Chapter Three

On the surveillance feed, Sebastian walked through the door, and Layla, barefoot, ran over and threw herself into his arms.

He caught her with one arm, his other hand cradling the back of her head as he kissed her—a kiss I recognized. Five years ago, right after we got married, he had kissed me like that in the car during a rainstorm, with a fierceness that felt like he wanted to devour us both.

Layla stood on her toes to nip his ear. He let out a low laugh, then simply scooped her up and carried her towards the bedroom. The footage cut to the second camera in the bedroom corner—as they fell onto the bed, Sebastian’s hand slid beneath her, his palm cushioning the small of her back against the mattress.

The motion made my stomach clench.

Five years ago, I’d injured my back skiing. Every time we made love after that, he would slide his hand under me like that. I said it wasn't necessary. He’d pinch my cheek and smile, “Zoey will never feel pain, not ever.”

But later, he stopped cushioning my back.

On the screen, Layla was undoing the buttons of his shirt. Sebastian let her, his gaze dropping to watch her fingers work, his focus so intense it was like he was studying a piece of art.

Layla pushed his shirt off. Her fingertip traced the scar on his chest, the one he got taking a knife for me. Back then, his blood had soaked through his white shirt as he pressed on the wound and told me, “Don’t cry. Your tears hurt more than the blade.”

Now, Layla’s lips pressed against that scar. He closed his eyes, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

I hit pause.

The image froze on that moment of surrender.

So all these years, he hadn’t abandoned tenderness. He’d just redirected it.

It was close to 3 AM when an engine purred outside.

Yes. I had just watched the entire act of my husband making love to another woman.

As I closed the laptop, the study door opened.

Sebastian walked in, his shirt neatly re-buttoned, cufflinks back in place. Only his damp hair betrayed he’d showered. At her place.

“Still up?” His voice held a post-sex rasp.

“Waiting for you.” I lifted the dagger, turning the blade toward him. “It’s such an extravagant gift. I was just thinking about the best way to use it.”

He smiled, walking over and crouching before me. His hand closed over mine on the hilt. “Let me show you.”

“First,” he guided my wrist, turning the point toward his own throat, “you pick the right spot. The carotid. Slide it in, give it a half-turn. The blood will spray ten feet.”

The tip pressed into his skin, creating a small dimple.

“Then the eyes.” He moved our joined hands until the dagger was level with his own gaze. “The orbit is soft. Angle the tip in, give it a stir, and you can scoop the eyeball right out. Want to try?”

I stared into his pupils.

“Sebastian,” I said softly, “you once said, if I ever took your eyes—”

“—I’d see you in everyone, yet no one would be you.” He finished the sentence, a corner of his mouth lifting. “So I’d better keep them. After all,” he leaned in, his breath warm on my lips, “these eyes have been looking at you for seven years, and it’s still not enough.”

A lie!!!

Those same eyes had just been looking at someone else's body.

I pulled my hand back. The dagger clattered to the floor. He picked it up, slid it back into its sheath, and placed it squarely in the center of the desk.

“Let’s sleep.” He pulled me to my feet, his arm encircling my waist.

In our bed, he held me from behind.

“Zoey.” He spoke suddenly.

“Hmm?”

“If one day…” He paused for a long time. “Hypothetically. If you found out I’d lied to you… would you kill me?”

I lay with my back to him, eyes open in the dark.

“No.” I said.

His arm tightened.

“I’d let you live.” I continued. “I’d let you look in the mirror every day and see those eyes. And remember—they were supposed to be plucked out by me. But I left them in, because you begged.”

His body clearly stiffened for a moment, but the next second, he let out a low laugh.

He reached out and turned me around, making me face him. In the darkness, I couldn't make out his expression, only hearing his voice laced with amusement, "Then should I start begging for mercy now? Is it still in time?"

I didn’t answer.

He kissed my forehead, his hand slipping under my nightgown. When his fingers brushed my lower abdomen, they stilled—a slight swell, barely noticeable, but his hand stayed there.

“You’ve gained some weight lately,” he said.

“Mhm.” I closed my eyes.

He didn’t move further, just splayed his palm flat against the spot, as if feeling for something. After a long moment, he said quietly, “Zoey, let’s have a child.”

My throat tightened.

