Bartholomew charged over like a man possessed. The moment he saw Vivien crumpled on the ground, his pupils contracted and his voice shook apart.
“Vivien! Vivien, are you okay? Don't scare me!”
She lay in his arms, face white as paper, both hands clutching her stomach, tears pouring down her cheeks.
“Bartholomew, I'm fine……don't blame Kay. If she doesn't want me around, I can leave. But why……why would she try to hurt my baby? Just because my brother accidentally hit her with his car, she wants revenge now……the baby is innocent……”
Bartholomew's head snapped up toward me. Those eyes that had once been full of tenderness held nothing now but towering rage and hatred. He roared at me.
“Kay Simmons, she's pregnant and you did this to her? You've lost your mind!”
Then he barked at the bodyguards rushing up behind him.
“Restrain her! Don't let her get away!”
The bodyguards were on me instantly, ignoring my resistance, seizing my arms and binding them with rope.
The cord bit into my wrists until they burned. Cramps knotted through my lower abdomen in wave after wave, but Bartholomew never once looked at me. He scooped Vivien into his arms and ran for the exit like a man gone mad.
The bodyguards shoved me into a car and followed, all the way to the hospital.
The surgery light was on. Bartholomew stood outside, radiating a cold, violent fury.
When he saw them bring me over, he closed the distance in three strides, seized my collar, and fixed me with a stare that could flay me alive.
“Kay Simmons, if anything happens to Vivien or my child, I will bury you. I will make you pay in ways you can't imagine.”
He was gripping me so tight I could barely breathe. But I laughed.
“Are you going to kill me, Bartholomew? For your mistress and her bastard child?”
“Shut your mouth!”
My words only made him tighten his grip. The hatred in his eyes was enough to drown me.
“Don't you dare talk about Vivien and my child that way!”
Right then, the surgery light went off. The doctor stepped out and said Vivien had sustained only superficial injuries. The baby was fine.
The tension drained from Bartholomew's body. He let go of me and rushed straight into the ward.
When Vivien came to and saw me bound off to the side, she immediately grasped Bartholomew's hand, eyes glistening, and pleaded on my behalf.
“Bartholomew, please don't blame Kay. She didn't mean it. She was just upset. Let her go, please.”
The more gracious and forgiving she pretended to be, the more Bartholomew pitied her, and the more he despised me.
He locked his gaze on me, cold enough to cut bone.
“If Vivien hadn't begged for you, I would never have let this go. Kay Simmons, you are truly a disappointment.”
“Disappointed?”
I pulled my lips into something that wasn't quite a smile.
“Let me make something clear, Bartholomew. She is your mistress. The child she's carrying is illegitimate. Nothing changes that.”
His face went ashen.
“Still running your mouth. Take her to the storage room and lock her in. She can think about what she's done. No one opens that door without my order, and no one brings her food or water.”
“I didn't push her! She threw herself into the road! Bartholomew, you can't do this to me!”
I fought with everything I had, thrashing to break free, but the bodyguards were too strong. They dragged me out of the ward by force.
The storage room was damp and freezing. Dust and mildew thickened the air. The door locked behind me, and everything went black.
I curled up on the cold concrete floor. The pain in my stomach was worse now, as if a fist were tearing through my insides. Sweat soaked through my clothes. I bit down on my lip until I tasted blood.
I pounded on the door with everything I had left, screaming until my voice cracked. Nothing came back. Not a sound.
The pain dragged me under again and again, consciousness slipping away only to be ripped back by another wave. In the dark, there was nothing but endless despair.
The door did not open until the following evening.
I forced myself upright and walked out one step at a time.
The servants I passed sneered and whispered. Not one of them offered a hand.
Back in the bedroom, I turned on my phone. There was a confirmation message from the hospital. My appointment for the termination had been approved.
Two days from now. The same day I would collect my divorce papers.
Just then, an email came through. It was from the private investigator.
Inside was every piece of evidence from my car accident.
Dashcam footage proving Neville Pruitt had driven into me on purpose. A recording of the Pruitt siblings getting their story straight after the fact. Bank transfer records showing Bartholomew had paid to cover it all up and shield the perpetrator. Even Neville's current hiding address, laid out in full.
Finally, every last piece was in my hands.
What they owed me, starting now, I would collect. Every single debt, one by one.
