Chapter 1 I Want A Divorce

My name's Natalia Hinton, and today was supposed to mean something—our third wedding anniversary. Three years married to Quinn Madden, and yet here I am, wondering what the hell went wrong.

I'd spent hours in the kitchen, pouring everything I had into making his favorite meal. It wasn't extravagant, just my way of showing I cared, of celebrating us. But when I called Quinn that evening, his line was busy. Again. And again. And again.

By midnight, the food on the table was stone cold, and he still hadn't come home.

A sharp pain twisted in my stomach, stealing my breath. Maybe it was hunger. Maybe it was something else entirely. Clutching my abdomen, I leaned against the counter just as my phone started buzzing.

The ringtone—his ringtone—snapped me out of my haze. I grabbed the phone so quickly I nearly dropped it. "Quinn? Where are you? Why didn't you answer?" My voice cracked, a mix of worry and frustration.

His reply was colder than the rain pounding outside. "Pack your things. Move out for a while."

For a moment, I couldn't breathe. I clutched the phone tighter, the words hitting me like a slap. "What... what the hell are you talking about? Did something happen?"

"Diana's back," he said flatly. No emotion, no hesitation. "She doesn't like staying in hotels."

I froze, my heart sinking like a stone. Diana Terell. Even hearing her name was enough to send a chill through me. I didn't know much about her, but one thing had been painfully clear since day one: my husband had loved her for ten years.

Rain lashed against the windows, loud and unrelenting. The pain in my stomach worsened, but it was nothing compared to the ache spreading through my chest.

"Now?" I croaked, my voice barely above a whisper. My gaze locked on the storm outside, the lightning illuminating the chaos in my head. "You're telling me this now? On our—"

"Yes, now," he interrupted, his tone sharp and final. He didn't even let me finish. Before I could get the words "wedding anniversary" out of my mouth, the line went dead.

I stared at the phone, disbelief coursing through me. The silence that followed was deafening, the kind that wrapped around me and didn't let go.

Once Quinn made up his mind, there was no room for negotiation—never had been.

My hands trembled as I forced myself to stand. The pain in my stomach didn't care about the storm or my emotions. I gulped down a glass of water, hoping it might take the edge off, then pushed through the ache to pack my things.

By the time I zipped the last bag shut, the cab I'd called was already idling at the villa's entrance, its headlights cutting through the rain.

The driver stepped out as I hauled my luggage to the door, his umbrella barely holding back the downpour. "Miss, are you okay?" he asked, his brows knit with concern as he reached for my bags.

I gave him a faint smile, brushing off the worry with a small shake of my head. "I'm fine, really. Just—"

Before I could finish, a sharp, fiery pain tore through my abdomen. It hit me like a sucker punch, and my knees buckled under me. Gasping, I clutched my stomach, my vision blurring as the driver rushed forward, his voice echoing somewhere in the distance.

*****

At the hospital, I lay on the stiff bed, an IV drip hooked to my arm, my mind racing but my body feeling too weak to move.

"You're already eleven weeks pregnant," the doctor said, her tone professional but edged with concern as she reviewed my test results. "But you've been pushing yourself too hard. The pain earlier? That was your body giving you a warning.

"If you want to keep this baby, you'll need to be admitted for observation—and take it easy from now on."

I stared down at my flat abdomen, my mind spinning in chaos.

I'd always been careful, taking birth control pills after every time Quinn and I were together. But two months ago, there'd been that one drunken night. He'd called me to pick him up, and things got heated in the car—just once. And now... a baby.

The doctor's voice pulled me back to reality. "Where's the baby's father? He should bring you something to eat. You'll need to get some proper nutrition after the IV."

I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Instead, I just sat there, silent, my thoughts tangled in knots.

A baby. His baby. What would Quinn say if he knew? Would he care? Would he even want this child?

After the doctor left, I spent what felt like hours staring at my phone, my thumb hovering over his number. Finally, I took a deep breath and dialed. The line connected almost instantly.

"Quinn..." I started, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Quinn's in the shower," a sweet, feminine voice chirped on the other end, casual and light. "Who's calling? I'll have him call you back."

It was my first time hearing Diana's voice, but it felt like a dagger straight to the heart. So soon—he'd already brought her home.

"Is that for me?" Quinn's deep voice came through in the background. A moment later, the phone shuffled, and his familiar indifference came through the line. "What is it?"

The hospital room felt stiflingly warm, but a cold chill seeped into my bones, leaving me frozen.

"I..." The words I'd practiced over and over tangled in my throat, refusing to come out. "I'm pregnant" felt like a lead weight, too heavy to voice.

I swallowed hard, trying to gather the courage to speak, just as a high-pitched shriek echoed through the line.

"Diana? What happened?" Quinn's voice, filled with panic, was a tone I'd never heard him use—not for me. Not once in three years.

"I was trying to cut some fruit for you," Diana whimpered, her voice trembling. "And I... I accidentally sliced my finger."

"Does it hurt? Hold on—I'll take you to the hospital right now!" His concern was instant, the urgency in his voice cutting deep.

The line went dead before I could respond.

The phone slipped from my trembling hand onto the bed, and I clenched the blanket tightly. My chest felt so constricted it was hard to draw a full breath.

How ironic. Three years of marriage, and I couldn't even get a fraction of the care he'd just shown her.

An hour later, I signed the discharge papers and left the hospital alone, dragging my suitcase behind me. Exhaustion weighed on me as I stepped into the elevator. It stopped on the third floor with a soft ding.

"You didn't have to make such a big deal over something a Band-Aid could handle," a woman's playful voice teased just as the doors slid open.

Instinctively, I looked up—and froze.

Standing there was Quinn, and beside him was a petite, gorgeous woman with delicate features and an easy, radiant smile. Her arm was casually looped around his, and her face was lit with happiness. They seemed like the perfect couple.

Even without an introduction, I knew. This was Diana.

The faint smile Quinn had been wearing just seconds ago vanished the moment his gaze met mine. His eyes turned as cold as ice, that familiar indifference creeping back in like a shadow.

"Come on, Quinn!" Diana stepped into the elevator first, holding the doors open with one hand. Her polite smile flickered my way before she turned her attention back to him. "Let's go."

Quinn followed her inside, his sharp gaze narrowing as he glanced at me.

The three of us stood in the elevator, the tension so thick it was suffocating. I felt completely out of place, like an outsider in my own life.

A twisted thought crept into my mind: if Diana knew the truth about my relationship with Quinn, would she still be smiling at me so sweetly?

But I quickly shoved it aside. Even if Quinn didn't love me, I couldn't bear the thought of him hating me any more than he already did.

The ride down felt like an eternity, the silence pressing down on me like a weight. Every second stretched painfully long.

When the doors finally opened on the first floor, I rushed out like a lifeline, desperate to escape, but then I heard Quinn's voice—low and commanding. "Wait."

His deep, magnetic voice cut through the air like a whip, stopping me in my tracks. It was devoid of warmth—so different from the tender tone he used with Diana.

Some people, it seems, can only ever love one person. For Quinn, that person was Diana. For me, it had always been Quinn.

