The scent of roses hit Dianna the moment she opened her office door the next morning. It was suffocating.
Her entire office-the desk, the chairs, the floor-was covered in red roses. Thousands of them.
A card sat on top of the pile on her desk.
For Mrs. Brennan. Come home. - Hunt.
Dianna felt a wave of nausea. It wasn't romantic. It was a territory marking.
She opened the door and flagged down a passing janitor. "Excuse me? Please get rid of all of this."
The janitor's eyes popped. "All of it, Dr. Campbell?"
"Every petal. Trash. Now."
"That's a waste of good money."
Dianna spun around. Hunt was leaning against the doorframe. He was wearing a navy suit, looking fresh and arrogant.
"I don't want your money," Dianna said, walking to her desk and sweeping the card into the trash bin. "If you're here for a medical consult, make an appointment. If not, get out."
Hunt walked in and closed the door. The lock clicked.
"You can't get rid of me that easily," Hunt said. He walked to her desk, placing his hands on the surface, leaning over her. "I spoke to my lawyers. The prenup."
Dianna opened her drawer and pulled out a photocopy. She slammed it on the desk.
"Clause 14," she recited. "Automatic dissolution after two years of separation with no marital relations."
Hunt smirked. It was a wolfish grin. "Keep reading. 'Unless there is continued financial dependence.'"
Dianna frowned. "I haven't taken a dime from you."
"The Brennan Marital Trust," Hunt said softly. "The one my father's lawyers set up for 'the security of the family line'? I've been depositing a million dollars a month into it for four years. And the bank records show the account is not only active, but someone has been making regular withdrawals. Your father, I presume?"
Dianna felt the blood drain from her face. That trust. She'd told her father to have it dissolved, to refuse all payments. He must have lied, forging her signature to access the funds.
"You... you trapped me," she whispered.
"I kept you," Hunt corrected. "As long as that money flowed, legally, we are financially entangled. The separation clause is void."
Dianna stood up, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. "I will pay you back. Every cent."
"I don't want the money." Hunt walked around the desk. He crowded her space. He smelled of sandalwood and power. "I want my wife."
He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers grazed her neck. Dianna's breath hitched-fear, anger, and something else she hated herself for feeling.
"I am not your wife," she said, her voice shaking. "I am Dr. Campbell."
"You can be both," Hunt murmured. He leaned down, his lips inches from hers. "Clare needs you. Move back into the Manor. Just until she recovers."
"No."
"I'll make your life hell if you don't," he threatened softly. "I'll drag this divorce out for a decade. I'll subpoena your medical records. I'll audit your hospital."
Dianna shoved his chest. "You are a monster."
"I'm a man who wants what's his."
Ring. Ring.
Dianna's cell phone buzzed on the desk. The screen lit up: Sunshine Preschool.
Panic spiked in her chest. She snatched the phone before Hunt could see the ID.
"Hello?" she answered, turning her back to him.
"Dr. Campbell? This is Mrs. Gable from the school. Leo fell on the playground. He's bleeding. He's asking for you."
Dianna's grip on the phone tightened until her knuckles turned white. "Is it bad? I'm coming. Tell him... tell him to be brave, baby. I'm coming right now."
Behind her, Hunt went still.
Baby?
He stared at her back. The tension in her shoulders. The desperation in her voice. The word wasn't 'Mommy', but the intimacy was unmistakable. It shot a spike of pure, unadulterated jealousy through him. Who was this child? And who was the father?
Dianna hung up and grabbed her bag. She spun around, her face pale.
"I have to go. Emergency."
"Who was that?" Hunt asked, his eyes narrowing. "Who were you talking to?"
"None of your business," Dianna snapped. She pushed past him, running for the door.
Hunt watched her go. A dark suspicion began to form in his gut. He followed her.
