He Pleaded, I Left Forever

The penthouse was nearly silent when I stepped in—only the soft hum of the chandelier breaking the stillness. It should’ve felt peaceful. But peace hadn’t lived here in years.

I moved slowly through the familiar space, each step heavier than the last. And then I heard it.

The muffled sounds behind the bedroom door were unmistakable—low groans, breathless whispers, bodies colliding in rhythm.

No shock. No heartbreak. Just numb resignation.

I opened the door just enough to look inside.

Patrick.

My husband. My executioner.

He was wrapped around another woman, lost in her like I didn’t exist. Their limbs tangled on our bed, the same bed he once vowed we’d share forever.

But the real blow? The woman underneath him—Darlene.

My best friend.

I stood there, watching, letting the betrayal wash over me like cold water. I should’ve been furious. I should’ve screamed. But I was too far gone for that.

This wasn’t new.

Patrick had been doing this for years—parading women into our bedroom, ones who looked disturbingly like me, forcing me to watch in silence. But tonight, he didn’t bother with the illusion. Tonight, he aimed to destroy what little was left of me.

It worked.

But maybe I deserved it.

Five years ago, I shattered his heart. Not because I wanted to—but because I had to.

Back in college, we were inseparable. Patrick was my first love, my only love. But when my father—a secret service agent—was killed during a covert mission, my world collapsed. The official report said ambush. I knew better. His enemies wanted more than his life.

They wanted me.

And if I stayed with Patrick, they’d kill him too.

So I did the only thing I could think of—I made him hate me.

I staged everything. Paid a man to pretend he was mine. Let Patrick walk in on us. His face that night—God, I’ll never forget it.

He pleaded. He cried. He begged for the truth.

And I lied.

Told him he was never enough for me. That I’d never loved him.

And then I left, disappearing without a trace.

Years later, when the threats were gone, I came back. My mother was sick. Medical bills were drowning us. And Patrick… Patrick found me.

But the man who offered me a second chance wasn’t the boy I once loved. He was colder. Crueler. Wealthy and powerful enough to ruin lives with a whisper.

Still, when he asked me to marry him, I thought maybe—just maybe—there was hope.

There wasn’t.

This marriage wasn’t love. It was vengeance. Slow, methodical destruction masked behind a smile.

But tonight was the final straw.

The bedroom door opened, and Patrick stepped out, not bothering to cover himself. His body glistened, his smirk smug.

“Perfect timing,” he said, tossing a wad of bills at me. “We ran out of condoms. Pick some up.”

The money hit my chest and scattered at my feet.

“Keep the change,” he added, venom in his voice. “You love money, right? That’s why you left me.”

I didn’t flinch.

I bent down, collected the cash, and pocketed it calmly.

Then I turned and walked away—no fury, no tears. Just resolve.

Outside, I pulled out my phone and dialed the one person who could help end this.

“Finalize the divorce,” I whispered.

And for the first time in years, I felt free.

The next morning, I sat across from a suited man who looked at me with unreadable eyes.

“Are you certain about this, Miss Andrea? If you enter the secret service, we will erase your identity. You’ll become someone new.”

I met his stare, steady and unafraid.

“There’s nothing left for me here.”

Then, louder: “Do it.”

Because this time, I wasn’t running away.

This time, I was starting over on my own terms.

"Are you alright, miss?" the nurse asked gently, a look of worry etched across her features.

I clung tightly to the sides of the examination bed, the room swaying slightly as my vision blurred. My stomach twisted violently again, and I struggled to suppress the bile that threatened to rise.

"I'm... I'm not sure," I confessed, my voice unsteady. "At first, I assumed it was just stress, but... what’s wrong with me?"

I let out a deep, weary breath. That morning, I’d awoken feeling unwell—my limbs were heavy, and my chest felt tight. I dismissed it as emotional exhaustion from crying myself to sleep the night before. But when the vomiting started and wouldn’t stop, I realized it was more than just heartache. That’s when I dragged myself to the hospital.

The doctor glanced at the test results in his hand, his expression unreadable. When our eyes met, his voice was calm but final.

