Her Birthday His Forbidden Desire novel Chapter 2

**Twilight Carves Destinies by George Orwell 2**

**Chapter 2**

That fateful night, Ethan Rivers chose not to return home.

As the clock struck midnight, I found myself whispering a quiet birthday wish into the stillness of the room.

Memories flooded my mind—those moments when he would meticulously arrange candlelit dinners before heading off to award ceremonies, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

“After I finish, we’ll celebrate together. It’s your birthday too, after all,” he would say, his voice warm and reassuring.

But now, he was busy celebrating another woman’s birthday in ways I couldn’t even begin to fathom.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed, breaking the heavy silence.

An anonymous sender had shared a video with me.

The footage revealed Victoria, her pale skin partially hidden beneath a sheer veil, posing in a way that was almost indecent.

Then, Ethan entered the frame, his presence electrifying.

“Like this…” he murmured, his fingers gliding lightly along her arm, tracing a path to her collarbone, teasingly gentle as if he were handling something fragile.

I could see the flush creeping across Victoria’s cheeks as she breathed out his name, “Ethan…”

“Perfect,” he declared, his voice filled with satisfaction as he pressed the shutter, his Adam’s apple bobbing with anticipation.

The phone felt like a searing iron in my hands, and I dropped it, stumbling toward the bathroom as nausea took hold.

No matter how violently I retched, I couldn’t rid myself of the profound disgust and betrayal that twisted in my heart.

Nearly two hundred photos—and this was the manner in which he captured them all.

Once the waves of nausea subsided, I inhaled deeply, a storm of indignation brewing within me.

One by one, I uploaded those damning images to the Rivers family group chat.

Within a mere three seconds, my phone rang, Ethan’s name flashing on the screen, his fury palpable.

Victoria sobbed uncontrollably, her cheeks flushed crimson, looking utterly desolate.

Ethan, now completely indifferent to my presence, retrieved an ice pack from the refrigerator for her face, guiding her out with a tenderness that felt like a dagger to my heart.

They began discussing tomorrow’s photography exhibition, exchanging professional jokes that sailed over my head, their laughter ringing in my ears like a cruel melody.

Each laugh and flirtatious comment pierced me like thorns, a stark reminder of my insignificance in Ethan’s life.

Perhaps, in these five years, I had never truly occupied a place in his heart.

And at that moment, I resolved that I didn’t want him either.

I retreated to the bedroom, methodically shoving clothes into my suitcase, my movements deliberate and resolute.

Just as I was halfway through packing, my phone chimed, alerting me that a divorce agreement had been successfully drafted.

I turned to find Ethan standing behind me, a look of confusion clouding his features as he caught sight of the document on my screen.

“Divorce? Who’s getting divorced?” he asked, his voice laced with disbelief.