"Come on, drink up. Stop acting so pure and innocent."
I pushed their glasses away. "I'm sorry, but I can't drink right now. My body isn't up for it."
I'd just given birth. I was still breastfeeding. Alcohol was out of the question.
But they wouldn't let it go, their voices dripping with provocation. "Are you trying to disrespect Mrs. Edwards?"
I looked to Bertram, hoping for something. Anything.
"Don't embarrass my mother," he said. "Just have a little."
Of course. His eyes held the same thing they always held: the Edwards family name. I was nothing more than a decorative piece to make it shine.
They forced the glass into my hand, their fingers closing around mine, squeezing until I had no choice but to grip it.
I was about to raise it to my lips when a sharp pain lanced through my lower abdomen. The glass slipped from my fingers and shattered on the floor.
The crash cut through the banquet like a slap. Tamara's face twisted with impatience. "Cheryl Henson! After all these years, you still don't know how to behave!"
"You're a disgrace to this family! Go kneel in the ancestral hall and reflect on yourself. You are not to come out without my permission!"
"I didn't do anything wrong," I said. "I'm not feeling well. I really can't drink—"
"Insolent!" Tamara's voice cracked like a whip. "When I tell you to kneel, you kneel!"
I looked at Bertram again. He frowned, but not at his mother. At me. "Cheryl, it's Mom's birthday. Don't upset her."
That was all the permission the servants needed. Two of them stepped forward, gripped my arms, and dragged me toward the ancestral hall.
The hall was bitter cold in the dead of winter, damp seeping up through the stone. The servants dropped me on the floor and left without a word. The heavy doors slammed shut behind them, and I heard the lock click into place.
I lowered myself to my knees. The frozen ground bit through my clothes, and my whole body began to tremble. The pain in my abdomen grew worse, twisting deeper with every passing minute.
I knelt through the entire night. My consciousness drifted in and out like a tide pulling me under.
Just before dawn, my phone buzzed.
A message from him: "I've landed in Harbor City. I'm coming to find you."
Before I could type a reply, the doors swung open.
Bertram stood in the doorway, backlit by the pale gray light of early morning. "Cheryl. I hope you've learned your lesson."
"Come on. You need to go serve my mother her morning tea."
I lifted my head. My voice came out cold and hollow, stripped of everything. "I'm not going."
He paused.
"Bertram, I want a divorce."
"And the papers will be finalized soon."
"I came back for one reason. To divorce you."
A cold, humorless smile spread across his face. He seized my wrist, his grip bruising. "Divorce? You think you can divorce me without my consent?"
"This is Harbor City. Half this city answers to the Edwards name. Where exactly do you think you'll go?"
I wrenched my arm free. "Where I go is none of your concern. Or is it that the five-year deadline hasn't hit yet, and you can't stand the thought of losing your little bet?"
Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. He grabbed me and hauled me to my feet. "I'm warning you. Stop this."
"What the hell are you talking about? Where did you hear that?"
He started dragging me toward the door. "Cheryl, what more do you want? Do you know how many women would kill for the title of Mrs. Edwards? And you treat it like it's beneath you—"
His words came faster, hotter, his grip tightening with every step. His movements turned rough, reckless.
I fought back just as hard. We struggled against each other, pulling and pushing, and then my foot caught on nothing. I slipped.
I tumbled down the ancestral hall staircase, every stone step slamming into my body until I hit the ground at the bottom.
The pain in my abdomen exploded. Searing. Blinding. I looked down and watched blood soak through my pants, spreading fast, too fast.
The color drained from Bertram's face. He scrambled down the steps and scooped me into his arms, his hands shaking. "Cheryl! I didn't mean to— Cheryl, I'm taking you to the hospital. Right now!"
He carried me out to the car and barked at the driver. "Faster. Faster!"
I lay against his chest, my vision blurring at the edges, the world going soft and dark. I watched his panicked face hovering above mine, and all I felt was the bitter taste of irony.
Too late. Everything was too late.
At the hospital, Bertram burst through the emergency room doors with me in his arms, shouting for a doctor.
They loaded me onto a gurney and rushed me into the trauma bay. Bertram stayed at the threshold, frozen, staring through the glass.
When the doors finally opened again, the doctor's expression was grim.
Bertram's face was ashen. "Doctor, how is she? What happened? Why was there so much blood?"
The doctor's gaze was sharp with reproach. "What did you do to her? She just gave birth. Emotional distress in a postpartum patient can trigger a massive hemorrhage."
Bertram went rigid, shock crashing across his face. "What did you just say?!"
"Just gave birth? How is that possible?!"
