The obstetrics office was warm and filled with soft music. I sat in the examination chair, my belly now noticeably swollen with pregnancy, as the ultrasound technician moved the wand across my skin.
"Everything looks perfect," the technician said, smiling at the monitor. "Baby's measuring right on schedule. Would you like to know the sex?"
"Yes," I said, squeezing Damien's hand. He stood beside me, looking at the screen with an intensity that made my heart skip.
"Congratulations," the technician said. "You're having a girl."
Sofia. Our Sofia.
"Did you hear that?" Damien whispered, leaning down to kiss my forehead. "Our daughter."
He meant it. After six months of living as husband and wife, of sharing a bed and a life, the lines between the contract and reality had blurred completely. Last month, we'd had a real wedding ceremony—small and private, with Maya and Damien's sister Elena in attendance.
Elena. The girl who'd attempted suicide twelve years ago because of my father's cruelty.
She was beautiful, though there was a sadness in her eyes that probably would never fully go away. But seeing her with Damien, the way he protected and adored her, had made me understand the depth of his pain. And his strength.
"Let's go grab lunch," Damien said as we left the doctor's office. "I'm starving."
We drove to our favorite restaurant, a quiet Italian place where the owner knew us by name. As we were being seated, I spotted a familiar face at the bar.
Ethan.
He looked terrible. His suit was wrinkled, his hair disheveled, and he had the hollow look of someone who hadn't been sleeping. When he saw me, his expression crumpled.
Damien tensed beside me. "Do you want me to—"
"It's okay," I said quietly. "Let me talk to him."
I excused myself and walked over to the bar. Ethan stood immediately, his eyes desperately searching mine.
"Sophia," he breathed. "I've been trying to reach you. I—"
"I know," I said calmly. "I've been ignoring your calls."
"Can we talk? Please?" He glanced at Damien, who was watching us like a hawk. "Privately?"
Against Damien's obvious wishes, I agreed. We stepped outside into the cool evening air, and Ethan immediately began to crumble.
"I've lost everything," he said, his voice breaking. "The wedding with Victoria was a disaster. She's in prison now, did you know that? Five years for fraud. My career is over. Everyone knows I was engaged to a fraud artist. No firm will hire me."
I felt a flash of pity, but I pushed it down. "You made choices."
"I know," he whispered. "And the worst choice was letting you go. Sophia, I think about that day every single day. I replayed it a thousand times, trying to figure out how I could have been so blind, so stupid—"
"You weren't blind," I interrupted. "You were just selfish. Victoria offered you something that felt noble and self-sacrificing, and you took it because it made you feel good about yourself. You didn't care about the cost to me."
"That's not fair," he protested weakly.
"It's completely fair," I said coldly. "You had a choice between marrying me and throwing me away for your dying stepsister. You chose her. That's on you."
"I was confused—"
"You were an asshole," I said flatly. "And now you're facing the consequences of your choices. The same consequences I faced when you threw me away. But at least you still have your life, Ethan. You're not destitute. You're just... unemployed and embarrassed."
"I deserve that," he said bitterly. "I deserve worse. But Sophia—" he stepped closer, his eyes pleading, "—I still love you. I've never stopped loving you. If you'd give me another chance, I swear I'd spend the rest of my life making it up to you."
I looked at him—this man I'd loved for six years, the man I'd sacrificed everything for. And I felt nothing. No anger, no hurt, no lingering attachment.
Just... nothing.
"I'm married," I said gently. "To a man who actually values me. To a man who would never choose someone else over me. I'm three months pregnant with his child. I'm building a real life now, Ethan. And you're not part of it."
"Is that baby—" he stopped, his face going pale. "Is it mine?"
"No," I lied smoothly. "It's Damien's. He's been my husband for six months. Do the math."
The lie was necessary. The baby would be born seven months after my marriage to Damien, close enough that the timeline could work if anyone questioned it. And I'd decided to keep the truth about the biological father private. Damien had accepted the baby completely, legally and emotionally. As far as the world was concerned, Sofia was his daughter.
And that was all that mattered.
"I'm so sorry," Ethan whispered, and I could see tears streaming down his face. "I'm so sorry for everything."
"I'm not," I said. "Your betrayal was the best thing that ever happened to me. It freed me. So thank you, Ethan. For throwing me away. For giving me the push I needed."
Then I turned and walked back inside to Damien, leaving Ethan standing alone on the sidewalk.
