Chapter 3 - The Confrontation in the Library
The silence in the grand library was so absolute that the crackling of the fireplace sounded like roaring thunder. Damian’s dark eyes locked onto Evelyn, drinking in every detail of her terrified posture. Every fiber of his being screamed to close the distance, to pull her into his arms and swear on his life that she was safe, that the baby was everything he never knew he wanted. But he was trapped behind the invisible wall of his own making.
Helen recovered her composure first, standing up to place a protective hand on Evelyn’s arm. "Damian. You weren't supposed to—how long were you standing out there?"
Damian’s gaze never left his wife. His voice was a low, rough rumble that echoed off the mahogany bookshelves. "Long enough."
Evelyn stared at the cream-colored envelope in his hand. The initial shock on her face curdled into a cold, defensive armor. Whatever fear she had shown moments before evaporated, replaced by the bitter resignation of a woman who had nothing left to lose.
"I'll sign them," Evelyn said, her voice unnervingly steady.
Damian blinked, caught completely off guard. "What?"
"If those are the divorce papers Carson drew up, I'll sign them tonight," she repeated, lifting her chin high despite the fresh tears shimmering in her eyes. "You don't have to wait until Christmas to get rid of us, Damian. Put the pen on the table, and I'll give you your freedom."
Damian stared at her, utterly bewildered by the fierce pride radiating from her fragile frame. Without a word, he crossed the polished hardwood floor in three long strides and placed the envelope squarely on the mahogany table between them.
"You're pregnant," he said. It wasn't a question, nor was it an accusation. It was a staggering reality he was trying to force his brain to process.
Evelyn’s throat bobbed as she swallowed hard. "Yes."
"Almost twelve weeks?"
"Yes."
Damian’s voice dropped an octave, rough with a desperate edge. "Is the baby healthy?"
A strange, incredulous expression crossed Evelyn’s face, mixing hurt with disbelief. "Is that really the first thing you're asking? Not 'How are you feeling?' or 'Why didn't you tell me?' Just a clinical inventory of an asset?"
"Answer me, Evelyn," he demanded, stepping closer.
Helen threw a sharp, warning glance at her son. Damian instantly recognized the mistake. He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, fighting down the rigid, cold-blooded commander inside him, and forced his voice to soften, stripping away every ounce of intimidation. "Please."
Evelyn looked away, staring into the flickering flames of the fireplace. "The doctor says things look promising."
Things. Not the baby. Not our child.
Damian caught the chilling distinction instantly. She had started detaching herself from the pregnancy out of self-preservation, terrified that if she loved the child too much while tethered to a man who seemingly hated them, the grief would destroy her.
He took one slow step closer to her.
Evelyn immediately stepped back. Just one pace. But to Damian, who had spent his entire life studying the micro-expressions of fear in boardroom enemies and street thugs, that single backward step was a gunshot to the chest.
His wife was terrified of him.
Not because he had ever raised a hand against her—he would have put a bullet through his own head before laying a finger on her in anger. Not because he shouted. It was something infinitely worse. She had learned over years of emotional starvation that getting close to him only resulted in pain, so her survival instinct dictated that she retreat before he could shatter her completely.
Damian stopped dead in his tracks, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "Is there another woman, Evelyn?" he asked, throwing her own internal nightmare back at her. "Did Celeste actually make you believe that?"
Evelyn looked back at him, her eyes wide and suspicious. "No. You never touched another woman, I know that. But Celeste said—"
"Celeste lied," Damian interrupted, his voice laced with venomous intent toward his aunt. "There is no other woman. There never was."
"Then why?" Evelyn’s voice finally broke, the dam bursting as years of accumulated agony spilled out into the open air. "If you didn't hate me, why haven't you touched me in six months? Why did you banish yourself to the guest room? Why did you treat me like a stranger living in your house?"
Damian looked away, unable to meet her gaze. The truth was too ugly, too pathetic for a man of his reputation to speak aloud.
May you like
Before he could answer, the heavy front doors of the mansion echoed with a sharp, heavy slam, followed by the sound of rapid, clicking heels marching down the grand hallway. A moment later, Celeste Cross appeared in the library doorway, draped in emerald silk and a diamond necklace that caught the light.
"Oh, good," Celeste purred, her lips curling into a venomous, triumphant smile as she took in the scene. "I see the family meeting is in full swing. Have we finally decided to put this miserable charade to bed?"
