Part 2: My husband casually told his friends that my absence wouldn't matter to his life, completely unaware that I was holding the multi-million-dollar acquisition contracts he left at home.

Elias left the gala twenty minutes later. He drove himself through the bitter Chicago night, the engine of his Aston Martin roaring down Lake Shore Drive like an extension of his inner torment.

He arrived back at the empty penthouse. He didn't turn on the lights.

He walked into the master bedroom, the darkness thick and suffocating. The scent of her—jasmine and vanilla—still clung faintly to the silk pillowcases. He sat down on the edge of the mattress, dropping his face into his hands.

Her words replayed in his skull with the rhythmic cruelty of a hammer against an anvil.

*I wanted a husband. But you thought my absence wouldn't matter. So prove it.*

God, he had been a fool. An arrogant, blind fool.

He remembered the early days, before his grandfather had thrust the burden of Kwon Enterprises onto his shoulders. They had lived in a small apartment in Lincoln Park. Clara had painted the walls yellow because the winter light was too gray. She used to pack little notes into his briefcase when he studied for the bar. When had he started treating her devotion like an entitlement? When had he decided that providing millions in jewelry was a substitute for looking her in the eyes?

A sudden memory struck him—three weeks ago, Clara standing near the kitchen island, holding a folder, asking if they could have dinner alone that weekend because she had something important to tell him.

He had brushed her off. *I have the Meridian pre-closing, Clara. Don't burden me with domestic nonsense right now.*

What had she wanted to tell him?

He stood up suddenly, turning on the closet lights. He began pulling out her drawers, tearing through the remaining items with frantic energy. He didn't even know what he was looking for—a diary, a letter, anything to help him understand.

On the top shelf of the vanity cabinet, tucked behind a collection of unopened skincare boxes, his hand brushed against something small and cold.

A discarded pharmacy receipt.

Elias pulled it down under the vanity light. It was dated five weeks ago from a boutique medical clinic in Gold Coast.

*Item: First Response Early Result Test Kit. Qty: 2.*

Elias froze. His blood seemed to turn to ice water.

A pregnancy test.

He dropped the receipt onto the counter, his hands shaking so violently he could barely hold his phone. He dialed Dr. Elizabeth Bailey, Clara’s private OB-GYN, whose clinic Kwon Enterprises had funded for a decade.

"Bailey," he barked the moment she picked up. "This is Elias Kwon."

"Mr. Kwon? It's midnight—"

"Is my wife pregnant?"

A heavy, terrified hesitation hung over the line. "Mr. Kwon, medical confidentiality laws prevent me—"

"Bailey, I swear to God, if you lie to me, I will pull your hospital’s accreditation by dawn!" Elias roared, his voice cracking into a ragged sob. "Is she carrying my child?!"

A soft sigh came through the receiver. "Clara came in eight days ago for an eight-week confirmation ultrasound, Elias. The pregnancy is viable. But she specifically requested that the records remain sealed."

The phone slipped from Elias’s fingers, clattering onto the marble floor.

She was pregnant. Eight weeks.

She had carried his unborn child out into the freezing night. She was sleeping under Julian Moretti’s roof while carrying the Kwon heir. And Elias had driven her there with his cold, arrogant mouth.