"Diana, wait in the car," Quinn said, his voice gentle as he handed her the keys. He gave her a soft smile before following me out of the elevator.

As the doors slid shut, I caught the flicker of Diana's face. Her expression shifted—confusion giving way to anger, a flash of irritation sparking in her eyes. She wasn't stupid; she'd figured out who I was.

Quinn's steps quickened as he closed the distance between us, his frown deepening. "What are you doing at the hospital?" His voice was ice-cold.

I hesitated, scrambling for an excuse. "Visiting a friend."

"With a suitcase? At this hour?" His words dripped with suspicion, his sharp eyes scanning me like he was waiting to catch me in a lie. Then he sneered, lips curling into a mocking smirk. "Natalia, your lies are getting worse."

To him, I was nothing but a schemer, a liar. No matter what I said or did, that was all he'd ever see.

He'd never married me for love—just obligation. The Hinton and Madden families had an old marriage pact, one of those archaic agreements meant to keep power and wealth intertwined.

Three years ago, when my family was on the brink of bankruptcy, I'd swallowed my pride and gone to Alex Madden—Quinn's grandfather—desperately begging him to make good on that deal.

Quinn hadn't wanted any part of it. But when Alex played the family-reputation card, backing him into a corner, he gave in.

And just like that, I became Mrs. Madden. Not a cherished wife, but the roadblock between him and Diana. I'd poured every ounce of my heart into loving him, and he'd repaid me with nothing but resentment.

"Still not telling the truth?" His face hardened, the disdain in his eyes cutting through me like a knife. "If you want something, Natalia, just say it. Cut the games."

So, that's what this was. He'd stopped me because he thought I was scheming, worried I'd somehow mess with his precious Diana.

Quinn... I don't want much. Just your love. Just the chance to keep the baby growing inside me. But deep down, I knew better. That was asking for the impossible.

A lump rose in my throat, and for a long moment, I could only stare at him, fighting the burn behind my eyes. Finally, I found my voice—low, strained, and barely audible. "I want a divorce."

Chapter 2 You're Just A Pawn

Quinn's scowl deepened, and his icy stare pinned me to the spot. "Natalia, do you have any idea what happens to people who try to threaten me?"

His voice was sharp, dripping with menace, and the anger radiating off him was enough to make my chest tighten.

What the hell was he so mad about? Shouldn't he be happy I was giving him exactly what he wanted? A clean break. A free pass to play house with Diana. Or did he think this was some kind of trick, another one of my so-called schemes?

Swallowing my emotions, I forced a calm expression and met his glare with a faint smile. "If you're free tomorrow, we can head to the court and get the divorce done."

I thought I was being reasonable—hell, I was practically bending over backward to make this easy for him. Letting go of a man who would never love me wasn't just for his benefit. It was the only way to protect myself and my baby.

Before I could react, he grabbed my chin with a grip like steel. His fingers bit into my skin, and the look on his face was pure disdain.

"Natalia," he sneered, his voice dripping with venomous amusement, "don't flatter yourself. You're just a pawn your family sold to mine. Whether I keep you around or throw you away—that's my decision. Not yours."

His words were like a slap, but they shouldn't have surprised me. I knew exactly what he was implying. When we got married, the Madden family had handed over 10 million dollars as an engagement gift to secure a lucrative business deal with the Hintons.

And now? He was reminding me, loud and clear, that without the Maddens, my family's fragile empire would crumble.

Just then, his phone buzzed, cutting through the heavy silence. Diana. It had to be her, impatient and needing his attention.

Quinn's jaw tightened as he glanced at the screen, then back at me. His eyes bore into mine for a long, hard second before he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving me standing there like I didn't even exist.

Outside, the storm was still raging. Rain pounded against the hospital's entrance, lightning flashing across the sky like the universe itself was angry. I stood frozen, staring out into the chaos, unsure of where to go or what to do next.

Slowly, I looked down at my belly, placing a hand over the tiny life growing inside me. I took a deep breath, steadying myself against the storm inside and out.

"Don't worry, baby," I whispered, my voice breaking but resolute. "No matter what, I'll make sure you come into this world safe and sound. That's a promise."

By the time I finally made it back to my family's house, it was the middle of the night. The place was dead silent, the kind of quiet that pressed against your ears. Everyone was obviously fast asleep.

I eased the door open, doing my best not to make a sound, but it didn't matter. Lucia Brown, the maid who lived on the first floor, must've heard me anyway.

She stepped out of her room, her expression far from friendly, her eyes narrowing as if I were some kind of intruder. "Ms. Hinton, why are you coming back at this hour?" she asked, her eyes flicking to my suitcase as she crossed her arms. Her voice carried just the right amount of snark to let me know I wasn't welcome.

Too exhausted to engage, I dropped the suitcase by the door and waved her off. "Go back to bed. Just move it to my room in the morning," I muttered, already heading toward the stairs.

"Wait," Lucia called after me, her tone suddenly dripping with false sweetness. "Ms. Hinton, I almost forgot. Your room got turned into a studio a little while ago—Miss Skylar needed the space."

Her words hit like a bucket of cold water. My room? Of all the empty ones in this house, she'd taken mine?

Lucia's voice dripped with mock sympathy. "Oh, don't take it too hard, Ms. Hinton. I mean, you are married, right? Who could've guessed you'd come dragging your suitcase back here in the dead of night?"

She paused, letting the sting sink in before adding, "If I set up another room for you now, it'd wake Mr. and Mrs. Hinton. How about this—you crash in my room instead?"

I bit back a sneer. She was just a maid, but her audacity spoke volumes—she wouldn't dare act this way without Skylar Hinton giving her the green light.

"No need," I replied coolly, turning toward the living room sofa instead.

The storm raged on through the night, its howling winds a perfect backdrop for the whirlwind in my heart. By morning, I was startled awake by my adoptive father, Elijah Hinton's voice, cutting through the haze of exhaustion.

"Natalia, why are you sleeping on the couch?" His brows furrowed as his sharp gaze shifted to Lucia. "Why didn't you prepare a room for Ms. Natalia?"

Caught completely off guard, Lucia stammered, tripping over her words as she tried to conjure an excuse.

Before she could manage one, a soft, apologetic voice drifted down the staircase. "Dad, don't be too hard on Lucia—it's my fault. I turned Natalia's room into a studio for convenience."

Skylar descended the stairs with that trademark wide-eyed, innocent look she'd perfected. "Natalia, I didn't mean anything by it. Next time, just give me a heads-up if you're coming back, and you can have my room instead."

How ironic. The home where I'd grown up now treated me like an outsider, a guest who needed to call ahead.

Forcing a faint smile, I replied evenly, "Actually, I'll be staying for a while this time. Could you please restore my room right away, Skylar?"

Skylar's saccharine smile faltered for a fraction of a second before she recovered, nodding quickly. "Of course."

Elijah's gaze lingered on me, as though he wanted to say something but didn't know how to begin.

I could sense the unspoken questions weighing on him, but now wasn't the time for explanations—not about my pregnancy, and certainly not about the disaster my marriage had become.

Drawing a deep breath, I decided to test the waters. "Dad, if I want to divorce Quinn... will you support me?"

