George stood in front of Nerissa, his luggage already by the door. The weight of the moment pressed between them, but his gaze was steady.
"I have to go to California," he said softly. "I need to settle everything with Isabelle… end it once and for all."
Nerissa's heart ached, but she lifted her chin. "I trust you, George," she replied, her voice calm but filled with emotion. "I know you'll come back to me."
That trust—pure, unshaken—wrapped around George's heart like a warm embrace. He reached out, pulling her close, holding her as if to memorize the feel of her. "You have no idea how much I love you," he whispered against her hair. "And when I come back… it's only you. Always you."
They stood there for a long moment, letting silence speak for them. Then, with one last look, George picked up his bag. His eyes lingered on her, a silent promise in them, before he stepped out the door—carrying her trust and his love across the miles to California.
The rain had just started when George's taxi stopped in front of the hotel in California. He stepped out, the cold wind biting at his skin, but nothing compared to the heaviness in his chest. He wasn't here to see the sights—he was here to cut the last thread binding him to Isabelle.
Inside the hotel lobby, his eyes found her immediately. Isabelle stood by the window, wearing a fitted white dress, her beauty undeniable but somehow colder than before. When she saw him, her lips curved into a hesitant smile.
"George," she breathed, as if his name alone could undo the damage between them.
They went upstairs without a word. The elevator ride felt suffocating—too quiet, too slow. When they stepped into his hotel room, George wasted no time.
"This needs to end, Isabelle," he said firmly. "Whatever we had… it's over. I'm in love with Nerissa, and nothing will change that. I came here to tell you face-to-face so there are no misunderstandings."
Her face froze, then cracked. "You flew all the way here… to leave me?" Her voice trembled, but anger flashed in her eyes.
George's jaw tightened. "I'm sorry, Isabelle. But I can't give you what you want. My heart… it belongs to her."
Isabelle took a shaky step toward him. "George, please," she whispered. "Don't do this to me. I can change. We can make it work again."
He shook his head. "It's too late. I've made my choice."
She stopped, staring at him with wide, wet eyes. Then, as if pulling the last weapon she had, she whispered words that would rip his world apart.
"I'm… four months pregnant."
The air in the room thickened instantly. George felt his chest tighten as if someone had crushed it with their bare hands.
"What?" His voice was barely a whisper, raw with disbelief.
"It's yours," she said, tears streaming down her cheeks. "George… you can't walk away from me. From our baby."
For a moment, George's mind went blank. The room tilted, the walls seemed to close in. In that split second, Nerissa's face filled his mind—the trust in her eyes, the quiet faith she had given him before he left. And now… this shattering revelation.
His fists clenched at his sides, his heart pounding violently. "Isabelle… if this is true…" He couldn't finish. The words felt poisoned in his throat. Was this a cruel game? A desperate lie? Or the truth that would destroy everything he had with Nerissa?
Isabelle stepped closer, placing her trembling hand on his chest. "Please, George. Stay. Choose me. Choose us."
George's breath came in harsh, uneven bursts. He felt trapped between duty and love, between a past that refused to let go and a future he desperately wanted to protect. And for the first time in a long time… he didn't know what to say.
That night, Nerissa sat by the window, her phone clutched tightly in her hand. The rain poured endlessly, each drop echoing her growing unease. She had been waiting for George's call for hours—waiting for his voice to reassure her that everything in California was going as planned.
But when she finally dialed his number again, an automated voice answered.
"The number you have dialed is no longer available."
Her heart sank. A hundred thoughts raced in her mind, but she forced herself to believe in him. Maybe his phone died… maybe he's busy… maybe tomorrow I'll hear from him.
Morning came. Nerissa woke up to the sound of the television in the living room. She dragged herself out of bed, rubbing her tired eyes—only to freeze in place.
On the screen was the morning news anchor, speaking in an urgent tone. Beside him flashed a photo of George… with Isabelle… smiling arm-in-arm at a luxurious event in California.
HEADLINE: "Young Actress Isabelle Secretly Married to El Ecuador CEO—Now 4 Months Pregnant!"
Nerissa's knees buckled. She stumbled toward the TV, her heart pounding so loudly she could barely hear the rest of the report. But then the scene shifted—showing Isabelle sitting at a press conference for her upcoming movie.
The reporters swarmed her, throwing questions about her career, her pregnancy… and her supposed secret marriage to George.
Isabelle, with her perfect smile and poised grace, leaned toward the microphone. "Yes… George and I are married," she said sweetly. "We've kept it private for personal reasons."
Gasps filled the room. Flashing cameras blinded her, but she didn't stop. Instead, her voice grew sharper, her eyes glinting with something dangerous.
