She’s Done. He’s Breaking novel Chapter 1

**She’s Done. He’s Breaking**

**Chapter 1**

At thirty weeks into her pregnancy, Stella Roberts stumbled upon a heart-wrenching sight at the hospital—her husband, Tristan Somerton, in the throes of betrayal.

Dressed in an elegant black coat that accentuated his tall, striking figure, Tristan stood close to a delicate, radiant woman wrapped in a pristine white fur coat. The woman’s features were almost doll-like, her rosy cheeks peeking out from beneath a soft wool scarf that framed her face like a halo.

Stella’s grip on her prenatal test slip tightened until her knuckles turned white with the effort. The biting cold wind stung her cheeks, but it was the icy stab of heartbreak that truly pierced her.

From a distance, Tristan’s eyes caught sight of her, yet not a flicker of guilt crossed his face. His expression remained eerily calm and indifferent as he opened the car door for the woman, a gesture that felt like a final nail in the coffin of their marriage.

The woman seemed to sense Stella’s presence. She froze momentarily, her eyes darting toward Stella with a mix of curiosity and surprise. Then, turning back to Tristan, she chirped, “Who’s that old lady staring at you, Tris? Do you know her?”

The wind howled around Stella, drowning out the woman’s words, but the phrase “old lady” was unmistakable on her lips.

It had to be directed at her.

A bitter laugh escaped Stella’s lips, a sound devoid of humor. At just twenty-four, she felt like a relic of a bygone era—her plain features, the slightly heavy build that was swallowed by her oversized black coat and knit hat, the cumbersome weight of her late-term pregnancy, and the deep lines of exhaustion etched on her face all combined to create an image of someone far older.

In stark contrast, the young, vibrant woman beside Tristan seemed to radiate life and beauty, qualities Stella felt she had long since lost.

Tristan helped the woman into the car, his movements smooth and practiced, as if this were a routine he had perfected.

Stella stood rooted to the spot, her heart heavy as she watched the car pull away, disappearing from her view like a dream that had turned into a nightmare.

Their marriage had been born from necessity; she had gotten pregnant, and to a man like Tristan, this forced union was nothing more than a blemish on his otherwise flawless existence. The baby growing inside her was merely a pawn, a tool to manipulate him into a life he hadn’t chosen.

The truth gnawed at her—he despised her.

For eight long years, she had adored him with a fervor that bordered on obsession. Deep down, she had always known she was unworthy of him. All she could do was strive tirelessly, pouring herself into her studies, treating him as the ideal to which she aspired. Eventually, she had achieved her goal, becoming his assistant and standing close to him, yet it felt like a hollow victory.

That fateful night had shattered everything she held dear. It had not only tarnished Tristan’s image in her eyes but had mercilessly obliterated every shred of pride and dignity she had clung to in his presence.

The memory of his disgusted gaze would haunt her forever, as if she were something vile he had accidentally touched. Only a woman as young and beautiful as the one from earlier could ever hope to deserve him.

A hot tear escaped Stella’s eye, and a sharp pain sliced through her abdomen. She quickly cradled her belly, seeking comfort against a nearby stone pillar.

A nurse passing by noticed her distress and hurried over, guiding Stella into a consultation room. It was revealed that the stress had indeed affected the baby.

Once she had calmed down, Stella left the hospital, her body heavy with exhaustion as she made her way to the car, driving back to Tristan’s villa at Sentella Bay.

Eloise Brown, Tristan’s grandmother, had arranged for experienced housekeepers from the Somerton estate to tend to Stella during her pregnancy.

As she entered the villa, she could hear laughter and chatter emanating from the warm, well-heated living room, where two housekeepers, Lily Landon and Freya Ford, were enjoying their meal. Their jovial mood faltered as they heard the sound of the door opening.

They turned, and one of them rose, stepping forward with an air of disdain. “How did the prenatal checkup go?”

Though her role was to care for Stella, she acted more like a watchful spy, scrutinizing the lady of the house.

Stella merely cast a cold, indifferent glance at her and brushed past, heading straight for the staircase, her heart heavy.

The housekeeper frowned, irritation flickering across her face. “I’m talking to you.”

Stella continued to ignore her, her resolve hardening.

The housekeeper shot her a glare as she walked away, muttering with disgust, “She looks like a fat pig. Does she really think she’s Mrs. Somerton? What a joke.”

Once in her bedroom, Stella sank onto the edge of the bed, feeling adrift and hollow as if she were a ghost in her own life. She had never truly been accepted by Tristan or the Somerton family.

Eloise had insisted on their marriage, but it was merely a desperate attempt to bring joy to Tristan’s ailing grandfather, David Somerton, who had been gravely ill. Stella’s pregnancy had been the catalyst for this union, a way to celebrate two blessings at once.

By some twist of fate, or perhaps because of the marriage, David’s health had gradually improved. Only then did Eloise’s attitude toward Stella soften, but the rest of the Somertons remained openly disdainful, treating her as an outsider.

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