The words hung in the air, and he froze, his expression shifting from confusion to concern. "Natalia, what happened?"

I shook my head, unable to share everything just yet. The weight of it all felt too heavy to unload in one conversation.

Instead of pressing, he handed me a glass of water, his voice tinged with guilt. "Natalia, I know I failed you back then. If life with the Maddens is making you unhappy, just come home. I'll stand by whatever you decide."

His words, so simple yet heartfelt, brought a flicker of warmth to my chest. At least someone still had my back.

After unpacking my bags, I decided to check in on my adoptive mother, Jenna Hinton. She struggled with chronic insomnia and usually slept late into the morning, so I thought it would be the right time to see her.

The door to her room was slightly ajar, and as I approached, I caught the sound of her agitated voice cutting through the air. "If we hadn't taken her in, do you think she'd be living the high life as a wealthy socialite today? Divorce? Does she even have a shred of gratitude?"

Elijah sighed heavily. "Natalia might be adopted, but we've raised her as our daughter for twenty years. If it weren't for her stepping up, negotiating with the Maddens, and marrying Quinn back then, we would've gone bankrupt years ago."

"Don't give me that!" Jenna's voice sharpened, laced with grievance. "Sacrifice? Are you kidding me? Marrying into the Madden family is a golden ticket! Most women would kill for that kind of opportunity.

"And let me remind you, Elijah, Skylar is our real daughter. She was out there suffering for years before we found her last year. She's the one who deserves our love and attention now. We owe it to her to make up for everything she's been through!"

"I know, but it's obvious Natalia's miserable with Quinn—"

"Enough!" Jenna snapped, her frustration boiling over. "We can't risk losing the Maddens' support now. We raised Natalia for twenty years—that's more than enough. Consider this her way of paying us back!"

Her words landed like a sucker punch, leaving me momentarily frozen.

I'd always known I was adopted, and I never questioned Jenna and Elijah's love for me. They'd given me everything: a home, an education, a chance to thrive. But Skylar—their real daughter—had been taken from them when she was just three years old.

They'd searched for years before finally reuniting with her last year. Since then, everything had changed.

I didn't blame Jenna for wanting to make up for lost time with Skylar; it was natural for any mother.

But hearing those words—hearing that I was nothing more than a debt to be repaid—crushed me. It felt like the ground had shifted beneath my feet, leaving me stranded.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I turned and walked away, unspoken hurt pressing down on my chest. I wasn't in the mood to dwell on it any longer, so I headed straight to work at the Madden Group.

The moment I stepped into my office, Raelynn Novak, my secretary, walked in with a cup of coffee. Her hesitation was written all over her face. She'd been with me for years, long before I started working here, and I could tell when she had something to say. "Ms. Hinton..." she began, hesitating.

I raised an eyebrow. "Spit it out, Raelynn. What's going on?"

She set the coffee on my desk carefully, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "A new design director was appointed this morning. A female director. Mr. Madden hired her himself." Her tone lingered on the word "female," loaded with implication.

I froze for a second. My stomach tightened as the realization hit. "Diana Terell, isn't it?" I asked, my voice steady, though my fingers instinctively clenched the edge of my desk.

Raelynn's eyes widened in surprise. "Yeah, that's her. You know her? She's got that whole sweet, innocent vibe going on, but let's be real—any woman Mr. Madden hires personally has to be more than just a pretty face, right?"

Quinn, bringing his mistress into the company? Yeah, that sounded exactly like him. And if it was Diana, the lengths he'd go for her made perfect sense. Nobody else could command that kind of attention from him.

My lips curled into a bitter smile. "Got it. Thanks, Raelynn. Get back to work."

After a sleepless night and hours buried in paperwork, exhaustion finally hit me like a freight train. I barely managed to pick at my lunch before nausea swept over me, forcing me to rush to the restroom.

My stomach lurched violently, and I clung to the sink, trying to steady myself as dry heaves wracked my body.

"Are you okay?" a soft voice called out, and a hand stretched toward me, offering a tissue.

I turned, accepting the tissue. But as the words "Thank you" hung in my throat, my gaze collided with Diana's delicate face. There she stood, her doe eyes wide and innocent, her expression as fragile as a blooming flower, as if she couldn't hurt a soul.

Chapter 3 A Bitter Irony

Diana spotted me the moment I walked in. Her sharp eyes gleamed with a predatory glint, and a sly, almost smug smile played on her lips as she gave me a slow, deliberate once-over, like she was weighing her competition.

"I'm Diana Terell. We met at the hospital last night," she said, her voice sugar-sweet but dripping with something sharper, more calculated.

"Yeah." I barely spared her a glance, responding with a nonchalant hum while fixing my hair in the mirror.

She kept the small talk going, her tone light and conversational, but I wasn't biting.

Whatever game she was playing, I had zero interest in entertaining it. Raelynn was right—this woman was trouble, through and through.

When Quinn and I got married, he'd sent Diana off to study abroad. Back then, she'd had no choice but to accept that the man she loved had married someone else.

And now here she was, sauntering back in as if nothing had changed, like she still owned a stake in his life.

She was bold, I'd give her that. Brazen enough to waltz in as the other woman without a shred of shame. It was almost admirable—thick skin like hers didn't come easy.

I threw her a bored look, turned on my heel, and made my way toward the door. There was no way I was wasting any more of my time on her.

But just as my hand reached for the door handle, she dropped her bomb. "I'm pregnant," she said, her voice smug, practically daring me to react. "It's Quinn's baby."

My steps faltered, my heart plummeting like a stone. Slowly, I turned back to face her. Gone was the syrupy, innocent act she'd been putting on. Her expression was cold, triumphant, her true colors showing in stark contrast.

"You've had your fun playing Mrs. Madden for two years, Natalia," she said, venom dripping from every word. "But now that I'm back, I'm taking what's mine."

For a moment, I was stunned into silence by the sheer audacity of her words. Then I laughed—a sharp, bitter sound that echoed through the restroom like a slap.

Diana had landed just last night, fresh off a plane from her overseas studies. If she really was pregnant, it meant Quinn had never actually cut ties with her. The timeline lined up all too perfectly with his last trip abroad two months ago.

The irony wasn't lost on me: we were both carrying Quinn's child.

I crossed my arms and arched a brow, my voice as cold as ice. "Miss Terell, judging by your tone, you seem confused about your standing here. That baby you're flaunting? Let's call it what it is—a bastard."

Her composure cracked instantly, her face twisting with rage as she jabbed a finger toward me. "Who are you calling a mistress?" she snapped, her voice shaking with fury. "Natalia, if you hadn't barged into Quinn's life, he would've married me! I was supposed to be Mrs. Madden—you stole that from me!"

I didn't flinch. Instead, I let my gaze stay steady, cool, and cutting. "You really think that if I weren't in the picture, Quinn would've married you?" I said, my tone sharp enough to slice. "Let's get real, Diana. You think Alex Madden would let the daughter of a maid into his family?

"Especially when that maid's sitting in prison for theft?"

Her face went pale, her jaw tightening as the words hit their mark. I'd done my homework. Back when I still thought my love for Quinn meant something, I'd dug into the lives of everyone close to him. And Diana's dirty laundry wasn't hard to find.

