After the Divorce: No Longer His Substitute

The rain had just ceased in Seacrest when Seraphina Sterling received her pregnancy test results.

The doctor told her she was six weeks pregnant. She had to be extremely careful during the first trimester, warned not to overexert herself and avoid extreme mood swings.

Sitting in the hospital corridor, she stared down at the thin sheet of paper, her fingertips trembling slightly.

Today was Julian Vance's birthday.

She had originally prepared a pair of cufflinks as a gift. Hidden beneath the gift box’s lining were several pages of medical aesthetics laboratory drafts she had spent sleepless nights compiling. She had worked diligently at Aegis Lab for two years and wanted to discuss the project's direction on his birthday.

Now, she had another secret to share. She even practiced how she’d tell him the news, whispering inside her car, “Julian, I’m pregnant.”

The second the words escaped her lips, her eyes welled with tears.

She had been married to Julian for three years, bound by contract marriage. In those three years, the words she heard most often were not “Mrs. Vance,” but rather, “You only have what you have today because Vivian is gone.”

Vivian Sinclair was the first love etched deeply into Julian’s heart.

And yet, despite living in Vivian’s shadow day after day, she was still harboring a faint thread of hope that she’d eventually earn a place in his heart.

Over the past three years, Julian had occasionally shown fleeting moments of warmth toward her – dropping her off on the way home on a stormy night, or arranging a private doctor from afar when she was running with a fever.

She treasured those shards of affection, playing them over and over in her mind.

Naively, she believed her pregnancy might be the turning point in their relationship. Hoping that at least this time, Julian would set aside his biases and acknowledge the tiny life growing inside her.

Tonight, Julian’s birthday banquet was held on the top floor of the Apex Private Club in Seacrest.

Soft music drifted through the grand hall as guests mingled in small groups, champagne in hand. Julian stood at the center of the crowd in a sharply tailored black suit, his expression naturally cold and aloof. Clutching the gift box tightly, Seraphina slowly made her way toward him.

“Julian, I have something very important to tell you.”

Before Julian could reply, a sudden commotion erupted from the entrance.

Gasps echoed through the hall one after another.

“Is that Vivian Sinclair? She's back?”

Seraphina's chest tightened. Her blood seemed to freeze in her veins.

Vivian stood at the entrance of the hall, wearing a white dress mirroring her pale face, making her appear so fragile that she might break at the slightest breeze.

Tristan Thorne, a notorious playboy, stood before Vivian with a glass of wine in hand, mocking, “Miss Sinclair, you left the country and vanished without a word back then. Conveniently, you’ve come back right at Vance’s birthday. Do you think everyone has forgotten what happened?”

Vivian's eyes instantly turned red, and she reflexively glanced in Julian’s direction.

Without a moment's hesitation, Julian brushed right past Seraphina, stepping forward to shield Vivian behind him.

“Tristan, apologize,” he demanded coldly.

Seraphina's outstretched hand froze in midair.

Vivian gently tugged at Julian's sleeve. “Julian, it's fine. Don't make things difficult for him. I only came tonight to wish you a happy birthday.”

Julian looked down at her, his stern voice softening. “You aren’t well. Don't stand for too long.”

Having been humiliated in front of everyone, Tristan who’s already drunk, reached out to grab Vivian's arm.

Julian lunged forward and shoved him back violently, causing a nearby round wooden table to crash to the floor, shattering glass and sending spilt wine and puddles of water into a massive mess.

Chaos engulfed the entire room.

Seraphina, standing barely half a step away from Julian, tried to reach out and pull him back, but amid the jostling crowd, Julian turned back in haste, and his back heavily collided with her chest.

Losing her balance, she fell hard onto the cold marble floor.

A sharp, throbbing pain shot through her lower abdomen.

“Julian... My stomach hurts.” Her voice trembled uncontrollably, and a horrifying stain of crimson began to spread across the hem of her skirt.

But Julian only had eyes for the swaying Vivian, wrapping his arms around her to hold her steady.

Vivian closed her eyes, murmuring weakly, “Julian, I’m feeling dizzy.”

Julian didn't spare Seraphina a single glance.

Scooping Vivian in his arms, he gave a cold order to the assistant behind him: “Get the car ready. We're taking Vivian to the hospital.”

The guests instantly made way, while all eyes were fixated on Vivian as though she were the only one hurt and in need of care.

Seraphina remained slumped alone amidst the broken shards of glass, her palms ice-cold. She wanted to call out for help, to tell everyone she had just found out she was pregnant and was in agonizing pain, but her throat felt choked, blockaded by a thick silence.

The elders of the Vance family were all present. Julian's mother, Margaret Vance, merely cast an indifferent glance at Seraphina on the floor before casually instructing a staff to handle it.

Given how blatantly Julian defended Vivian, none of the other Vance family members dared to step forward and help her up.

In the end, it was only a kind-hearted female manager from the club who quietly approached Seraphina, helped her up and took her to the nearest hospital.

It took a long time for the medical results to come out.

Looking over the test results, the doctor frowned. “There are clear signs of a threatened miscarriage. Fortunately, you were brought here in time. For now, we managed to stabilize your condition and save the baby, but you must stay in bed and rest. Avoid all emotional stress and physical trauma.”

For now.

Those two words shattered whatever strength Seraphina had left. Tears streamed down her cheeks without warning.

The hospital room was silent and empty. After hesitating for a long time, she dialed Julian's number.

It rang for several seconds before he finally answered.

“What is it?” Julian's voice was low, laced with impatience.

Seraphina's throat tightened. “Which hospital are you at?”

“Vivian was shaken up. I'm keeping her company while she gets checked.”

Seraphina glanced down at the pinhole on the back of her hand and asked softly, “Did you ever stop to think that I might have been sent to the hospital too?”

The other end of the line went silent for a second.

Followed by Julian’s cold, harsh rebuke, “Seraphina, tonight is not the time for your tantrums.”

Tantrums.

Before she could argue back, Vivian's soft, weak voice drifted through the line. “Julian, is that Seraphina? Don't blame her. She's just upset because she saw you protecting me.”

Julian's voice softened instantly as he comforted her. “Don't speak. Just get some rest.”

Seraphina clutched her phone, suddenly losing any desire to speak.

Her pregnancy result was still in her bag, folded neatly, like a private joke of self humiliation.

She silently hung up the phone.

Half an hour later, someone forwarded her a social media post showing Vivian lying in a hospital bed, a bouquet of white roses beside her. At the edge of the frame was a man's wrist, wrapped in a familiar limited edition gold Rolex.

Beneath was a caption, stating, “Many years later, the person by my side is still you.”

Seraphina stared at the watch, feeling like her heart had just bled from a strike of a knife.

Years ago, when she was in grave danger, the stranger who had saved her wore the same wristwatch. She always believed that the saviour she was always thankful for was Julian.

Clinging to that faint memory, she had endured three years of a cold, lifeless marriage.

Now, the only thing that had kept her going had been casually flaunted on social media by Vivian for the entire world to see.

Seraphina slowly placed her phone face down on the nightstand, gently resting her hand over her stomach.

Choking back a sob, she whispered, “I'm sorry, baby.”

”Mommy finally seems to understand.”

Not every long wait could turn the tide of a cold heart.