"Mrs. Howell, you’re expecting. You’re pregnant."

I felt the air leave my lungs. Pregnant? The word echoed through me as if someone had shouted it in an empty hall. The walls seemed to close in, and my thoughts spun in chaos.

It happened that night. One month earlier.

Patrick had come home reeking of alcohol, the scent of whiskey clinging to him like smoke. His hands were unsteady when he touched me—not aggressive, but fragile, as though he were falling apart.

“I despise you,” he murmured against my forehead. His voice trembled with emotion that contradicted his words. “I hate you so much.”

Still, he kissed me. I allowed it. I wanted to believe—needed to believe—that maybe, just maybe, things would change come morning.

But the next day, reality slammed back with full force.

Patrick had pushed me away like I was poison. His expression was blank, his tone bitter and detached. “You manipulated me,” he said without meeting my gaze. “Don’t think this meant anything. It won’t happen again.”

And now, I was carrying his child. A child he never asked for. A child he might despise simply because I’m the mother. I placed a trembling hand on my belly. What am I supposed to do now?

Still unsure of my next steps, I returned home. The mansion loomed over me, its familiar halls offering no comfort. My body felt drained, my mind even more so. I was overwhelmed by questions I had no answers to. Do I even want this baby? Would it be fair to raise a child in a house where their father resents their mother?

Suddenly, a burst of laughter echoed from the main hall, snapping me out of my spiral. I followed the sound and turned the corner—and there she was. Darlene. Still here. Still present in every part of my shattered life.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” Patrick said tenderly as he clasped a glimmering diamond bracelet around her wrist.

Darlene beamed, her fingers grazing his cheek in a mockingly intimate gesture. “You always know how to make me feel special.”

A knot twisted in my stomach. I had once been the woman who received those gifts, those words. I had once been the one he couldn’t stop looking at. Now, I was nothing more than a ghost living in his house—a ghost he wished would vanish.

Patrick’s gaze landed on me, cold and uninviting. “You’re just standing there like a statue. If you’re not helping the staff prepare for the celebration later, then get out of my sight.”

I swallowed hard, gripping the strap of my purse. “Patrick, I’m not feeling well. I—”

“Not feeling well?” he interrupted with a mocking laugh as he advanced. “You’re always playing the helpless card. Try being useful for a change, Andrea.”

Darlene tilted her head slightly, her voice dripping with feigned sympathy. “Maybe she’s finally realizing she no longer belongs here,” she remarked, spinning her new bracelet with a smile.

I should’ve retaliated. I should’ve screamed at both of them and demanded to be free from this circus.

But instead, I stayed silent. Because soon, I wouldn’t be here anymore.

My phone buzzed in my bag.

Secret Service: Your new identity is prepared. Awaiting final confirmation. To proceed, reply YES.

My hands shook as I typed a single word: YES.

The night dragged on, alive with music and laughter from people who barely acknowledged my existence.

I stood quietly at the edge of the ballroom, sipping a glass of water, while Patrick and Darlene swayed to the music, whispering to each other between kisses like no one else was in the room.

The murmurs among the guests were louder than they realized, each comment slicing into me.

“If I were her, I’d disappear already.”

“She lets him cheat in front of her and still stays? Pathetic.”

“Maybe she enjoys being humiliated.”

I exhaled slowly, my fingers tightening around the glass. Soon, they’ll all get what they want.

I turned to leave the ballroom, but Darlene suddenly blocked my path, her smile syrupy and poisonous.

“You know,” she said with a little swirl of her champagne glass, “I almost pity you. Almost.”

I pressed my fingers to my temple, exhausted. “I’m not here to argue, Darlene.”

“Oh, I know,” she responded with a coy smirk. “That’s why I’m going to make this really simple.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What are you up to now?”

She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Patrick still watches you sometimes,” she said. “He still loves you, whether he says it or not.”

I froze in place.

Darlene chuckled. “That’s exactly why I need you completely gone.”

My throat tightened. “You don’t need to worry. I’ve already decided. I’m leaving.”

That stunned her. She hadn’t expected me to fold so easily.

But she quickly recovered, her expression smug. “Good. Just making sure you don’t suddenly change your mind.”