“Why so sudden…”

“Sudden?” He pulled me closer. “I’m thirty-three. The Smiths need an heir. The Blackwoods need an heir.” His voice grew softer. “And… I want to see what you look like as a mother.”

Want to see what I look like as a mother.

And what about the one in Layla’s womb? A practice run?

I didn’t voice the question. I just shifted in his arms, turning my back to him again. He didn’t speak either, just kept his hand pressed against my abdomen until his breathing deepened into sleep.

The next morning, right after Sebastian left, the doorbell rang.

Layla stood outside, holding a paper bag, her smile sickly sweet. “Zoey, Sebastian forgot some documents. I was passing by, so I thought I’d drop them off.”

I blocked the doorway. “I’ll take them.”

She tilted her head, her gaze sliding from my face down to my abdomen, lingering for two seconds. “Aren’t you going to invite me in? After all,” she lowered her voice, “we’re practically family now.”

I stepped aside to let her pass.

She walked into the living room like she owned it, tossing the bag casually onto the sofa before turning to face me. “Zoey, we need to talk.”

“About what?”

“You stepping aside.” She was blunt. “Sebastian loves me. I’m carrying his heir. You clinging to this position is pathetic.”

I walked to the liquor cabinet and poured myself a glass of water. “The title of Mrs. Blackwood was bought with my father’s life. You want it?” I turned to look at her. “Pay for it with your entire family’s blood.”

Her face paled, then she laughed. “You don’t know, do you? Sebastian already moved my parents to France. You can’t touch them.”

The glass wavered in my hand.

So he’d done that, too.

Layla stepped closer. “Honestly, Zoey, why bother? Holding onto a man who doesn’t love you… why not just take the money and leave? Sebastian said if you sign the divorce papers, he’ll give you this much.” She held up a number of fingers.

Enough for an ordinary person to live ten lifetimes.

But not enough to purchase the honor of the Smiths—a family that once ruled the underworld.

I set the water glass down. “Finished? The door is that way.”

She didn’t move. Her eyes fell to my abdomen again, and then a sudden, knowing smile spread across her face. “You’re pregnant too, aren’t you?”

My back went rigid.

“That thing you’re carrying right now,” she took another step forward, “is it even Sebastian’s?”

I slapped her.

She didn’t dodge. The blow landed squarely on her cheek, but in the next instant, she grabbed my wrist, her other hand shooting out and shoving hard against my stomach—

Agony exploded.

As I doubled over and crumpled to the floor, I heard her icy voice: “That was for my baby. A woman like you doesn’t deserve to bear a Blackwood child.”

The pain radiated from my core to my limbs. I curled on the ground, my back instantly soaked with cold sweat.

Gritting my teeth, I fumbled for my phone and hit speed dial.

It rang three times before Sebastian answered.

“Zoey?” The background was noisy—he was in a meeting.

“I…” I sucked in a breath, trying to steady my voice. “I don’t feel well. I need to go to the hospital. Can you…”

“Now?” He cut me off. “I’m in the middle of an acquisition meeting. I can’t leave. Have the driver take you. I’ll come as soon as I’m done.”

The call disconnected.

I held the phone, watching the screen go dark. The pain in my abdomen intensified, a warm wetness trickling down my inner thigh.

Layla crouched down, brushing the sweat-dampened hair from my forehead with her fingers.

“You see,” she whispered, “he doesn’t care about you at all.”

She didn’t rush to leave. Instead, she took out her own phone, dialed Sebastian’s number, and deliberately put it on speakerphone, letting me hear every word.

“Sebastian?” Her voice instantly turned weak and panicked. “I… I think something’s wrong with the baby. I had some pain just now… and there’s a little bleeding. I’m so scared…”

On the other end, Sebastian’s tone changed completely. The background noise of the meeting seemed to vanish. “What? Layla, where are you? What’s wrong with the baby? Don’t move. I’m coming right now! The meeting is canceled. I’m heading to the hospital!”

He hung up with such urgency, I could almost see him pushing through the conference room doors, his face pale as he sprinted out.

Layla put her phone away, a smirk curling her lips. She leaned down close to me, her voice low and mocking. “Did you hear that, Zoey? For me, for our child, he drops everything. When you begged him, he couldn’t spare an extra second. But now? He’s racing over like a madman.”

She stood up and walked away. The click of her heels faded beyond the front door.

I struggled to dial the driver, my voice shaking uncontrollably. “C-come… get me… hospital…”