Audrey's POV
I stood frozen in the middle of the long, silent hallway — the one that always felt too grand, too echoing, too cold to belong to me.
Simon's voice filled the space, trembling with emotion, his words tripping over one another as if he could stop me with the sound of his heart breaking.
"I care about you because you cared about me first," he said, his tone desperate, eyes searching mine for something that no longer existed. "When I was lost… when I was my nephew's shadow — you were there, Audrey."
My chest ached, but I forced my voice to stay steady.
"Simon, you cared because I was kind to you. That's not love. It's gratitude twisted into something it shouldn't be."
He flinched, and I took a shaky breath.
"I protected you because you were family. But I'm done — with all of the Gillians. I don't want any part of that name, that history, or that pain."
I met his eyes one last time.
"So please, Simon. Stop this madness before it ruins us both."
For a long moment, he just stared — then turned and walked out without another word.
The door closed behind him, the echo bouncing down the corridor like a final goodbye.
I exhaled, only to hear a soft gasp behind me.
Of course.
My parents had been standing at the corner, listening.
"I didn't mean to overhear," my mother started gently.
"Yes, right," I muttered, forcing a bitter smile.
Her expression was full of concern, but I couldn't take it — not today.
"Mother, please," I said, my voice cracking. "You know this… this whole thing is impossible. I'm pregnant with his nephew's child, for heaven's sake. And I'm sick. So no — don't give me that look."
Tears blurred my vision as I went on.
"Just admit it — I wasn't lucky when it came to love. I spent three years trying to make a man see my worth, and all it gave me was heartbreak and humiliation."
The silence that followed was unbearable.
My mother's eyes softened with pity, but my father — he just stood there, speechless.
Not from what I'd said… but from what he'd heard.
That I was pregnant.
And sick.
The words hung in the air like a storm waiting to break.
For a moment, no one said a word.
The silence stretched — thick, heavy, and suffocating — until it felt like the air itself was holding its breath.
My mother's hand trembled as she reached for me, but my father's face... my father's face said everything.
He wasn't just surprised — he was shattered.
"Pregnant?" he said, his voice quiet but sharp, like glass breaking under pressure. "And… sick?"
I swallowed hard. "It's not something I planned, Father." It was planned, I lie because I had thought a baby will change everything, but it just came when everything had ended.
His jaw tightened. "And you planned to tell me when? After you collapsed again? Or when the press dug it out and turned it into another scandal?"
"Ethan," my mother whispered, trying to calm him, but his anger wasn't loud — it was controlled, dangerous, the kind that came from deep hurt.
"I watched you crumble after that marriage, Audrey," he said, his voice cracking for the first time in my life. "And I thought—God help me—I thought giving you space was the kindest thing I could do. But space? All it did was bury you deeper."
Tears welled up, blurring his figure. "You think I wanted any of this?" I choked. "Every day, I wake up wishing I could erase the last three years — the fights, the betrayal, the way I begged to be seen. I'm just tired, Dad. Tired of fighting to be enough for people who never wanted me whole."
He moved toward me, his expression softening. "You are enough. You've always been enough," he said, his hand resting on my shoulder. His voice broke on the next words. "You're my daughter. No man — Gillian or otherwise — will ever make you feel small again."
For the first time in years, I didn't feel the weight of his expectations — only his love.
The maid's soft knock clipped the tail of my father's quiet promise like a knife. Thank God she came — I couldn't bear listening to Dad plot the Gillians' downfall with that slow, satisfied calm of his.
"Ma'am, Mr. Gillian is here," she said, voice trembling a little as she hovered at the doorway.
My mother blinked. "Wait—didn't he leave?" she asked.