Her mother, Julia Terell, had worked as a maid for the Maddens for over two decades. After Quinn's mother passed, Julia had practically raised him. Diana had grown up in the Madden household, always lurking in the shadows, never truly belonging.

But five years ago, Julia's greed got the best of her. She stole a priceless family heirloom and ended up with a ten-year prison sentence. She was still locked up.

Diana's eyes reddened with anger, her mask of innocence shattering. "You bitch!" she shrieked, lunging at me with her hand raised to slap me.

I wasn't about to let her land a hit. Dodging to the side, I avoided her swing, but Diana wasn't done. She pivoted sharply, her next move wild and unpredictable. This time, she charged straight for my stomach.

Panic surged through me. My only thought was to protect my baby. Instinctively, I threw my arms around my belly and shoved her away with all the strength I could muster.

A piercing scream tore through the air as Diana collapsed onto the floor. "My baby... my baby!" she wailed, clutching her abdomen.

Scarlet blood spread beneath her, pooling on the polished floor. Her cries echoed through the office, drawing a crowd of horrified onlookers. Two of my female colleagues rushed in, their eyes wide with horror as they gasped at the sight.

Moments later, Quinn stormed through the door, his face dark as a brewing storm. Without hesitation, he dropped to his knees and scooped Diana into his arms.

"Quinn... save our baby," Diana whimpered, her voice trembling, her pale face streaked with sweat—a picture of pure vulnerability.

"Don't panic, the ambulance is on its way," he murmured, his tone low but laced with tension. Every fiber of his being seemed focused on her, his concern etched into his furrowed brow.

Then, his head snapped up, and his gaze locked on me. The fury in his eyes was blistering, like he was barely holding himself back from tearing into me.

I froze under his glare, my stomach twisting in knots. Words clawed at my throat, desperate to come out, but I couldn't find anything to say.

What would it matter? I could already see the judgment in his eyes—he'd made up his mind about what happened. He wouldn't believe me.

The ambulance arrived quickly, the medics moving Diana onto a stretcher as she whimpered softly, milking every ounce of sympathy from the moment. Quinn followed right behind, not sparing me a single glance.

Left alone in the silence of the office, I could feel the weight of every whisper, every stare. In the blink of an eye, I had become the office joke, the subject of everyone's whispered gossip and behind-the-back glances.

I couldn't stand it any longer. The stares, the judgment—it was too much. Grabbing my things, I slipped out early, swallowing the lump of humiliation in my throat as I headed home.

The moment I stepped through the door, my adoptive father called me into his study, his face lined with worry.

"Natalia, there's trouble at the company. Can you lend me a million dollars?" His voice was strained, teetering on the edge of desperation.

I forced a bitter smile. "I don't have that kind of money." The Madden family's engagement gift—what little financial security I'd ever had—had already been poured into covering my family's debts. There was nothing left.

"Could you talk to Quinn?" Elijah's plea was heavy with urgency. "A worker died on one of the construction sites, and the compensation has to be paid immediately. If we don't settle it soon, the situation could spiral. Natalia, I'm begging you. Please, help us get through this."

The weight of his plea pressed heavily on me. No matter how strained things were between us, Elijah had always been my father in every sense that mattered. I sighed and nodded reluctantly. "I'll try."

But Quinn? I knew asking him was a long shot. After what happened at the office, there was no way he'd agree to help me.

After mulling it over, I decided to head to the Madden Mansion instead. If anyone could help, it was Alex.

As his granddaughter-in-law, shameless as it felt, I might still have enough standing to appeal to his sense of family.

When I arrived, the butler greeted me politely and ushered me into the grand living room.

To my surprise, Quinn was there, lounging on the sleek black leather sofa in a crisp white shirt, the top button undone, exposing just enough of his collarbone to look both casual and commanding.

I blinked, startled. I'd expected him to still be at the hospital with Diana, holding her hand or playing the doting boyfriend. Yet here he was, calm and composed, as if nothing had happened.

"Natalia, you're finally here," Alex greeted warmly, his kind eyes crinkling as he smiled. "Quinn mentioned you two are planning for a baby. That's wonderful news! But look at you—you're too thin. You'll need to eat more from now on to keep yourself and the baby healthy."

Quinn told him that? My mind scrambled. And how did Alex know I'd be coming today?

I glanced at Quinn, searching for answers. His brown eyes met mine, sharp and calculating. Whatever game he was playing, I couldn't read it.

"Serve the dishes," Quinn instructed the staff, his voice calm but commanding.

The meal was extravagant, and Alex, clearly determined to fatten me up, insisted I drink two bowls of soup to "nourish" myself.

After the meal, Alex kept me engaged in a conversation about family matters. I tried to bring up the money issue several times, but the conversation never naturally found its way there.

By the time the clock struck eight, I hadn't found an opening.

"Grandpa, it's getting late. We should head home," Quinn said, rising from his seat and making the first move to leave. I followed suit, offering Alex a polite nod before turning toward the door.

The ride home was drenched in an awkward, suffocating silence. The air between us was heavy, thick with unspoken tension. Quinn's grip on the wheel was tight, his jaw clenched, and his expression colder than a January frost.

Unable to take it any longer, I finally broke the silence. "How's Diana?" My voice was quiet, hesitant. I wasn't trying to stir the pot—I just needed to know. What happened to her wasn't my fault. I hadn't meant to hurt her or the baby. It was self-defense.

Quinn's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. Without warning, he slammed on the brakes. The car jerked to a violent stop in the middle of the road, tires screeching.

The sudden jolt sent me lurching forward, my arms flying up instinctively to shield my stomach.

Before I could recover, his hand shot out, grabbing my collar and pinning me back against the seat with a force that left me breathless.

"Don't you dare say her name," he growled, his voice low and menacing, each word dripping with warning. His eyes locked onto mine, dark and turbulent, like a storm on the verge of breaking.

My chest tightened, a knot of humiliation and heartache tightening around my ribs. The pain was almost too much to bear.

I forced a bitter laugh, trying to mask the sting. "If she means that much to you, why aren't you with her right now? Or are you afraid I'll go running to your grandfather?" I glanced at him with a smirk. "Seems like maybe she's not as irreplaceable as you think."

But my taunt didn't seem to get to him. Whether I'd hit a nerve or he just didn't give a damn anymore, Quinn's face remained a mask of indifference. His grip loosened, and without a word, he released me and resumed driving.

When we pulled up to the villa, Quinn got out of the car without a word, heading straight inside, not even sparing me a glance. I hesitated for a brief moment before reluctantly following him inside.

Back at the villa, everything felt oddly unchanged. The familiar scent of lavender lingered in the air, and everything was just as it had been—intact, untouched—no sign that Diana had ever been here.

For a moment, a foolish hope flickered inside me, like a tiny spark. Maybe, just maybe, Quinn hadn't brought Diana here.

Lost in thought, I didn't notice Quinn until the bathroom door opened. He stepped out, freshly showered, the white bathrobe hanging loosely around him.

It barely concealed his chiseled chest and the taut muscles of his body, every inch of him radiating raw masculinity.

Quinn caught me staring and frowned slightly. "Need me to help you shower?"

