Adrian's POV.
I had to stop her. I didn't know what she would do next, not with the way her voice had risen, not with the way her eyes burned with betrayal and something dangerously close to recklessness. Jane had always been quiet, restrained, careful. But this Jane...this Jane was volatile. And volatility was bad for business. It's bad for reputation. It's bad for control.
People were already watching. I noticed it before she did-the subtle pauses, the sideways glances, phones half-lifted then lowered again. A hospital was a breeding ground for whispers, and my name was not one that stayed anonymous for long. If she spoke again, if she screamed, accused, collapsed, if even one word slipped out of her mouth, headlines would be born before the hour was over.
CEO's Wife Causes Scene at Hospital.
Billionaire Marriage Crumbles Amid Scandal.
Adrian Blackwood's been a bad husband?
Unacceptable. The solution had to be immediate, and decisive, so I kissed her. Not because I wanted to, not because I felt anything stirring in my chest. What I felt was urgency, cold, sharp, and absolute.
The moment my lips met hers, the noise changed. Gasps replaced murmurs, cameras came out fully this time, speculation shifted direction: From conflict to confusion, from scandal to romance, exactly where I needed it.
Jane froze beneath my hands, her body stiff with shock, and I knew she didn't understand, at least not yet. She would later. She was perceptive like that. But right now, all anyone saw was a husband pulling his wife close in what looked like desperation.
Good.
I felt her resist, felt the anger in her push, the betrayal in the tension of her jaw. She bit my lip, hard enough to draw pain, but pain was inconsequential, pain could be managed, public fallout could not.
I deepened the kiss, sealing her protests, blocking her voice. For a brief moment, something twisted in my chest, and it wasn't guilt, neither was it regret, but it was irritation. She was making this harder than it needed to be.
When I finally pulled back, the damage control was already in motion. The hallway buzzed with excitement instead of accusation. Phones were lowered again, now filled with uncertainty instead of certainty.
Jane's eyes burned into mine, full of fury and humiliation, that, I preferred. Fury was quieter than heartbreak, fury doesn't beg, it doesn't collapse.
Just when I thought everything was fine, she slapped me. The sound sharp, and loud, satisfying in a way I didn't expect.
The sound echoed, and for a second, even the onlookers flinched. But a slap could be explained. A scene could be spun. A screaming confession, the one she was about to begin before I stepped in with a kiss, that could not be explained.
"Don't ever touch me again," she said, her voice shaking but not weak. It was strained, and controlled.
She was learning fast.
I didn't reach for her this time. I didn't stop her when she turned and walked away. That would only undo what I'd just accomplished.
Instead, I straightened my jacket, adjusted my expression into something carefully conflicted, and nodded once to the nearest nurse who looked like she'd just witnessed something tragic and intimate.
When she came near, I softened my expression like a worried husband. "You called, sir." She said.
I stepped closer, my voice dropping to a soft and troubled one. "As a woman what would you advise a husband who's trying hard to calm his very angry wife?"
"Oh, dear," her expression softened to that of pity. Exactly what I wanted. She'd be the one to spread the explanation for the slap.
"Apologies and surprises have proven to work best, sir," she responded.
I melted the more. "Are you sure about that? I've apologized and it only seemed to worsen the situation."
"Don't worry, she'll calm down as long as you keep genuinely apologizing and making efforts to fix things," she smiled.
"Thank you for the help," I said genuinely. I was really thanking her for being the tool to my public favor.
When I finally left the hospital, my phone was already buzzing with messages, alerts, and headlines that were in my favor.
But beneath all of it...beneath the strategy, the calculation, the crisis management, one thing refused to be ignored-the child.
I hadn't planned for that. Three years of sterile attempts, scheduled intimacy, doctors' appointments, and silent disappointment, and now, when everything had already collapsed, now she was pregnant.
The timing was catastrophic. A child changed the narrative entirely. A divorce with no heir could be controlled, but a divorce with a pregnant wife could not. Not without consequences, neither would it be without questions, nor without risk.
Jane thought she could walk away, but she was wrong. Not because I wanted her back, but because the child tied us together in ways neither of us could afford to pretend didn't exist. And reputation, my reputation would always come first.
So whatever war she thought she was starting, she needed to understand one thing clearly: I never entered a battle I hadn't already planned to win.