Without warning, she grabbed my wrist and yanked it sharply, forcing my hand to slap her across the face. The crack of contact echoed in the air.

I stood frozen in disbelief as Darlene recoiled, clutching her cheek, her face twisting into a look of manufactured agony.

“She— she hit me!” she cried out, her voice trembling. “I was just talking to her and she attacked me!”

“What are you talking about—” I began, but she suddenly staggered backward—

And hurled herself down the staircase.

Time seemed to slow as her body rolled down, each bounce on the steps accompanied by a sickening thud.

Gasps and shrieks rang out. Then she landed—still and lifeless.

For a moment, silence blanketed the room.

Then—

“Andrea! What the hell did you do?!”

Patrick’s voice tore through the chaos.

I barely had time to process what had just happened before he was charging past me, his face wild with panic. He didn’t spare me a second glance as he ran to Darlene’s crumpled figure at the bottom of the stairs.

“Darlene,” he said, kneeling beside her, his voice raw. “Darlene, please open your eyes.”

She let out a soft groan, her eyelids fluttering before she fell limp again.

My chest tightened as I watched the performance unfold. But before I could utter a single word, Patrick was on his feet again, glaring at me with venom.

His hands clenched into fists. “What did you do to her?!”

I tried to explain. “Patrick, I didn’t—”

But he wouldn’t listen. His jaw tightened, his whole body vibrating with rage. “Are you really going to stand there and pretend you’re innocent?”

“I—”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice to a threatening growl. “If anything happens to her, Andrea, I swear on everything—you’ll regret it.”

He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t ask. He just believed her—without question.

I felt something inside me break completely. My palm found its way to my stomach, the other hand clenched tightly at my side. There was no point in pleading anymore.

Wordlessly, I turned away and walked off—this time, for good.

“Miss Andrea, we need you to donate blood—immediately.”

The nurse's words felt distant, muffled, like they were reaching me through thick glass. I sat rigidly in the hospital chair, hands clenched tightly in my lap. I had braced myself for this moment ever since Patrick summoned me to the hospital. Deep down, I knew this was coming. But when I finally saw him burst into the room, anger radiating from every inch of his body, a wave of dread twisted my stomach into knots.

“You’re a compatible donor,” he said, jaw tight and voice like steel. “Darlene’s severely anemic. There’s not enough in storage. The doctors need yours now.”

I slowly shook my head. “I won’t do it.”

His teeth ground together. “You won’t?”

“I can’t,” I said quietly, barely more than a breath.

Patrick let out a laugh—cold and sharp, lacking any humor. His eyes narrowed, burning with resentment. “Of course you can’t. Of course. Because you want her to die, don’t you? That’s why you shoved her. You hit her too, didn’t you?”

The accusation stung like ice against skin. I gasped, unable to respond before he lunged forward and seized my wrist, pulling me up with force.

“This is your doing,” he growled. “You shoved her. Now you won’t even lift a finger to save her?”

“I didn’t touch her, Patrick!” I cried, yanking my arm free from his grip. “She—” I caught myself. It was useless. He wouldn’t listen.

His mouth curled into a bitter smirk. “You honestly expect me to believe anything from you? After everything? After the betrayal and the lies?” His voice dropped lower, rough and filled with pain. “You broke me.”

I stood frozen, heart hammering in my chest. He didn’t know. He had no clue what I had given up for him. What I had endured.

“Just give the blood, Andrea,” he said, cold and final.

I hesitated. My body screamed no. But he wasn’t giving me a choice anymore.

Turning to the nurse, he said, “Draw it. Now.”

She faltered. “Sir, if she’s unwilling—”

“She will cooperate,” Patrick cut her off, his tone slicing through the air like a knife. “Won’t you, Andrea?”

I wanted to scream, to push back, to run. But I was drained. And despite everything, some small, broken part of me still remembered the boy I once adored—still wished he existed.

So I didn’t resist. I gave the blood. I let them drain more from me—more than they already had.

The spinning began before I even tried to stand. My vision swam, and the sound of the nurse’s voice faded beneath the ringing in my ears.

