Arabella's POV
My eyes remained on the open book resting in my lap as I answered him, although I had stopped reading several pages ago.
“Nothing.”
Nathaniel did not respond right away. Even without looking at him, I could feel his gaze fixed on me, sharp and probing, as if he were trying to strip away the calm façade I had so carefully constructed and uncover whatever lay beneath it. When he finally spoke, his voice carried the measured patience of a man already irritated but determined to keep that irritation under control.
“Is this about what you saw at the clinic?” he asked. “Because I have explained to you more times than I can count that there is nothing inappropriate between Genevieve and me.”
I cut him off before he could continue.
“I already told you that I’m fine,” I said as I turned another page with deliberate indifference. “You and Genevieve can define your relationship however you like. If you insist that you are simply close, then I see no reason to argue. All I want right now is a little peace and quiet because this book is finally becoming interesting.”
The dismissal was polite, but impossible to misunderstand.
Nathaniel’s jaw tightened at once. Irritation flashed across his features before he masked it, and without another word, he turned and disappeared into the bathroom.
Only after the door shut did I allow myself a slow breath, although it did little to ease the tension coiled inside me. The air in the bedroom felt suffocating, heavy with everything that remained unsaid. After several more minutes of pretending to read, I closed the book and headed downstairs, hoping the quiet of the kitchen might steady me.
It did not.
I braced both hands against the marble counter and lowered my head, forcing myself to breathe slowly. My pulse still pounded with the memory of everything I had learned. No amount of self-control could erase the images that now haunted me: Nathaniel’s messages, Genevieve’s smile, the files hidden in his study, and above all, the unbearable truth about Noah.
I had spent years drowning in grief, never realizing how thoroughly I had been deceived. Now that illusion had shattered so completely that even my own home felt foreign.
I did not hear Nathaniel approach until his voice sounded behind me.
“You’ve been acting strangely all day, Arabella.”
There was no softness in his voice now. Whatever patience he had tried to maintain was wearing thin.
“If something is wrong, say it.”
I turned slowly, keeping my expression composed.
“I already told you,” I said. “I’m fine.”
Then, because some wounded and furious part of me refused to remain silent, I added, “Why don’t you spend this energy worrying about Genevieve and her baby instead?”
Something changed in his face.
The shift was subtle but unmistakable. His eyes darkened, and the restraint in him began to crack.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
I lifted one shoulder in a small shrug and stepped away from the counter.
“It means exactly what it sounds like,” I replied. “You seem far more concerned about her than your own wife.”
That was all it took.
The last of Nathaniel’s patience snapped.
“You’re being ridiculous again, Arabella,” he said, his voice rising. “Genevieve is your sister. I am tired of this childish jealousy and constant suspicion.”
A bitter laugh escaped me.
“I’m not jealous.”
I held his gaze without blinking.
“You deserve each other.”
For one suspended moment, silence filled the space between us.
Then Nathaniel moved.
The shove came so suddenly that my body had no time to react. His hand struck my shoulder with enough force to send me backward. My lower back slammed into the sharp edge of the counter before I collapsed onto the floor.
Pain exploded through me.
The impact sent a violent shock through my spine and abdomen, so intense that the world tilted. A cry tore from my throat before I could stop it.
Nathaniel stared down at me, his chest rising and falling.
If guilt touched him, it vanished quickly.
His face hardened.
“I have important business tonight,” he said coldly, as though I were nothing more than an inconvenience. “Don’t wait up.”
Then he turned and walked out.
The front door slammed.
Silence followed.
Only seconds later, pain surged through my abdomen in terrible waves. Instinctively, both hands flew to my stomach as dread consumed me. That dread became raw horror when warmth began spreading between my legs.
My blood ran cold.
Blood.
I looked down with shaking hands and saw crimson soaking through my clothes.
“No…”
The word broke apart in my throat.
Tears blurred my vision as panic swallowed every coherent thought. Crawling toward the wall, I reached for my phone with trembling fingers and called Nathaniel.
The line connected.
Relief hit me so hard I nearly sobbed.
“R-Dom…”
His voice came through cold and furious.
“Do not call me again until you’re ready to stop acting like a child.”
The call ended.
I stared at the screen in disbelief before trying again.
This time the call failed immediately.
He had blocked me.
The pain worsened.
So did the bleeding.
Panic devoured everything.
With what little strength remained, I called emergency services and sent my location. Even as I did, darkness had already begun closing in around the edges of my vision. The kitchen blurred. The floor beneath me seemed to vanish.
As consciousness slipped away, one final thought burned through the agony.
If I lose this child, Nathaniel will pay for everything.
Darkness swallowed me.
When awareness returned, it came slowly through the sterile scent of antiseptic and the soft beeping of hospital monitors. For several seconds, I could not remember where I was.
Then memory returned.
Terror hit me so violently that my eyes flew open.
My hand shot to my stomach.
“My baby…”
The doctor beside my bed went still.
Her expression told me everything before she spoke.
She placed a gentle hand over mine, and the sorrow in her eyes shattered the last fragile piece of hope inside me.
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Ashford,” she said quietly. “We did everything we could, but we were unable to save the baby.”
The words struck with devastating force.
For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
Then grief tore through me with unbearable violence. A scream escaped my throat, raw and broken, before sobs followed with such force that my entire body shook. I cried without restraint as agony consumed me.
Noah was gone.
Now this child was gone too.
Nathaniel had taken both from me.
He had destroyed every future I had dared to imagine.
I cried until exhaustion left me hollow. When even tears abandoned me, I lay motionless beneath the blankets, staring at the ceiling with an emptiness so vast it frightened me.
The door opened sometime later.
I lacked the strength to look.
“Hello, Arabella.”
The voice was deep, calm, and unfamiliar.
Reluctantly, I turned my head.
Matteo White stood near my bed, his steel-gray eyes fixed on me with unreadable intensity.
Genevieve’s husband.
The sight of him reopened wounds I had barely managed to contain because his presence brought with it everything I had lost.
He approached slowly before sitting in the chair beside my bed.
“I heard what happened,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
My throat burned from crying.
“Genevieve isn’t here,” I said hoarsely.
Something dark passed through his expression.
“No,” he said, his voice cool but edged with steel. “I’m not here because of that cheating wife of mine.”
Despite everything, surprise flickered through me.
“You know?”
He nodded.
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“A week.”
His gaze never left mine.
“You?”
“This week.”
Silence settled between us.
There was something unsettling about the calm he projected. It felt less like peace and more like violence held under perfect discipline.
At last, he leaned back slightly.
“That is exactly why I came.”
Exhaustion still weighed heavily on me, but curiosity cut through the fog of grief.
“What do you want?”
Matteo studied me for several long seconds.
When he finally spoke, his voice was steady, cold, and completely without hesitation.
“I came because I believe we can help each other.”
I frowned faintly.
“How?”
A slow, dangerous smile touched his mouth, though it never reached his eyes.
He leaned forward slightly.
“Tell me, Arabella,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, “how would you feel about destroying them together?”