Chapter 4 You Owe Her That

The moment Quinn's words hit me, I knew exactly what he meant. Without a word, I silently walked into the bathroom.

When I stepped out, wrapped in a towel, the bedroom was steeped in darkness, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains.

Before I could react, a strong arm shot out of the shadows, yanking me onto the bed.

Startled, I froze as Quinn loomed over me, his sharp eyes glinting in the dim light. He studied me in silence for what felt like an eternity before finally speaking, his voice as cold and detached as ever.

"You want a divorce, right?" he said, his tone laced with icy detachment. "Fine. Do as I say, and I'll make it happen."

I swallowed hard, forcing the question out. "What do you want me to do?" My mind raced, recalling his earlier conversation with his grandfather.

A child. He wanted me to have his child.

"Diana's child..." My voice faltered, the image of her collapsing flooding my mind—the bright, bloody stain spreading across the floor.

"You owe her that," he said flatly, his words devoid of emotion but hitting like a punch to the gut. "So you'll make up for it. Once there's a child, I'll leave you and your family alone. No strings, no trouble. Natalia, this is the best deal you're going to get."

How effortlessly he spoke, as if life could be traded like a simple transaction. Diana's child was gone, and now Quinn wanted to use mine to fill the void—as if a baby could be a replacement, a commodity to settle debts.

My chest tightened painfully, the air around me feeling heavy and suffocating. The unspoken question I had buried deep inside was finally answered, and it shattered what little strength I had left.

But somewhere in the swirling storm of anger and despair, a flicker of relief glimmered faintly. At least Quinn didn't know about my pregnancy. Not yet.

"You think I'd agree to something so shameless?" My voice trembled with fury, and I pushed against him with all the strength I had.

My hands braced against his chest, shaking as anger coursed through me. My child—our child—would never be reduced to a bargaining chip.

Quinn let out a low, scornful laugh, the sound dripping with derision. "Natalia," he said coldly, his eyes narrowing, "don't overestimate yourself. And don't even think about challenging me."

Before I could respond, he yanked the towel from my body in one swift, unapologetic motion. His lips crashed against mine, rough and unyielding, as if he was intent on erasing my resistance with his sheer force.

His touch burned against my skin, every movement more demanding than the last, and I could feel the heat of his frustration radiating through me.

For the past two years, this had been my reality—his furious, punishing need, the way he used me as his outlet. It wasn't affection; it was ownership.

And yet, no matter how rough he was, my body betrayed me. It always had. A shiver ran down my spine as I responded to him instinctively, helpless against my own feelings.

Pathetic, isn't it? That's what loving someone who doesn't love you back does—it leaves you raw, desperate, willing to bury your pride just for a fleeting moment of connection. You become a shadow of yourself, clinging to the hope that one day, they might look at you and finally see you.

But this time, it wasn't just me. There was someone else now—fragile, innocent, and entirely dependent on me. The tiny life inside me deserved more than this, more than being a pawn in Quinn's cold games.

"Could you... be gentler?" I whispered, barely audible, my voice tinged with both fear and fragile courage. I couldn't protect myself from him, but maybe I could protect the baby. Maybe.

Quinn froze for a moment, his gaze sharp and unreadable as his eyes bore into mine. Then, a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, dark and taunting. "Gentler?" he echoed mockingly, his tone laced with amusement.

As if to answer, he resumed without hesitation, his touch rougher than before, as if mocking my plea. The cruelty in his movements was deliberate, a reminder of who held the power between us.

I bit down hard on my lip, swallowing the cries that threatened to escape. I couldn't let him know the truth—not now, not like this. The life growing inside me was my secret, one I had to protect at all costs.

An hour later, Quinn finally seemed satisfied. He climbed out of bed, dressing without a glance in my direction.

"It's so late. Where are you going?" The question slipped out before I could stop it, though deep down, I already knew the answer.

Diana, who had just suffered a miscarriage, was still in the hospital. Of course, he wouldn't leave her there alone. He'd only come home to pitch his twisted surrogacy plan to me.

Quinn shot me a cold look, the heat of earlier replaced with his usual indifference. "Where I go is none of your concern." He turned on his heel, striding out of the room without another word.

The faint scent of his cologne lingered in the room, mocking me. I lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, my chest hollow with the weight of realization.

Mrs. Madden. The title was nothing but a cruel joke. I was just the woman he barely tolerated, a name on a marriage certificate that meant nothing.

Slowly, I rested my hands on my belly, a small flicker of warmth cutting through the cold despair. "At least I have you, baby," I whispered softly. "You'll stay with me. You're the only one who will."

The next morning, my phone buzzed, Jenna's frantic voice spilling through the line, laced with panic and tears.

"Natalia! You have to help your father! The police took him away because of that construction site accident. The workers' families are outside our house, screaming for money!"

"Mom, calm down. I'll be there as fast as I can," I assured her, already grabbing my keys.

When I pulled up to the Hinton villa, the scene was pure chaos.

Outside the gate, a mob of construction workers waved a massive red banner with bold white letters screaming: Blood for blood! Pay your debts!

Getting through the crowd was like threading a needle. The security guards had to step in just to clear enough space for my car to crawl through.

Inside the living room, Jenna and Skylar sat huddled on the couch, looking like ghosts—pale, shaky, and overwhelmed.

"Mom, what's going on?" I asked, striding toward them.

Jenna's bloodshot eyes filled with fresh tears, her voice trembling with anger and panic. "Those workers' families have completely lost it! They're not just asking for compensation anymore—they're demanding your father show up at the victim's funeral and bow in apology!

"Of course, he refused, things got heated, and then... then they went and called the cops!"

Skylar, frowning, chimed in like it was the simplest solution in the world. "Nat, you've got money, right? Just pay them off and get Dad outta there."

Jenna grabbed my hand like a lifeline, her desperation practically vibrating through her grip. "Your father told me you'd handle this. Please, tell me you brought the money!"

I lowered my gaze, my chest tightening. "Mom... I don't have that kind of money right now..."

Before I could even finish, she shoved my hand away, her voice rising in anger. "What? Are you just going to let him rot in jail? Natalia, your father loved you, and now you're turning your back on him? How could you be so ungrateful?"

Her words hit like a slap to the face, and then she broke down into sobs, each one slicing through me like a knife.

Skylar, ever the perfect picture of loyalty, handed her mom a tissue, then turned to me with a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

Her voice was dripping with disdain as she sneered, "Natalia, how could you? After everything Mom and Dad have done for you? You're not even a real Hinton, and they still took you in, raised you for twenty years, gave you everything.

"And now you're throwing it all away over some money? Seriously? This is nothing compared to what they've done for you. Or are you just going to stand by and watch Dad suffer?"

Jenna's accusations hit hard, dragging up all the memories of the love and care she used to show me. My chest felt tight, but I swallowed the lump in my throat, forcing myself to stay composed. "I'll handle it," I said, my voice firm but calm. "Don't worry. I won't let Dad go to jail."

As soon as I left, I jumped into my car and headed straight for the Hinton Group offices. The place was a mess—panic in the air, employees whispering in corners.

A death on the construction site and the CEO's arrest had thrown everything into chaos.