“She’s crashing—her pressure’s plummeting fast!”

“That’s not possible,” Patrick snapped. “It was just one unit.”

The nurse turned to him, color drained from her face. “Sir... did you know she only has one kidney?”

Everything stopped. My heartbeat, my thoughts.

Patrick’s fists clenched at his sides. “What?”

“She’s anemic herself. And she’s already lost a kidney,” the nurse explained urgently. “We need to halt the transfusion—”

Patrick’s eyes locked onto mine. There was something unreadable behind his gaze. “Tell me that’s not true.”

I said nothing. I didn’t have the strength.

He let out a dry, bitter laugh. “You’re kidding… You didn’t— Did you give me that kidney? Back then?”

It had been years ago. When he was drowning in grief and liquor, falling apart after our split. His kidneys failed, and I gave him one of mine. I had done it in secret. I never wanted him to find out. I didn’t want pity, or guilt, or anything in return. Just for him to heal… and maybe forget I ever existed.

With what little strength I had left, I forced a faint smile. “Would it matter if I said yes?”

His expression flickered. But before he could answer, the lightheadedness overwhelmed me. The world spun out of control—

And then nothing.

Darkness.

When I awoke, the mechanical beeping of hospital machines greeted me. The sharp scent of antiseptic filled my nostrils. A doctor stood at my bedside, examining the IV drip with a grim expression.

“Mrs. Howell,” he began carefully, “I’m afraid we have difficult news. The trauma your body experienced from the blood loss caused serious complications.”

I already knew.

I slowly raised a shaking hand to rest on my stomach. “The baby?”

His expression softened, full of pity. “I’m so sorry.”

And in that instant, everything inside me broke.

The baby was gone. The child who was supposed to be the last piece of Patrick that wasn’t tainted by anger and betrayal. The only thing left that was purely ours.

Now there was only emptiness.

I turned away from the doctor. “Please… I want to be alone.”

And I truly meant it. Because I no longer felt anything.

Days crawled by. Not once did Patrick come to check on me. Not a single word. Nothing.

But I saw him.

Through the glass pane of Darlene’s hospital room, I saw him holding her hand, brushing strands of hair from her face, whispering to her like she was his entire world.

And me? I was nothing. Just the disposable donor. A walking blood supply. A shadow.

The truth settled heavily on my chest: I would never escape this cycle. Not unless I took that first step.

So I did.

That night, I signed myself out of the hospital. No warning. No note for Patrick.

Back at the mansion, I moved quickly, tossing the essentials into a single suitcase. I grabbed my phone and typed one message:

To Secret Service: I’m ready.

Then, I placed the divorce papers right in the center of the dining table—right where he’d find them.

A cold calmness spread through me. Let him come home and realize: I was gone.

I walked to the door, suitcase in hand. And when I stepped out?

I didn’t glance back.

“Your phone keeps ringing nonstop.”

The receptionist handed me the keycard with a polite smile, but I barely responded. I gripped my bag tighter, my fingers pressing hard against the worn leather strap as I walked toward my hotel room.

I already knew who was calling. Patrick. I had powered off my phone hours ago, but the moment I turned it back on, it buzzed relentlessly in my hand.

Thirty missed calls. All from him.

I exhaled deeply, pushing the hotel room door open and locking it behind me. The silence inside felt heavy—almost suffocating—but I welcomed it. I dropped my bag on a chair, shrugged off my coat, and perched on the edge of the bed. My eyes stayed glued to the phone screen, which flashed with yet another incoming call.

I was supposed to ignore it. But my fingers betrayed me. They hovered too long before I tapped the message app.

Patrick: Pick up the damn phone.

Patrick: Where the hell are you?

Patrick: You can’t do this. You can’t just walk away.

Patrick: Darlene needs more blood.

My jaw clenched tightly; my whole body tensed at that last message. Of course. It was never really me he was worried about. It was Darlene. Even after everything—after forcing me to donate blood when my body was too weak, after causing me to lose my own child—he still had the nerve to demand more.

I switched off the phone and tossed it onto the bedside table. Let him keep calling. Let him yell. Let him search. By tomorrow, I’d be nothing but a shadow.