"There is a woman," Isabelle continued, "who has been constantly tempting my husband… trying to ruin what we have. I won't name her—but she knows who she is." She smirked, then looked directly into one of the cameras.
"Watch out, Nerissa," she said coldly. "I'm already out of my contract. George is never yours. Don't ruin our family."
The words pierced through Nerissa like shards of glass. Her vision blurred, her breath came in shallow gasps. She felt the walls closing in, the air disappearing from the room.
In a single morning, her world had collapsed. And the man she trusted most… was gone.
Nerissa's legs gave out beneath her as Isabelle's venomous words echoed in her ears.
"Watch out, Nerissa… George is never yours. Don't ruin our family."
Her trembling hands clutched at the edge of the couch as the truth—or what the world now believed to be the truth—settled like a cruel weight on her chest. She wasn't George's wife in their eyes anymore. She was the other woman. The mistress. The homewrecker who dared to come between a glamorous actress and her husband.
She felt her phone buzz violently in her palm—calls, messages, social media notifications flooding in. Friends. Relatives. Strangers. Some were asking if it was true. Others were condemning her without hesitation.
Her breath caught in her throat as she glanced at the table, where the unopened pregnancy test still lay. She had bought it days ago, after noticing the subtle changes in her body—the morning nausea, the sudden fatigue. She had promised herself she'd wait for George to return before taking it.
But now… she had no one to wait for.
With trembling fingers, she picked it up and stumbled toward the bathroom.
Minutes later, she sat on the cold tile floor, the test in her hands. The two dark lines blurred as her tears fell onto them. Positive.
She pressed the stick against her chest as if holding it close could protect the life growing inside her from the chaos outside. But nothing could shield her from the truth she now faced:
The man she loved was gone.
The world saw her as a mistress.
And she was carrying his child.
A strangled sob escaped her lips as she curled into herself, her hands instinctively cradling her belly.
"I'm sorry," she whispered to the tiny heartbeat she couldn't yet hear. "I'm so, so sorry. You are only a month but i have drag you into this mess."
Nerissa sat frozen on the bed, her phone buzzing in her trembling hand.
George.
Her heart twisted painfully. For hours she had waited for him, drowning in the humiliation of the news headlines, Isabelle's poisonous words, and the unbearable truth she had discovered in the bathroom moments earlier—she was pregnant. But George didn't know.
She swallowed hard and answered.
"George?" Her voice cracked, raw from crying.
There was a heavy pause on the other end before he spoke, his voice low and uneven.
"Nerissa… please, just give me time. I need to settle everything first. I need to protect my child… with Isabelle."
Her breath caught. The words slammed into her chest like a cruel blow. "So… it's true?" she whispered.
George exhaled shakily. "I don't even know anymore. She says it's mine, and if it is… I can't turn my back on that. But Nerissa—" His voice softened to a near-plea. "I love you. I can't lose you."
Tears streamed down her cheeks. She pressed a trembling hand against her belly, feeling an ache deep within her that he couldn't see, couldn't know.
"And what about me, George?" she asked quietly.
"That's why I'm torn," he admitted, voice heavy with despair. "If I come back now, the press… the rumors… they'll destroy you. You'll be branded worse than you already have been. I don't want to hurt you any more than I already have."
Nerissa's heart screamed for her to tell him—to tell him about the life growing inside her. But the words lodged in her throat, suffocated by fear and pride. Instead, she whispered, "You already have."
George's breathing turned ragged. "Please… just hold on for me a little longer. I'm trying to protect everyone, but I'm losing control."
Her voice trembled, but she forced herself to speak. "And if you never come back?"
Silence. Then, so softly she almost didn't hear it, he said, "I love you, Nerissa… but I can't come back. Not yet."
The line went dead. And Nerissa sat there, holding the phone in one hand, her other hand protectively covering the tiny secret growing inside her—the one George didn't even know existed.
The call ended, and Nerissa stared at the phone as if it had just burned her hand. The silence in the room felt heavier than any words George could have spoken. Slowly, she lowered the phone onto the bed, her other hand instinctively resting on her belly.
He didn't know.
And maybe… he never would.
She curled her knees up to her chest, rocking gently as the truth pressed down on her from all sides. The world thought she was the mistress. Isabelle had already claimed George publicly. And now, Isabelle's supposed pregnancy had become the shield that George felt obligated to protect.
There was no room in his world for her.
No space for their truth.
Her phone vibrated again—this time with a string of hateful messages and comments. Screenshots of the headlines. Harsh words from strangers who thought they knew her. Some of them used the same cruel word over and over again: homewrecker.