I wasted no time. First stop: the legal team. "Get my father out on bail," I told the in-house attorney. "Do whatever it takes."

Then, I made my way to the finance department. "Jack, how much money do we have left in the accounts?" I asked the CFO, Jack Compton, hoping for some good news.

Jack let out a heavy sigh. "Ms. Hinton, the accounts are drained. Your father dumped every last cent into that construction project."

His words hit me like a ton of bricks. I stared down at the financial reports, my mind racing to find a way out of this mess.

"What about our other projects? Can we chase down any payments immediately?" I asked.

Jack perked up, scrolling through files on his computer. After a moment, he pulled up a document. "Faraway Media Group still owes us 150 thousand dollars, but they've been dodging us for months."

150 thousand dollars. It wasn't nearly enough to fix everything, but it could buy me some time.

Without hesitation, I grabbed my phone and called Owen Stanton, the VP of Faraway Media Group, the one who'd been dealing with Hinton Group. After a few rings, he picked up.

"Who's this?" he slurred, his voice barely audible over thumping bass and loud chatter in the background.

"This is Natalia Hinton, Elijah Hinton's daughter. Mr. Stanton, my father's in serious trouble. I need Faraway to settle their overdue payment of 150 grand immediately."

There was a pause before he let out a loud, drunken burp. "Natalia? Oh, if you want money, meet me at Midnight Club, Room 3. We'll talk there." He slurred the words, and the line went dead with a sharp click.

After hanging up, I drove straight to Midnight Club. The place was packed, the pulsing bass of the music rattling my nerves as I stepped into Room 3. The air reeked of booze, smoke, and sweat.

Inside, Owen sat sprawled on a velvet couch, surrounded by a group of equally drunk men and scantily clad women draped over them like clinging vines.

His bloated frame, stuffed into a rumpled suit, screamed excess. Empty bottles littered the floor, and their off-key singing added to the chaos.

"Mr. Stanton, I'm Natalia. We spoke earlier," I said, keeping my tone polite as I approached. "Could we step outside to discuss the payment?"

"What's there to talk about? You need money, right? Easy fix. Finish this bottle," he said, slamming a beer down on the table with a smirk.

"Sorry, I don't drink," I replied, forcing calm into my voice as I buried the rising anger.

Owen snorted, eyes narrowing as he sized me up. "No drinking? Then maybe you'd prefer keeping us company instead?" His hand crept up my thigh with a greasy grin. "Make me happy, sweetheart, and I'll throw in a bonus on top of the balance."

I slapped his hand away, but when he grabbed my arm, my patience snapped. Just because I came here to negotiate didn't mean I was a pushover.

Without thinking, I grabbed the nearest beer bottle and smashed it over his head with a loud crack.

Chapter 5 A Ray Of Hope

"Ahh!" Owen clutched his head, a string of curses spilling out as blood trickled down his forehead. His pudgy finger jabbed in my direction. "You crazy bitch!"

"Watch your damn mouth," I snapped, cutting him off. My glare was ice-cold as I grabbed a jagged shard of glass from the shattered bottle.

Pressing it against his throat, I leaned in close, my voice sharp enough to cut steel. "You've got a lot of nerve, owing money and acting like you own the place.

"Let me make this crystal clear—you're paying back every damn cent, with interest. Right now. Call your accountant and transfer the money. Don't make me repeat myself."

The hostesses screamed and scattered like frightened pigeons, their heels clattering against the tile as they fled.

Fueled by pure fury, I barely noticed the other men in the room. My sole focus was on teaching Owen a lesson and getting the money Hinton Group was owed.

Owen, trembling like a cornered rat, fumbled for his phone. But before he could make the call, a sharp yank at my hair sent a jolt of pain shooting through my scalp.

Someone had grabbed me from behind, yanking me away from him. I gasped, stumbling as I tried to keep my balance.

Freed from my grip, Owen's expression twisted with rage. He staggered to his feet, then swung his hand, slapping me across the face with enough force to whip my head to the side.

"You damn bitch!" he roared, his voice a mix of pain and fury. "You've got some nerve pulling this crap with me. Do you have a death wish?"

Not satisfied with just one slap, he raised his hand again. Instinctively, I closed my eyes, bracing for the blow. But instead of pain, the sound of his sleazy laugh sent chills down my spine.

"Well, well," Owen sneered, his beady eyes raking over me like I was prey. "Who would've thought Elijah's little girl would grow up to be such a knockout?"

My eyes flew open, dread coiling in my stomach. His lips curled into a twisted grin, and he gestured to the men behind him. "Strip her down."

"Let me go!" I yelled, panic coursing through me as I twisted against the iron grip of the man holding me.

My voice cracked, desperation laced in every word. "I'm Quinn Madden's wife! If you lay a finger on me, the Madden family will destroy you!"

I clung to the hope that Quinn's name would send them scattering. After all, the Madden family's influence stretched across Enschester—most people wouldn't dare challenge them.

But the liquor coursing through these men's veins made them reckless.

"Quinn Madden?" The man gripping my hair burst into a mocking laugh. "If your husband's so powerful, why'd he let you come crawling here alone, begging for money?"

My stomach sank as his words hit home. I flinched as Owen stepped closer, his filthy hand reaching toward my chest. The room seemed to shrink around me, despair clawing at my throat. I could see no way out.

Then— Bang! The door to the private room flew open, slamming against the wall with a force that rattled the whole space. A flood of light poured in, and the chaos screeched to a halt.

A group of security guards in black suits stormed in, moving like a well-oiled machine. Within seconds, they restrained everyone, including Owen, who yelped like a kicked dog.

And then, through the doorway, he appeared.

Quinn strode in, his towering figure silhouetted in the doorway, oozing authority. As he moved closer, his sharp, chiseled features came into focus, his piercing brown eyes narrowing slightly as they took in my disheveled state.

"Mr. Madden!" stammered the club manager, Samuel Spencer, scuttling forward like a man facing judgment day. His voice shook as he bowed low, sweat beading on his forehead. "It's our fault—our negligence—almost caused harm to Mrs. Madden!"

"Almost?" Quinn's voice was ice-cold, razor-sharp with menace. His gaze flicked to my face, lingering on the bright red mark Owen's slap had left on my cheek. A muscle in his jaw tightened, his fury palpable.

"So, Samuel," he drawled, his tone quiet but laced with danger, "you're telling me my wife deserved to be slapped?"

The room's temperature seemed to plummet, silence stretching as thick as the tension in the air.

Samuel's face drained of all color as he bowed over and over, his words tumbling out in a panicked rush. "N-no! That's not what I meant! Please, forgive me, Mr. Madden!"

Without waiting for a response, he spun on his heel and slapped Owen so hard the man staggered, nearly falling over.

Dazed and too stunned to react, Owen barely raised his hands in defense before Samuel struck him again. And again. Each slap echoed through the room like a gunshot.

Quinn didn't so much as flinch, his arms crossed as he watched impassively. The silent tension in the room was suffocating. Samuel only stopped when Owen's face swelled to a grotesque, unrecognizable state.