Morning sunlight poured through the curtains, warming the room, but I felt nothing. I reached for my phone again out of habit and turned it on.

Sixty missed calls. My stomach twisted painfully. This time, the texts weren’t about Darlene.

Patrick had discovered the divorce papers.

I scrolled through his furious messages, each one angrier than the last.

Patrick: Andrea, where are you?

Patrick: You can’t do this. I won’t let you divorce me.

Patrick: Your mother still needs her medication. You need me!

A bitter laugh escaped me. He had no clue. For a whole week, he hadn’t even realized my mother had already passed away.

I inhaled slowly, then typed my reply.

Andrea: You never cared enough to know she was gone. I buried her last week. That’s why I’m divorcing you.

A minute passed. Then another.

Then—

Patrick: So that’s it? You don’t need me, so you’re just tossing me aside again?

Something inside me broke.

Andrea: You never cared. You never bothered to find out the truth. From now on, you’ll never see me again.

I blocked his number and exhaled, my hands trembling as I set the phone down.

It was done. No more waiting. No more hoping. No more pain.

I arrived early at the airport, blending with the crowd of travelers. I wore simple jeans, a hoodie, and a baseball cap—nothing to draw attention. The terminal buzzed with movement: people hurrying to their gates, flight announcements echoing overhead. But all I heard was my heart pounding.

This was it. I found an empty seat near a coffee shop and pulled out my phone to check the time.

Then—gasps rippled through the crowd.

A group gathered around a phone, eyes wide with sympathy.

“Oh my God, poor Darlene…”

I froze. Darlene?

I followed their gaze to a young woman watching a livestream. There she was—Darlene—in a hospital bed, her voice weak but steady.

“I just want to thank everyone for their prayers… It’s been really tough. I almost didn’t make it.”

Comments flooded in. I had almost forgotten she was an internet celebrity.

Stay strong, Darlene!

You don’t deserve this.

Where’s Andrea? How could she abandon you like this?!

I clenched my jaw, nails digging into my palms. Then a voice in the background sent a chill through me.

“Find her.”

I recognized it immediately—Patrick.

The camera shifted, showing him pacing outside Darlene’s hospital room, speaking to a group of men.

“I don’t care what it takes. Find Andrea. Now.”

One man hesitated before replying, “Sir… we can’t.”

Patrick’s face darkened. “What do you mean you can’t?”

“We checked her records. They’re all gone. It’s like she never existed. We can’t track her anymore.”

My heart hammered. The Secret Service had wiped me clean. I should have looked away, but then another voice spoke up.

“Sir, there’s something else. We found these files left in your office...”

I smirked. Those were the files I’d told the Secret Service to send him before erasing my existence.

“They’re old hospital records. Andrea… she donated a kidney to you years ago.”

Patrick stiffened completely.

“And, sir… after donating blood to Darlene, she lost her baby. We believe the baby was yours.”

The chat exploded with reactions. But I wasn’t watching the comments. I was watching him—how his expression shattered, how his legs gave way, and he dropped to his knees.

But it didn’t end there.

His team added, “We also discovered the real reason she left you years ago. She was being threatened by a syndicate and wanted to protect you from her family’s troubles.”

“You mean… she never cheated on me?”

For the first time in years, I saw something besides hatred in his eyes—regret.

The livestream cut off, but it didn’t matter.

Patrick was too late, no matter how many times he begged.

The airport announcement echoed: “Flight 209 to Rome is now boarding.”

I grabbed my bag, stood, and boarded the plane—leaving behind the man I once believed I’d spend my life with.

"Welcome to your new life, Eris."

The agent handed me my new identification. My fingers traced over the unfamiliar name—Eris Carter. A name without history. A name without pain.

I nodded, slipping the ID into my pocket. "Thank you."

The agent studied me, his sharp eyes searching my face. "There’s no turning back now.”

I didn't hesitate. "I have nothing left to turn back to."

The words settled in the cold air between us, final and absolute. For five years, I had been Andrea Howell, the wife of a man who had done everything in his power to break me. Now, Andrea was gone.

