“To invite you, of course. Vanessa thinks closure would be healthy. No hard feelings.”
Vanessa.
My former assistant.
The same woman who smiled politely and complimented my dresses while sneaking into hotel rooms with my husband during his “business trips” to Chicago, Miami, and Los Angeles. The same woman who memorized exactly how I liked my coffee before handing over my private emails to him behind my back.
“I just gave birth,” I said. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The silence that followed was immediate.
The wedding music carried on, but Adrian’s amusement vanished.
“What did you say?”
“I said I gave birth.”
“Whose baby is it?”
That question would once have shattered me.
Once, I was the Emma who cried in court while he calmly convinced everyone I was unstable and bitter. The woman he manipulated into losing the Upper East Side home, the Carter Holdings shares, and every ounce of respect I had once been owed.
But that Emma was gone.
I pulled the pink blanket higher over my daughter.
“Go back to your bride, Adrian.”
“Emma…” His voice turned rough. “Tell me that child isn’t mine.”
I stared out the window.
The city shimmered beneath the rain, dark and beautiful.
“You signed every document without reading it. You always despised details.”
Thirty minutes later, my hospital door flew open.
Adrian rushed in, still in his tuxedo, sweating through the fabric, his bow tie undone and dangling. Behind him followed Vanessa in her wedding gown, her veil trailing behind her, diamonds shaking at her throat.
Adrian froze when he saw the baby.
Then he looked at me.
“You set this up,” he whispered.
“No,” I answered softly. “You did.”
And for the very first time, I saw real fear in Adrian Carter’s eyes.
I couldn’t believe what was about to happen…
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