Satisfied, Quinn finally turned toward me. His deep, unwavering gaze lingered on my face for a beat longer than usual. Then, his commanding voice broke the silence. "Come with me."

There was no room for argument, not that I had the energy to resist. Swallowing hard, I followed him out of the club, my legs feeling like jelly beneath me.

His sleek Bentley SUV idled by the curb, polished to a mirror shine under the streetlights. He opened the passenger door without a word, and I climbed in, the tension in the air so thick it was almost suffocating.

Inside, I sat stiffly, folding my hands in my lap. My mind raced, trying to piece together what to say. But what could I possibly offer? Quinn had never cared for excuses, much less my reasons. I managed a quiet, almost timid, "Thank you."

Quinn's sharp profile gave no indication he'd heard me. His hands stayed steady on the steering wheel, his jaw tight and unreadable. The silence between us stretched thin, each second heavier than the last.

Sensing his mood, I pressed my lips together and turned to the window. The city lights blurred past as exhaustion tugged at me. Pregnancy had sapped what little strength I had left, and before I knew it, I was out cold.

When the car jerked to a stop, I blinked awake, disoriented. I half-expected to be parked in front of the mansion. But instead, the towering white facade of a hospital loomed ahead.

Panic rippled through me. "Why are we here? What's going on?"

Quinn didn't answer. His sharp, hawklike eyes locked onto mine, his voice cold and unyielding. "Get out."

Inside the treatment room, the doctor gently examined my swollen cheek, then handed me an ice pack. "Keep this on for thirty minutes," she instructed, her tone brisk but kind.

I murmured a quiet thanks, my fingers tightening around the cold pack as I glanced toward Quinn. He stood by the window, his tall frame bathed in the soft glow of the streetlights outside. His posture was as composed as ever, arms crossed and gaze distant.

His expression was the same as always—cold, unreadable. But for the briefest moment, I thought I saw something different. Concern, maybe?

The thought vanished as quickly as it came. Quinn turned his head slightly, catching me staring. His voice cut through the room like ice. "No one can know about tonight. Stay out of sight until your face heals. Understood?"

Ah, there it was—the real reason he brought me here. Not out of care, but to keep the Madden family name untarnished.

To him, I wasn't a wife—I was just an accessory. A shiny little ornament that couldn't dare to show a single crack.

I swallowed the bitter taste of disappointment and nodded, keeping my voice neutral. "Understood."

The room fell silent again, save for the distant hum of hospital machinery. Thirty minutes. It wasn't much, but I found myself savoring the rare moment of being alone with him, even in this awkward stillness.

He stayed by the window, the sharp angles of his profile illuminated by the faint city lights. The stoic set of his jaw, the confident tilt of his chin—it all felt painfully familiar.

Memories I'd worked so hard to bury threatened to resurface, dragging me back to a time when I still thought there was hope between us.

"Quinn, why didn't you tell me you'd be at the hospital?" The soft, lilting voice cut through the silence like a dagger.

I turned to see Diana stepping into the room, clad in a hospital gown, her flawless face touched with a delicate pallor. Her presence was like an unwelcome storm, sucking all the air from the room.

The moment her eyes landed on me, her face twisted into an expression of pure rage. "Natalia!" she spat, her voice dripping with venom. "What the hell are you doing here? You killed my baby!"

Diana's scream pierced through the room like a siren, and before I could react, she lunged at me. Her trembling hands grabbed my collar, shaking with rage.

I didn't resist. Her grief, raw and jagged, hit me like a punch to the gut. As someone carrying a child of my own, I could feel the agony radiating from her. "I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice barely audible over her cries.

But Diana didn't care. Her face twisted with rage and heartbreak as she shrieked, "Sorry? Sorry doesn't bring my baby back! You'll pay for this, Natalia—you'll pay for the rest of your miserable life!"

Before I could respond, Quinn rushed over, gently pulling her away from me and into his arms. "Diana, you need to rest," he said, his tone low and soothing. "Don't upset yourself. Let me take you back to your room."

Diana sobbed, clinging to him like he was her lifeline. "Quinn, our baby... You promised me justice. You swore you'd make her pay!"

Quinn's hand moved to stroke her hair, his voice dripping with reassurance. "And I will, Diana. Trust me. You'll get the justice you deserve."

I staggered back, his words slamming into me with the force of a freight train. So he had promised her. Promised to punish me. My voice shook as I forced out, "I didn't hurt her. She came at me first!"

Diana's tear-filled eyes flickered with a flash of malice, so quick it might've been my imagination. She turned her face toward Quinn, playing the perfect victim. "She's lying, Quinn! She's always hated me. She wants me gone!"

I glared at her, the fire in my chest threatening to explode. "Should I remind you, Diana, of the vile things you said to me that day? Or would you rather I—"

"Enough!" Quinn's voice cracked like a whip, silencing the room. His gaze, colder than ice, landed squarely on me. "Go home, Natalia. Now."

The way he said it—like I was nothing more than a nuisance—hurt more than I cared to admit.

Diana buried herself deeper into his chest, her sobs soft and pitiful. But as Quinn turned away, holding her protectively, she glanced back at me with a smirk so smug it made my blood boil.

Her performance was flawless. That teary-eyed, damsel-in-distress act could've won her an Oscar.

Without another glance in my direction, Quinn turned and walked out of the room, his arm wrapped protectively around Diana. She shot me one last triumphant look over her shoulder, the kind that screamed, You've already lost.

I stood frozen, staring after them as my vision blurred with tears I couldn't hold back anymore.

Why? Why did Diana get to cry in his arms, basking in his comfort, while I—pregnant with his child—was left alone, stripped of even the right to be a mother?

Chapter 6 Trapped In The Room

Early the next morning, my phone buzzed. Jack's voice exploded through the line, practically dripping with excitement. "Natalia! Owen just wired 250 grand to the company account. He's begging for mercy!"

That was the price of crossing Quinn. Owen's groveling didn't matter—Quinn wasn't the forgiving type. Once one made it onto his radar, there was no escape.

Jack, on the other hand, was over the moon. "You're a damn powerhouse, Natalia. I knew you'd pull this off!"

A faint smile tugged at my lips, but I didn't bother correcting him. The money was secured, and that was all that mattered. Without wasting time, I headed straight to the police station to bail out my adoptive father.

Two days in custody had aged him years. His suit hung off his frame like it didn't belong to him anymore, and the dark circles under his eyes told the story of sleepless nights.

"Natalia," Elijah rasped, his hands trembling as they clutched mine. Desperation cracked through his voice. "You have to save the Hinton Group. It's everything I've worked for—it's my life."

I forced a soft smile, though my chest felt unbearably tight. "Dad, go home and rest. I'll handle it," I said, my voice calm and steady, even if I didn't feel it.

I watched as the driver helped him into the car, and I didn't move until it disappeared down the road. Only then did I let out a sigh, heavy and hollow.

The situation was bleak. The bail alone had cost me 30 grand. Between Owen's payment and my personal savings, I had scraped together 300 thousand dollars.

It was enough to make a dent in appeasing the victim's family, but it still left me staring at a gaping 650 thousand shortfall.

I pressed my fingers to my temples, trying to push back the pounding headache. Where the hell was I supposed to get that kind of money?

