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Tears poured out, and I clamped a hand over my mouth to muffle the sobs. My chest felt like it was being carved out with a dull knife, every breath a jagged stab of pain.

I thought of those nights in Gennady's arms, falling asleep to his heartbeat. His gentle kisses on my forehead, his whispered "I love you". The way his green eyes softened made my heart race.

Those feelings were real. I knew they were real. And that made this hurt so much worse.

If he was a monster, if his love was fake, it'd be easier. But it wasn't. He loved me, and I loved him. Even now, knowing the truth, I still loved him.

That love made me sick, made me feel like a traitor. How could I love the man whose family destroyed mine? How could my heart still ache for him, even after this?

My hand drifted to my stomach, where our baby was growing. Half me, half him.

"God," I groaned, tears blurring everything. "What do I do?"

I loved this child, already so fiercely, even though it wasn't born yet. But thinking of its father, it tore me in two.

I loved Gennady. God help me, I did. Even with this blood-soaked truth between us, I loved him like a madwoman. And that love was killing me.

I stood, legs wobbling, nearly collapsing. I stumbled to the dresser mirror. The woman staring back was a ghost—pale as death, eyes swollen, dark hair a tangled mess. I looked like I'd been through hell for days.

I couldn't stay here.

Not because I stopped loving him, but because I loved him too much. This love would destroy me, drive me insane.

I had to leave. Not to hurt him, not to punish him, but to save myself. To save our baby.

I grabbed the suitcase, yanking clothes from the closet. Each piece carried memories of him, each one a twist of the knife in my chest. This white blouse—I wore it the first time we met. This black evening gown—he'd looked at me like I was a goddess. This necklace…

My hand froze on the rose pendant, white gold glinting under the light. "My rose," he'd called me, his voice warm, possessive.

I ran my fingers over the rose's edges, tears spilling again. I wanted to throw it across the room, but I couldn't. Keeping ithurt too much, but letting it go hurt more. I buried it deep in the suitcase, out of sight.

Twenty minutes later, I dragged the suitcase to the door, my hand trembling on the knob. Once I walked out, there was no coming back.

Once I left him, he was gone for good.

But I had to. For me. For the baby. For all of us.

I took a shaky breath and opened the door.

Voices drifted from the living room—Gennady's voice, low and rough, hit me like a shockwave. My heart jumped, that instinctive pull toward him, but pain crashed in right after.

I reached the top of the stairs, dragging the suitcase, and their conversation stopped dead. I saw him.

He stood by the window, back to me, broad shoulders tense. At the sound of my steps, he turned. Our eyes locked.

My heart nearly stopped. He was still so damn handsome, so magnetic. his green eyes held pain, desperation, and that familiar tenderness. My body screamed to run to him, to fall into his arms, to tell him it didn't matter…

But I couldn't.

I wouldn't.

"Cassie." His voice was hoarse, raw with a vulnerability I'd never heard before.

It nearly broke me. I bit my lip, fighting not to cry. "I'm leaving," I said, my voice shaking despite my effort to sound steady.

Ginnie rose from the couch, her smile smug, victorious. Seeing her brought it all back—her words, the truth that shattered my world.

"Cassie, you finally figured it out," she said, her voice dripping with glee. "I knew you were a smart girl."