I stepped off the plane and into my new life.

The barracks were exactly as I expected—concrete walls, steel bunk beds, and the scent of sweat and metal lingering in the air.

I had been meant for this life all along. My father had been a secret service agent, and I was trained for it before life had torn me in a different direction. I should have joined years ago, but my mother needed me.

Now, I had no one left to need me. And maybe that was a good thing.

For the first time in years, I didn’t have to be weak. I didn’t have to force myself to smile through the pain, to endure a life that was built on punishment. Here, there were no cheating husbands, no whispered insults, no ghosts from the past that haunted my every move.

I was nobody. Just another recruit among the others.

For a week, I threw myself into training. The physical exhaustion was nothing compared to the emotional torment I had endured in my past life. The running, the combat, the weapons training—it was almost therapeutic.

I spent my nights too exhausted to dream. And for the first time, I thought I could forget.

Until I saw my face on the news. I had just stepped out of the barracks, still sore from an intense sparring session, when I stopped at a gas station to pick up a bottle of water.

The moment I stepped inside, I froze because there I was. Plastered all over the news.

My name. My face.

Patrick was looking for me. Missing posters were tacked onto the windows, the headlines flashing across the screen behind the cashier.

"Billionaire Patrick Howell Desperately Searches for His Missing Wife After Scandal!"

"Andrea Howell Vanished After Hospital Incident—Now a Fugitive?"

"Help Find Andrea—Justice for Darlene!"

My stomach twisted as I grabbed a newspaper, my eyes scanning the bolded words.

A fugitive? A criminal? They were making me out to be the villain.

My breath caught as I read further.

"Sources say Andrea fled after harming an internet celebrity Darlene out of jealousy. Police are investigating her sudden disappearance as all her records were entirely deleted. They were thinking about the possibility of her being connected to the mafia or some secret group. If seen, please report immediately."

It wasn’t just Patrick looking for me. The whole world was. And they thought I was guilty. What? A mafia? Are they insane? But perhaps that was their only explanation because there was no way they could think about me being in the Secret Service.

I barely heard the cashier asking if I needed help. I walked out, my hands trembling as I stuffed the newspaper into my jacket.

This isn’t happening. I should have known. Patrick always got what he wanted.

And this time, what he wanted… was me.

I sat on the edge of my bunk, my mind racing. I had thought disappearing was enough. But it wasn’t. Patrick was relentless. He wouldn’t stop. And worse… he was destroying me all over again.

Painting me as a criminal. Making sure the world saw me as the villain. The woman who abandoned him. The woman who hurt Darlene. No one would know the truth.

Unless I ended it. I grabbed my phone and dialed a number.

The line clicked, and a voice answered. "Eris."

I exhaled slowly. "Can you do something for me?"

A pause. Then, "What do you need?"

I closed my eyes. "Make me dead instead of making me disappear. That’s better."

Silence.

Then—"That’s irreversible, you know."

"I know." I responded. That was also the reason why I just had them delete my existence, not entirely have me dead because I was hoping there was a chance I could still go back to being Andrea once Patrick had forgotten about me. But I was wrong now.

A beat. "This isn’t standard protocol. We delete identities, not people."

"Patrick won’t stop looking for me unless he sees a body."

I could hear the agent shift on the other end. "Do you really think he’d stop?"

I swallowed hard. "He has to."

Another pause. Then a sigh. "Fine. I’ll see what I can do."

I tightened my grip on the phone. "Thank you."

The call ended. And just like that, I had made the final decision.

Andrea Howell was going to die.

Two days later, the world knew. I sat in my small, dark room at the barracks, staring at the TV screen. The news anchor’s voice was calm, professional, emotionless.

"Breaking news—after weeks of searching, authorities have confirmed the death of missing woman Andrea Howell. Her body was discovered in a remote location. Cause of death is still being investigated."

The photo on the screen looked just like me. I wasn’t sure how they managed to pull it off, but I could only hope this would be the end of it. I reached for the remote, ready to turn off the television, when a live broadcast suddenly appeared.

Patrick. He was at the crime scene, running toward my supposed body.