I Left My Fiancé Since his Beloved Woman Came Back

Seraphina's POV

"She's temporary."

That was the word that stopped me mid-step.

Temporary.

It floated through the half-open door of the sitting room, light and careless, like it didn't have the power to break a person in two. Like it wasn't aimed straight at me.

I stood there, frozen, my fingers wrapped tightly around the porcelain teacup I had been carrying. The tea inside trembled, tiny ripples forming on the surface as my hands shook. The Ashford mansion was quiet, too quiet, the kind of silence that always made me feel like I was intruding even though I was supposed to live here.

Temporary.

I pressed my back to the wall, my heart pounding so loudly I was afraid it might give me away. I told myself I must have misunderstood. Maybe she was talking about a business deal. Maybe she was talking about staff.

But deep down, I knew better.

My mother-in-law's voice came again, smooth, controlled, sharp around the edges. Margaret Ashford always spoke like that-every word polished, every tone measured, like she was permanently addressing a boardroom instead of people.

"She was never meant to last," Margaret said calmly. "We all knew that from the beginning."

Another voice answered her, softer, uneasy. Vivian Ashford, Julian's aunt. She always smelled of lavender and guilt, always smiled at me like she wanted to say something kind but never quite dared.

"Margaret," Vivian said, lowering her voice, "she's still Julian's wife."

I swallowed hard.

"And she's pregnant," Vivian added.

My free hand moved to my stomach without thinking. Flat. Quiet. Still ours. My baby. Julian's baby. The secret that lived inside me, growing slowly, patiently, like hope I was afraid to speak out loud.

Margaret laughed softly.

"For now," she said. "Pregnancy doesn't make her permanent. Blood does. Status does."

I felt my chest tighten.

"She comes from nothing," Margaret continued, her tone almost bored. "No name. No connections. No strength. She was useful when Julian needed a clean image. A soft wife. Someone who wouldn't question him."

My throat burned.

"But she doesn't belong here," Margaret finished. "She's temporary."

The word hit harder the second time.

I took a small step back, my heel brushing against the carpet.

Vivian sighed. "Julian married her. He chose her."

"Julian chooses what benefits him," Margaret snapped. "And when this stops benefiting him, she will go. Like all mistakes."

My fingers tightened around the teacup until the heat burned my skin.

I couldn't stand there anymore.

I pushed the door open.

Both women turned to look at me.

Margaret's eyes were sharp, assessing, the way they always were when she looked at me-like she was measuring my worth and coming up disappointed. She sat perfectly straight on the cream sofa, pearls resting at her throat, her silver hair pulled back neatly. Everything about her screamed control.

Vivian's eyes widened. She looked embarrassed. Guilty.

"I-" My voice came out smaller than I wanted it to. "I brought your tea."

Margaret's gaze flicked to the cup, then back to my face.

"I didn't ask for tea," she said coldly.

"I thought you might want some," I replied, forcing my feet to move forward. I placed the cup gently on the glass table between us. "You usually have tea around this time."

Margaret raised an eyebrow. "You think too much."

Vivian stood quickly. "I'll-um-I'll leave you two," she said, already heading for the door. "Julian should be home later."

She didn't look back at me as she left.

The door closed.

The silence that followed was thick and heavy.

Margaret leaned back against the sofa, crossing her legs slowly. "You heard us."

It wasn't a question.