Damien pulled me into his arms the moment I sat down. "Are you okay?"
"Better than okay," I said, surprising myself with how much I meant it. "I just realized something. I'm not angry anymore. At any of them. They made their choices, and I made mine. And I won."
"You did," he said, stroking my hair. "You won completely."
---
The following week, my mother reached out.
She was being released on house arrest while awaiting trial, with a tracking device and strict conditions. She wanted to see me.
I didn't want to see her. But Damien encouraged me to go, saying it might provide closure.
My old family home looked smaller than I remembered. The gates were still there, the gardens still manicured, but something essential had died. The weight of power and prestige that once hung over the house was gone.
My mother was sitting in the living room when I entered. She looked ten years older than she had three months ago. Her face was gaunt, her eyes hollow.
She stood when I walked in, and for a moment, neither of us spoke.
"You look well," she finally said quietly.
"I am," I replied, sitting down across from her rather than beside her. The distance was intentional.
"I never thought you'd do this," she said. "I never thought you were capable of—of destroying your own family."
"I didn't destroy anything," I said calmly. "You did that yourselves. I just stopped protecting you."
"Your father wants to apologize," she said. "He's in prison now, and he wants—"
"I don't care what he wants," I interrupted. "He chose his path. He made his choices. Now he lives with the consequences."
My mother flinched at my coldness. "You sound like him, you know. Like Richard. So cold. So willing to use people and throw them away."
"No," I said. "I sound like someone who learned from the best. You taught me that love is conditional. That family is just a transaction. You threw me away when I wasn't useful to you anymore. Well, now I'm useful to the Blackwoods, and I've never been happier."
"Sophia—"
"There's nothing left to say," I stood up. "The woman you knew as your daughter is dead. I'm Mrs. Damien Blackwood now, and I have a family that actually values me. You no longer get to call me daughter. You no longer get anything from me."
I turned to leave, but my mother's voice stopped me.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "For the slap. For the words. For choosing Victoria. I'm sorry, Sophia. I'm so sorry."
For a moment, I wavered. But then I thought about six years of sacrifice. About standing in my stepsister's shadow. About the day my mother's hand had cracked across my face in front of three hundred people.
"Goodbye, Mother," I said, and I walked out without looking back.
---
Three weeks later, Victoria was sentenced to five years in federal prison for fraud and embezzlement. The judge was particularly harsh, noting her lack of remorse and the calculated nature of her crimes.
I watched the trial on the news from the comfort of my home, Damien beside me on the couch, his hand on my swollen belly where Sofia was kicking.
"Three down," Damien said quietly, referring to the prison sentences. My father had been sentenced to twenty-two years. My mother to eight. Victoria to five. "Your father's appeal will be denied. Your mother has already stopped fighting."
"And Ethan?" I asked.
"He took a job at a small law firm in another state," Damien said. "He's starting over. Rebuilding his life in anonymity."
"That's... good," I said, and I meant it. I didn't want Ethan to suffer forever. Just enough to understand what I'd gone through.
"You're a better person than I am," Damien said, kissing my forehead. "I would have destroyed him completely."
"Maybe that's why we work," I replied, resting my head on his chest. "You taught me how to be ruthless. I'm teaching you how to forgive."
"I don't know how to forgive," he said quietly. "I'm not sure I want to learn."
"Then I'll do it for both of us," I said. "Someone has to break the cycle of revenge, or it never ends."
We sat in comfortable silence, listening to our daughter kick inside me, feeling the future we were building together.
Six months ago, I was nothing. A discarded fiancée with nothing to her name. Now I was everything—a powerful man's beloved wife, an expectant mother, an heiress to a reclaimed fortune.
But more importantly, I was free.
Free from the need to please people who didn't deserve my love. Free from the desperation to be accepted by people who would never see my worth. Free from the lies and the hiding and the constant sacrifice.
"I'm happy," I said, surprised by the realization. "Actually, genuinely happy."
Damien's arms tightened around me. "So am I, Mrs. Blackwood. So am I."
The revenge was complete. Justice had been served. My family was destroyed.
And somehow, through all the darkness and the manipulation and the calculated cruelty, I'd found something real.
I'd found love.
In three months, Sofia would be born. In one year, the contract marriage would have ended—but we both knew it wouldn't. We were building something real now. Something lasting.
The Heiress He Threw Away had become the Heiress Who Threw Them Away.
And I was finally, completely, at peace.