Chapter 0004

Bryce gulped down his whiskey, “I don't even know, it just happened. I had slept with Marissa four months ago, and she came back, claiming pregnancy. I just feel guilty.”

Bryce said to his only friend and business assistant. Richard had always been his special advisor when it involved business and relationships.

“I really do not have a say in this matter, Mr. Voss.” Richard said honestly. “I just think you have to face Marissa since she is carrying the heir to the Voss family. Rachel couldn't conceive and it's not your fault.”

“From my perspective I really think you need to give up on her. You don't have a choice.”

Bryce nods in affirmation. “I know, but it's hard to make this choice, Rachel has never hurt me, she's innocent. I really don't want to let her go.” He says, gulping another whiskey.

Richard takes a sip of his drink and refills Bryce's own.

“Mr. Voss, you have only a choice. Marissa is pregnant with the heir of the Voss family, but Rachel isn't. If you are willing to have an offspring….I think you have to stick with Marissa and let Rachel go.”

Bryce says nothing. He stares at his drink without taking a sip. Though he loved Marissa, he still had a soft spot for Rachel— a spot he couldn't let go so easily.

Richard clears his throat, “Mr. Voss, we have an exclusive meeting by noon, you don't have to drink too much, in other not to—”

He was interrupted by Bryce, “I'm okay.” Bryce stands and adjusts his cufflinks, turning to the bartender. “Just one more shot.”

The entrance door burst open and a lady in a white silk dress entered, she stormed towards Bryce, her hips swaying vigorously.

“Bryce Voss.” She raged, stopping at his desk. “After all she has been through, you still chose to break her? Don't you have a fucking conscience?”

Bryce was dazed. No one has ever spoken to him that way, not even his mother…and now this lady had the audacity to call him by his name.

He opened his mouth to speak but no words escaped.

Richard stood, blocking the lady. “Woman, I bet you don't know who you are speaking to.”

The lady turned to Richard, her gaze burning into him. “Know who he is? Who isn't aware of Bryce Voss? The man who loves to break every good lady that comes his way but shields himself with the immunity given to him.”

Richard's brow narrowed. “Before you exasperate anyone, I urge you to just leave unless you will regret the outcome of the decision you—”

The lady cut him off, placing a hand on her hips. “Since when did you become his mouthpiece, huh? Richard Wilson, the billionaire's bodyguard and maybe mouthpiece. I have a word with him, not you.”

Richard's jaw dropped, he has never been humiliated this way before. The lady walked to Bryce, bringing her face closer to his ears.

“If she leaves you, I swear you will regret it. And if she breaks because of you— I'll personally suffer you.”

The lady said and walked out, still swaying her hips.

Bryce knew that face. He knew that voice; dark and intimidating. How did she know about the divorce? Rachel was taciturn and she had not left the house. The question belonged to Rachel, how did Elara Anderson know about the divorce?

***

The morning sun filtered through the Voss kitchen window, painting the countertop in soft gold.

Rachel's eyes were swollen from the night before, though she had hidden it with a powder and a practiced smile.

She had made a decision; to cook for Bryce and Marissa. She would try to hold the home together and not try to cause any trouble. So she cooked.

The kitchen staff offered to assist, but Rachel gently dismissed them. She wanted this to come from her hands alone.

When her mother was alive, she always told her that food carried emotions. That a meal could soften even the hardest heart. She hoped desperately that Bryce still had a memory left for her.

She tied her apron and gathered the ingredients with quiet determination, then she started slicing, stirring and seasoning. Not long after, the aroma of Bryce's favourite dish filled the room; creamy chicken Alfredo, with the pasta soft and sauce rich.

Maybe, if they shared a meal, Bryce would speak to her. Maybe he would apologize and mend the fracture Marissa had driven into their—

The kitchen door swung open, Rachel looked up, expecting Bryce…Instead, Marissa strutted in. Her heels clacked sharply, her perfume floated arrogantly, and her smile widened when she saw Rachel.

“Oh?” Marissa tilted her head. “You're cooking?” She placed a hand on her belly dramatically. “How sweet. Bryce didn't tell me he needed comfort food today.”

Rachel turned away, focusing on the pan, “I'm preparing breakfast for my husband and yourself.”

“Husband?” Marissa repeated, laughing lightly. “Are we still using that word? Because Bryce spent last night with me.”

Rachel's chest tightened, but she kept stirring, refusing to give Marissa a reaction.

Marissa sauntered close to the counter, eyeing the plates. “Pasta? Really?” She tapped her nails on the table. “Desperate, isn't it? Watching you play the perfect wife after last night…must be exhausting.”

Rachel didn't look up. She wouldn't give her that satisfaction. Marissa huffed and wandered around the kitchen. “You know, I have been craving lately. Bryce bought me pastries this morning.” She grinned. “He said the baby's hunger comes first.”

Rachel swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the counter before returning to the dish.

Marissa's gaze fell on Bryce's dish, arranged with care, the plates still steaming.

“Is it for him?” Marissa asked softly, as she slowly and deliberately walked towards it.

“Yes.” Rachel said.

“Hm.” She picked up the plate.

Rachel turned sharply, “Marissa, put that down.”

Marissa smiled venomously, “what if I don't?”

“Marissa—” she didn't give Rachel time to finish. With a swift, violent motion, Marissa flung the entire plate onto the floor.

The creamy sauce splattered across the marble tile, the pasta scattered and the plate smashed into jagged white pieces.

Rachel's breath caught. Her hands shook as she stared at the destruction of her effort, her hope, her peace— broken, just like her heart.

Marissa stepped on a shard, grinding it under her heel. “Oops,” she said lightly. “Clumsy me.”