying for a child, even without medical intervention."

I stared at my coffee cup, humiliation burning my cheeks. How could I tell her that Blake never forgot protection? That each time was methodical, planned, controlled – except for that one night last month when he returned from Tokyo. That he treated our intimate moments as a contractual obligation, nothing more.

A business transaction. That's all I am to him.

The breakfast table felt suffocating. our housekeeper placed a plate of sliced cucumbers in vinegar beside my toast. The smell hit me instantly – tangy, sharp, irresistible. My mouth watered embarrassingly.

God, I want those so badly. Why cucumbers? I've always hated them.

I reached for the cucumbers, then hesitated, feeling Blake's eyes on me. His gaze was always analytical, always searching for flaws.

"Since when do you eat pickled cucumbers?" he asked, eyebrow raised. "You've always hated sour foods. You wouldn't even touch the lemon sauce at the Richardson gala."