I shoved Graham away, my gaze cutting into him like frost.
"She's the one who stole. Am I not allowed to say it? If she can't handle being called out, maybe she shouldn't have done it."
Crack.
His palm connected with my face. Before I could recover, Graham seized my shoulders, his expression twisted into something I'd never seen—a cold, violent fury that made the air between us feel thin.
"Cecilia." His voice was barely controlled. "I've spoiled you too much. That's how you became this—arrogant and vicious."
"Let me make something clear." His fingers dug into my shoulders. "This child exists because I wanted it. I begged Lila to have it. Because I love her. Because I wanted a child that was ours—"
The words stopped.
The silence that followed was absolute.
It felt like lightning had struck the inside of my skull. My ears rang. He loves her. He begged her to have his child. He loves her.
Graham's expression flickered—something shifting beneath the surface—before he suddenly pulled me into his arms.
"Forget what I said. I was angry. I didn't mean it."
His voice softened, almost coaxing. "Cecilia, as long as you behave, you'll always be Mrs. Sanchez. I'll remember everything you've done for me—for the rest of my life."
"Think about it. Lila is an elite—overseas-educated, exceptional genes. She's willing to give us a child with the best of both of us. Isn't that wonderful? You can treat him as your godson. He'll take care of us when we're old. Isn't that a good thing?"
He kept talking, his words tumbling over each other, none of them making sense. The scent of gardenias clung to him—her scent—so thick it burned the back of my throat.
I shoved him off and staggered into the bathroom.
I barely made it to the sink before I was retching, my body rejecting everything—his words, his touch, the perfume that had soaked into his skin.
Graham followed. He held a towel to my face, dabbing at my cheeks with almost clinical patience.
When I finally lifted my head, my vision blurred with tears, my voice came out fractured.
"Graham... if you love her—if you wanted her to have your child—why did you ever come for me?"
"If you already have a child with her, why won't you just divorce me?" My voice cracked. "Do you have to take a knife and carve my heart out piece by piece?"
Something flickered in his eyes. Guilt, maybe. His lips parted—
His phone rang.
"Graham, come quickly!" Chloe's voice was shrill through the speaker. "There's noise coming from Lila's room—I think she might have fallen!"
The color drained from his face.
Without another word, he grabbed my wrist and dragged me out the door. The car tore through the streets—six red lights, one after another. His jaw was locked so tight the muscle twitched.
When Graham hauled me into the living room of Starlight Garden, we found Lila dabbing at her tears, the picture of fragile sorrow. Chloe sat beside her, murmuring anxious reassurances.
The moment Chloe saw me, her expression curdled.
"This is what happens when someone has too much time and not enough sense," she spat. "A perfectly good family, and you have to turn it into a circus."
Lila rose to her feet, her voice trembling with wounded dignity.
"If this child is so unwelcome... if everyone sees him as something shameful..." She pressed a hand to her stomach. "Then I'll end it. Right now."
Her eyes glistened—grief and defiance in equal measure. "I won't let him be born into curses and accusations. I won't let him live his whole life unable to hold his head up."
Graham's face softened in a way I had never seen—not once, not for me. He pulled her into his arms, his voice impossibly gentle.
"Lila. This baby is my treasure. The proof of what we have together." His hand cradled the back of her head. "I won't let anyone slander our child. I'll give him the best of everything. And anyone who dares say one wrong word—" His eyes cut to me. "—I'll make her kneel before you and beg for forgiveness."
"Shh. Don't cry anymore." He stroked her hair. "The baby will feel your sadness."
Every word was a blade sliding between my ribs.
But what came next plunged me into an abyss from which there was no surfacing.
"Cecilia." Graham's voice turned to ice. "Get on your knees. Apologize to Lila. And swear—swear that you've been hoping for this child. Swear that if you ever treat him with anything less than kindness, your grandmother's soul will suffer torment in the afterlife—burned and boiled for eternity."
He grabbed my shoulder.
His foot connected with the back of my knees.
I hit the floor hard, my kneecaps cracking against the marble.
I stared up at him, stunned beyond words. He wanted me to celebrate his mistress's child. To invoke my grandmother's spirit as collateral.
When I didn't move, didn't speak, Graham grabbed a fistful of my hair and slammed my forehead into the floor.
Crack.
Before I could even process the pain, he did it again.
Crack. Crack. Crack.
