---- Chapter 11 Derek Gomez POV: | drove like a madman, weaving through morning traffic, the speedometer needle climbing steadily. My hands were clamped to the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip. My mind was a chaotic storm of fear and adrenaline. The feel of Cory's throat beneath my fingers, the terror in her eyes... | pushed the image away. She was a problem, and | had dealt with it. Now, only one thing mattered: Elaina. The image from my nightmare flashed in my mind-Elaina walking away, her back turned to me forever. An icy dread washed over me. No. | wouldn't let that happen. She loved me. She had forgiven me for so much already. She would forgive me for this. We would get married, we would have our own family, and this whole ugly mess with Cory would become a distant memory. It had to. When | screeched to a halt in front of our building, my heart sank. The makeup artist, the wedding planner, and even my best man, Mark, were huddled on the sidewalk, their faces etched with worry. "Anything?" | asked, my voice hoarse as | slammed the car door. Mark shook his head, his expression grim. "Nothing. We had ---- security open the door. She's not there, man. But... the place is amess." A mess? What did he mean, a mess? Fear, cold and sharp, pierced through my denial. | pushed past them and sprinted into the lobby, ignoring the doorman's call. The elevator ride to our penthouse felt like an eternity. My mind raced, conjuring a thousand terrible scenarios. A break-in. A kidnapping. Elaina, hurt and alone... The apartment door was ajar. | pushed it open and froze in the doorway, my blood running cold. The first thing | saw was the portrait. A huge, framed photo from our engagement shoot that hung in the foyer. Our smiling faces, full of hope and love. It had been slashed to ribbons, the canvas hanging in tatters. My face was completely shredded, leaving Elaina's smiling image staring into a void. "What the hell?" Mark whispered from behind me. | stumbled inside, my legs unsteady. It wasn't just the portrait. The entire apartment, our home, had been desecrated. Every photo of us together had been taken down. The shelves where our albums sat were bare. The little trinkets and gifts we'd given each other over the years were gone. It was as if someone had systematically erased me from our shared history. ---- "Elaina!" | shouted, my voice echoing in the strangely empty space. "Elaina, are you here?" | ran up the stairs to our bedroom, my heart pounding in my throat. The room was empty. Her closet was half-empty. All her favorite clothes, her shoes, her suitcases-gone. But she had left things behind. My things. Every gift | had ever given her was piled in the center of the bed. Expensive jewelry, designer handbags, first-edition books. A mountain of my wealth, rejected and discarded. My gaze fell on the nightstand on her side of the bed. A single sheet of paper was lying there. My hands trembled as | picked it up. It was a report from a medical clinic, dated two nights ago. | scanned the words, my mind struggling to comprehend their meaning. "Patient: Elaina Higgins... Diagnosis: Spontaneous abortion... Gestational age: approx. 6 weeks..." Miscarriage. Pregnant. She had been pregnant. We had lost a baby. A sound, a raw, guttural cry of pure agony, was ripped from my throat. | sank to my knees, the report clutched in my fist. ---- Our baby. The child | had dreamed of. Gone. How? Why didn't she tell me? Then, another piece of paper on the floor caught my eye. It was partially hidden under the bed. | crawled over and pulled it out. It was a hospital report. From last night. A patient transfer form. For a blood donation. From Elaina Higgins... to Cory Pennington. The world stopped. The timeline crashed together in my mind with horrifying clarity. She had found out she was pregnant. Then she had miscarried. And then... and then | had dragged her, my grieving, broken fiancée, to a hospital and forced her to give her blood to the very woman who had helped cause her this pain. | had held her hand and told her she was doing a good thing while she was losing our child. The weight of my actions, the sheer, monstrous cruelty of what | had done, crashed down on me. | was not just a cheater. | was not just a liar. | was a monster. | curled into a ball on the floor, the two reports crumpled in my hands, and | wept. | wept for my lost child. | wept for the beautiful, loving woman | had destroyed. And | wept for myself, because | knew, with a certainty that was absolute and soul-crushing, that | had lost her forever.