Chapter 8
ZEUS‘ POV
I didn’t move. The door shut behind the doctor, quiet like a final breath, and I just stood there. Holding a death certificate with her name on it. Savannah Smith–her fucking last name I hadn’t heard in years.
I just stood there. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.
She’s dead. The words kept echoing, but they didn’t stick. Didn’t make sense.
Not Savannah.
Not my Savannah…
Not the woman I’ve known since I was nineteen. Not the girl I used to hold when she had panic attacks at 2 a.m., the same girl who used to fold my shirts with that stupid little crease because she said it made the drawer neater. Not the one who made this cold house feel like a fucking
home.
“She… She was pregnant,” I said suddenly. The words came out hoarse. Empty.
Zoraya was in the corner, looking too fucking pleased for my taste. She froze. Her lipstick was perfect. Dress too expensive. Too calm. She was always too calm.
“What?” she asked, pretending like she didn’t hear.
“I said she was pregnant.” I turned toward her, my hands still holding that damn paper like it might bite me. “Did you know?”
“Of course not,” she said, too fast. “She never said anything. That’s not my fault.”
One of my men stepped into the room, holding a manila folder. I snatched it from his hand. Medical. Autopsy. Clean but cold.
Late–stage glioblastoma.
Untreated. Unspoken.
I read the line three fucking times. Cancer. In her brain. While she was carrying a child.
Holy Moly!
She didn’t tell anyone. Not even me. And I was too blind. I didn’t notice her eyes get dull. Didn’t question the weight she lost. The dark circles. The shaking. The way her body looked like it was starting to give up.
I thought she was throwing tantrums. Being dramatic. I even made her kneel in the fucking rain. In front of my men. Like a criminal.
And she never said a word.
She didn’t fight. She didn’t scream. Didn’t defend herself when Zoraya framed her. Didn’t tell me she was sick. She just kept taking it.
And I let her.
I let Zoraya take over. I let her dress in Savannah’s clothes. Sleep in Savannah’s bed. Eat Savannah’s food. Smear her scent all over our life like a goddamn parasite.
I told Savannah to be happy for us.
Charte–O
1:16 pm
I told her I’d still marry her–even while I fucked another woman under her roof.
Fuck.
I turned, stormed out of that hospital room. Zoraya grabbed at my arm, saying something- probably some fake soft shit like, “Zeus, wait, don’t be mad.”
I shoved her back so hard she hit the wall.
I didn’t even flinch.
I got in my car. Slammed the door. Sat there in silence while the engine idled. And then it hit me.
She’s gone.
I started yelling. Not words. Just rage. Raw.
Slammed my fists into the steering wheel again and again. Cracked the leather. Smashed the dashboard until the console split.
My knuckles split open, blood dripping down my wrists. But I didn’t stop.
I saw her again. In my head. Smiling at me in that stupid pink robe she wore on Sundays.
Folding laundry while humming under her breath.
Hugging me from behind when I got home from long nights.
Crying quietly when I said Zoraya was moving in.
Bleeding in the fucking rain while I turned my back on her. And now? She’s fucking dead.
Because I didn’t protect her. I protected the wrong woman. I threw the real one away.
I killed her.
I, Zeus fucking Lambert, buried the only woman who ever loved me without asking for anything.
And the worst part? She didn’t even hate me for it.
Not even when she was dying. She still looked at me like I was her whole goddamn world.
And I spit on that love.
Now I’ve got a baby coming… but no Savannah.
And this guilt?
It’s gonna bury me long before the bullet ever will.
The house was dark when I walked in. Too quiet. Not that fake kind of silence, either–the real kind. The kind that presses down on your chest like a goddamn brick.
I didn’t bother turning on the lights. I headed straight to the guest room.
Savannah’s room.
Not because she wanted it. Because I told her to sleep there like a damn dog. After I let Zoraya take her place in our bed. Our home.
I stood in the doorway for a long time. Her scent still hung in the air, soft and sweet, like lavender and vanilla. I used to love that smell. Now it fucking guts me.
I stepped inside. Kicked the door shut behind me.
And lost it.
Chapter 8
1:16 pm G
I punched the dresser so hard it cracked in half. My knuckles split open again. Didn’t even care Blood smeared across the wall when I hit it next–over and over, until my fist went numb and my vision blurred. I tore the bedsheets off, flipped the mattress, ripped the goddamn pillows apart like they owed me something.
The rage didn’t go away.
t only made room for the grief.
dropped to my knees. Hands trembling. Breathing like a rabid dog.
That’s when I saw it. Something peeking out from under the nightstand. Half–covered by dust and a silk ribbon.
Her journal.
pulled it out with bloodstained fingers. Pages worn at the edges, the paper soft from where she nust’ve flipped through it over and over. I opened it.
Saw her handwriting.
Goddamn!
She wrote about the baby.
‘Our baby.”
‘I didn’t tell him. He’s already building a life with her. But I feel it inside me. I feel it kicking. Anc t’s mine. It’s his. And I still love him.”
stared at the words like they were a knife in my chest. Because they were. Every goddamn letter carved into me.
There was a schedule tucked between the pages. Prenatal appointments. Notes. Drawings. Jltrasound printouts. Tiny little feet. Our baby.
pressed the image to my forehead and broke.
For real this time. No yelling. No punching. Just this sick, hollow sob that came out of me like a
roken engine.
What the fuck have I done…”
whispered it again and again like I could take it back.
pm
5
Chapter 9