Nerissa felt her chest tighten until she could barely breathe. If they knew about her pregnancy… if they knew she carried George's child, the backlash would be unbearable. The press would tear her apart, and her baby would be born into nothing but scandal.
She wiped her tears with the back of her hand and took a deep, shaky breath. No. She wouldn't let that happen.
That night, she opened her closet and pulled out a suitcase. Her movements were slow, deliberate, but her mind was racing. She packed only the essentials—clothes, important documents, a few personal keepsakes. She left behind anything that might tie her to the life she had with George.
She glanced at the framed photo on the bedside table—George with his arm around her, smiling like he once belonged entirely to her. Her fingers hovered over it for a long moment before she turned it face down.
"I'll protect you," she whispered, pressing her hand against her stomach. "Even if it means leaving everything behind."
By morning, she had a plan. She would disappear quietly, find a place where no one knew her name, where no one could connect her to George or Isabelle. Somewhere her child could be born free from whispers and cruel headlines.
And if George ever found out… it would be too late.
By dawn, Nerissa's decision had hardened into resolve. She could no longer stay in the same city, the same country, where every corner, every headline, every whisper reminded her of George… and Isabelle's poison.
Her phone buzzed again—not with George's name, but with an unexpected call from Drake.
She hesitated before answering. "Drake?"
His voice was calm but urgent. "I saw the news, Nerissa. I know what's happening. And I know George isn't here for you right now."
Her throat tightened. "It's worse than you think."
"I don't care how bad it is," Drake said, firm. "I won't let them destroy you. Pack your things. I'm coming to get you."
Within hours, Drake arrived at her apartment. The moment he saw her pale face and red, swollen eyes, he didn't ask any more questions. He simply took the suitcase from her hand and pulled a hooded coat over her shoulders.
"From now on, you don't exist to the public," he murmured. "You're gone."
They moved quickly, slipping out through the service elevator, avoiding the swarm of reporters outside. Drake had already arranged for a private car to take them directly to a discreet terminal. No airport paparazzi. No trail.
The private flight to London was quiet. Nerissa stared out the window, watching the city lights fade beneath the clouds, each mile putting more distance between her and the chaos. Her hand rested protectively on her belly the entire flight.
In London, Drake had already prepared everything—a rented townhouse under a false name, new phone numbers, even a cover story for anyone who asked. Publicly, Nerissa was gone.
And Drake made sure the disappearance looked intentional. Within days, gossip columns and online forums exploded with speculation: Nerissa runs away after scandal … The mistress disappears after actress' press conference.
No one knew where she was. No one except Drake.
And while George remained in California, tied to Isabelle's web and headlines he couldn't control, Nerissa vanished from his world like a ghost.
She would keep her secret safe—the child in her womb, the truth in her heart—and no one would take that from her.
The night before her flight, Nerissa couldn't sleep. Drake was already making final arrangements for their early morning departure, but her heart wasn't ready to leave without one last goodbye.
Long after midnight, she quietly slipped out of her apartment and took a taxi to the cemetery. The air was cold, the streets empty, and the moon hung low above the quiet graves.
She found herself standing before two tombstones—her mother's, and beside it, the resting place of George's mother. The women who had once been her anchors. The women who had loved her without question.
Kneeling in the damp grass, Nerissa let her tears fall freely. "Mom… Mama…" Her voice cracked as she touched the cold stone. "I'm leaving. Not because I want to… but because there's nothing left for me here. I wish you were still here to tell me what to do."
She pressed her forehead against her mother's tombstone, sobbing until her chest ached. "You told me to fight for love, to protect what matters. But now, I don't even know if I still have anything to fight for."
Then, turning to George's mother's grave, she whispered through trembling lips, "I promised you I would take care of your son… but I can't even take care of myself anymore. Please… forgive me."
It was the saddest goodbye she had ever known. She stayed there until the chill seeped deep into her bones, until her tears ran dry. Then she rose slowly, wiping her face with shaking hands.
Before she left for good, she went to George's room. The scent of him was still there, clinging to the air, to the sheets. She stood in the doorway for a long time, memories crashing over her—his laughter, his arms around her, his whispered promises.
Her fingers reached for the ring on her hand, the one he had slipped onto her finger in a moment of love she once believed would last forever. With trembling hands, she placed it gently on his bedside table, right where he would see it when he returned.
A silent message.
A final goodbye.
Without looking back, she turned and walked away—leaving behind the life they had shared, the man she had loved, and the ring that once meant forever.
By dawn, she was on a plane to London with Drake, carrying nothing but her suitcase… and the tiny life growing inside her that George didn't know about.