The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast warm shadows across the marble floor of the penthouse bedroom. Claudius Buchanan sat on the edge of the bed, his large hand resting gently on Charlie's trembling shoulder.
"Let me call Dr. Hale," he said, his voice low with concern. "You look terrible."
Charlie shook her head violently, and fat tears rolled down her cheeks, splashing onto the back of his hand. "No," she whispered, her voice thick with sobs. "I hate him. He's so cold and clinical. I don't want anyone else here. I just want you."
To drive her point home, she reached down and peeled off the black lace underwear she had just changed into. Without hesitation, she tossed it into the wicker laundry basket beside the bed.
The bright, unmistakable stain of fresh blood stared up at them from the white fabric.
Claudius's jaw tightened. A complicated emotion flickered across his face-annoyance, sympathy, something else that Charlie couldn't quite place. Finally, he sighed and pulled her into his arms, wrapping his strong arms around her tightly.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I should have known."
He slid one hand down to rest on her lower abdomen, his palm warm and heavy, and began to rub slow, gentle circles. "Does this help?"
Charlie buried her face in his chest, her body shaking with silent sobs that were half real, half performance. She could feel the tiny, fragile lives growing inside her, and she prayed that Claudius couldn't feel them too. She forced her muscles to relax, and slowly, pretending to be lulled by his touch, she closed her eyes and feigned deep sleep.
Two hours later, the soft chime of Claudius's laptop echoed from the study. Charlie's eyes flew open. She lay perfectly still for another ten minutes, listening to the sound of his deep voice as he conducted his transatlantic video conference.
When she was absolutely certain he was occupied, she slipped silently out of bed.
She pulled on a low-key Loro Piana cashmere tracksuit, a baseball cap, and oversized sunglasses that hid most of her face. She grabbed her phone and opened the encrypted messaging app. With a few quick taps, she sent a message to Dr. Evans, the most discreet obstetrician on the Upper East Side.
*Emergency. Need to see you now.*
The reply came instantly. *Come immediately. I'll clear my schedule.*
Charlie didn't dare wake the driver. Instead, she ordered a regular Uber and slipped out through the building's underground service entrance, the one that only the staff used. No cameras. No witnesses.
Twenty minutes later, she arrived at the discreet private clinic on Fifth Avenue. A nurse was waiting for her by the door and led her directly into the VIP examination room without a single question.
Dr. Evans looked up from her desk, her face immediately creasing with concern when she saw how pale Charlie was. "What happened? Are you bleeding?"
"A little," Charlie admitted, sitting down on the examination table. "I had a fall yesterday. I was scared."
Dr. Evans nodded briskly. "Let's do an ultrasound right away."
The cold gel squirted onto Charlie's stomach, and she shivered. She stared up at the ceiling, her hands twisted so tightly together that her knuckles turned white. She held her breath as the probe moved slowly across her abdomen.
And then Dr. Evans gasped.
"Well," she said, pointing at the screen. "That explains why you're feeling so run down. You're not just pregnant, Charlie. You're having twins."
Charlie's brain went completely blank. For a long, terrible moment, she forgot how to breathe. Twins. She was carrying two babies. Two babies that belonged to Claudius Buchanan.
But Dr. Evans's next words snapped her back to reality. Her brow was furrowed, and she was zooming in on one of the tiny, flickering sacs.
"However," she said slowly, "there's a significant amount of bleeding around this one. You're at very high risk of miscarriage. You need absolute bed rest for the next two weeks. No stress. No lifting. No sex."
Charlie sat up so fast the table creaked. She grabbed Dr. Evans by the white coat, her eyes wild with a desperate, determined madness.
"No one can know about this," she said, her voice low and urgent. "No one. I'm in the middle of a divorce. If my husband finds out, he'll take them from me. He'll destroy me."
She paused, swallowing hard. "I'm planning to go to Europe as soon as they're stable. I'll terminate the pregnancy there. I just need you to keep this quiet until then."
Dr. Evans looked at her for a long moment. She had seen it all in her years working for Manhattan's elite. The secrets. The lies. The broken marriages.
She nodded slowly. "Your file will be encrypted under a false name. No one will have access to it but me."
The nurse wheeled in the medication cart. Charlie rolled up her sleeve and watched as the nurse drew up a high dose of progesterone into a large syringe.
The needle plunged into her muscle, and a sharp, burning pain spread through her arm. Charlie bit down hard on her lower lip, not making a sound. She had endured far worse pain than this. She would endure far more.
When the injection was done, Dr. Evans handed her a prescription bottle full of oral progesterone pills. Charlie took them and, as soon as she was alone in the bathroom, poured every single one into an empty vitamin gummy bottle.
She stood in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection. Her face was pale, her eyes dark with exhaustion and fear. But there was something else there too. Resolve.
She placed a gentle hand on her still-flat stomach. "I promise," she whispered to the two tiny lives inside her. "I will get us out of here. I will take you away from that monster. I promise."
She left the clinic and stepped out onto Fifth Avenue. The cold New York wind bit at her cheeks. Her phone pinged with a bank notification.
It was a charge on Claudius's supplementary card. He had just booked her the most expensive caviar afternoon tea at the Plaza Hotel.
Charlie stared at the message, and a cold, bitter laugh escaped her lips. Even now, he thought he could buy her forgiveness with money. Even now, he was playing the part of the devoted boyfriend.
She hailed a yellow taxi and gave the driver the address of the Plaza Hotel. It was time to meet the person who would help her burn his world to the ground.
