Clare POV:
Elliot's smile faltered. "Married?" He chuckled, dismissive. "Is that a new way of saying you're still mad at me? It was just a test, Clare. A silly game. It's over now."
He reached out to cup my cheek. "Come here. Let me give you a proper hug. We've wasted enough time apart."
I stepped back again, my expression hardening. "You need to respect my boundaries. I am a married woman."
His hand froze. Confusion flickered across his face, replaced by annoyance. He couldn't fathom that I meant it.
"Still playing hard to get," he said, a patronizing smile returning. "Fine. Name your price. Money, a house, trips. Whatever it takes to make you forgive me. You know I can give you anything."
He genuinely believed my anger was a performance, a tactic to extract more from him. He saw me as a commodity.
He advanced. I retreated until my back hit the wall. He cornered me, leaning in, his breath warm on my face. "Is it a boy or a girl, Clare?" he whispered. "I always pictured a son first. A little Elliot." His fingers brushed my cheek.
The casual touch sent a jolt of pain through me—a reminder of the child he had discarded. He never called me during those three years. Not once. He was too busy living his life, confident that I would wait, silently carrying his imaginary child.
A bitter laugh escaped me.
Just as I was about to speak, his phone vibrated. He pulled it out. The screen read: "Haylee, My Angel."
Without an apology, he answered. His face softened instantly.