Before I could even begin to think, my phone buzzed again. Quinn's name flashed across the screen.

"Come to my office. Now." His tone was cold, clipped, and unapologetically demanding. The line went dead before I could get a word in.

I glanced at the time—it was almost the end of the workday. What the hell could he want at this hour?

Since the start of our marriage, working under Quinn at the Madden Group had felt like walking a razor's edge. He was my husband in name, my boss in every other capacity. His orders were absolute; arguing was pointless.

With a sigh of resignation, I grabbed my keys and drove back to the office.

Stepping into the CEO's office, I was met with an eerie stillness. The blinds were drawn tight, blocking out the fading sunlight, and the faint, bitter scent of whiskey lingered in the air.

He wasn't at his desk. I didn't need to guess where he was. I crossed the room to the door of his private suite—a secluded, high-end space only he had access to.

Raising my hand, I knocked softly, hesitating. For a moment, I wasn't sure he'd even answer.

The door creaked open, and there he was.

Quinn stood in the doorway, his tall frame leaning casually against the doorframe. The dim lighting highlighted the mess of his slightly disheveled hair and the shadows under his eyes.

His intense, unreadable gaze met mine, but his usual pristine composure was cracked. The smell of alcohol hit me full force.

"You've been drinking?" I blurted out, stunned.

Quinn never drank on the job—never. He was always calculated, always in control. But now? The sharp tang of liquor practically rolled off him, and from the look in his eyes, he'd had more than just a glass or two.

He didn't say a word. Just stared at me, the silence between us thick with something unspoken. Then, without warning, his hand shot out, grabbing my wrist. Before I could react, he pulled me into the suite with surprising force.

"Quinn, what's going on?" I gasped, caught off guard by his grip.

I'd never seen him like this—out of control, vulnerable. My initial shock quickly gave way to concern. "Did something happen?"

Instead of answering, his arms wrapped around me tightly. Too tightly. I froze as he buried his face in my hair, his chin pressing gently against the top of my head. "Do you regret it?" His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

"Regret what?" I asked, baffled, my mind scrambling to piece together what he meant.

But Quinn didn't answer. Instead, his fingers found the zipper of my dress, tugging it down with slow, deliberate movements. His breathing was heavier now, each exhale warm against my skin.

Before I could make sense of the situation, he scooped me up effortlessly, his strong arms cradling me as if I weighed nothing, and laid me gently on the bed.

His lips found mine, trailing soft, tender kisses that caught me off guard. So, this was Quinn drunk—his usual cold demeanor replaced with an unexpected gentleness.

"Quinn..." I whispered, my cheeks burning. My voice trembled, caught between longing and confusion.

Even as he held me close, something felt off. I could tell he wasn't really here with me—not fully. Whether it was the alcohol talking or the fact that Diana couldn't meet his needs while recovering, I wasn't sure.

Either way, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was nothing more than a stand-in for someone else.

Was he thinking about her? The thought stung like salt rubbed into an open wound.

"Quinn," I asked softly, "do you even know who I am?"

"Yeah," he murmured, not breaking his rhythm, his lips grazing my neck.

"Then tell me." I cupped his face, forcing him to meet my gaze. "Who am I?"

For a fleeting moment, his dark eyes softened, and I thought I saw something real—something that felt like the Quinn I'd once believed in. My reflection stared back at me in those depths, fragile and fleeting.

He opened his mouth to speak, but before any words came, Diana's voice rang out from the hallway, shattering the moment. "Quinn, are you in there?"

He froze above me, his entire body stiffening. In an instant, the haze in his eyes vanished, replaced by that sharp, calculated focus I knew all too well.

Without a word, he stood, adjusted his clothes, and glanced back at me for a while. There was a flicker of something—sadness?

"Stay here," he ordered firmly, before stepping out and shutting the door behind him.

I stayed where I was, laughing bitterly under my breath. Me, his legal wife, hidden away in a private room like some dirty little secret while he went to console her. The humiliation stung worse than I wanted to admit.

Through the crack in the door, I heard Diana's voice, trembling with emotion. "Quinn, I don't want to stay in the hospital anymore. Can't you take me home?"

His reply was gentle, coaxing. "Be good, Diana. The doctors haven't cleared you for discharge yet."

Diana's voice trembled, desperate and small. "Why were you drinking? Was it because of me? Did I upset you? Please tell me what I did wrong—I'll change, I promise."

Quinn sighed, his tone tinged with weariness. "Diana, don't overthink things."

Diana whimpered like a scolded child before shifting to a pout. "When I'm discharged, will you take me home? Can I move into your room then?"

I stiffened, my heart pounding. So she hadn't been sharing a room with him this whole time?

Quinn didn't give her a straight answer, his voice low and steady. "Let's get you back to the hospital first."

Their footsteps faded down the hallway, leaving me alone in the suffocating silence.

For a while, I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts in a complete whirl. Eventually, I snapped out of my daze and started getting dressed, determined to leave.

But when I tried to open the door, it wouldn't budge. It was locked from the outside.

I jiggled the handle a few more times, frustration bubbling up inside me. No use. I was stuck. I pulled out my phone, ready to shoot Quinn a message—he'd have to let me out—but my screen was black. The battery was dead. I hadn't charged it the night before.

Great.

With no other options, I searched the suite, hoping for a charger or at least some way to contact the outside world. Nothing.

Was I really going to be stuck in here all night? Would Quinn even bother coming back?

I let out a bitter laugh. Diana had chased him all the way to the office, practically hanging off his arm. Like hell he'd come back.

Thankfully, the suite was well-stocked with the basic necessities—enough to get through the night without starving or freezing to death.

I took a quick shower, but when I went to dry my hair, the power cut out.

I froze, staring at the darkened room. That's when it hit me: the building's power was routinely cut at 10 PM unless there was some kind of emergency or special circumstance.

The guards had probably flipped the main breaker, unaware that I was still here.

Without heat, the room turned freezing cold in no time. The winter chill gnawed at me, and with my wet hair, wrapping myself in a blanket didn't do much to ward off the cold.

I started shivering uncontrollably, and soon, the icy air felt like it was cutting straight to my bones.

Before long, I was sneezing—over and over.

This wasn't good. If I stayed like this, with the baby growing inside me, I could be putting both of us in serious danger. I instinctively placed a hand over my stomach, the concern gnawing at me.

I had to do something, or we wouldn't make it through the night.

I tried banging on the door again, desperate to catch the attention of anyone who could help. "Hello? Is anyone out there?" I yelled, pounding with both fists.

Minutes ticked by with no response. My throat grew raw, and the pain in my abdomen flared up suddenly, sharp and relentless. I gasped, clutching at my stomach, the cold sweat breaking out across my forehead. This wasn't just discomfort. Something was wrong.

I couldn't keep shouting. I had to conserve my energy. If I lost it now, I might not make it through until morning.

I stumbled back toward the bed, hoping the pain would ease, but it only got worse, a sharp jolt of agony that dropped me to my knees.

Then I felt it—warm liquid trickling down my legs.

My heart skipped a beat as my trembling hands reached down. I looked up at the dim light, my breath hitching in my throat as I saw the blood.