Chapter 4

In the conservatory of Beaumont Manor’s rear garden, I stood embraced by Gideon Blackwood, his hand searing hot against my waist.

“Be careful,” I whispered, chiding him softly. “Don’t wrinkle the gown—someone might notice.”

Gideon chuckled, his fingers tracing slow circles along my side. “I really can’t bear to let you go out there.”

I smiled. “You want Beaumont Textiles. I want the Beaumont fortune. Seems we’re perfectly matched.”

He laughed again, low and knowing. “I don’t just want the company—I want you. No matter who I marry, there’ll always be a place for you by my side.”

I gave him a coy smile. “Fine. I’ll take you as an extra lover. Doesn’t hurt me.”

His eyes burned into mine. “Reginald has no idea what you’re truly like behind his back—so seductive, so dangerous.”

He pinched my waist playfully. I swatted his hand away. “Go on. Before someone sees us.”

Gideon slipped back into the grand hall first.

I smoothed my dress, took a breath, and followed.

Tonight, everyone knew I was the rightful Mrs. Beaumont. Even Victoria—no matter how furious she was—had to swallow her pride.

She wasn’t stupid. She knew that every rift between her and her father only made my position stronger.

For a full month, she stayed away from the manor.

I lived in peace.

Then, one morning, she returned without warning.

At breakfast, Victoria personally instructed Mrs. Ellis to pour me a glass of milk.

Flattered, I thanked her and drank it without hesitation.

The moment it went down, my face drained of color. I clutched my stomach and cried out in agony.

“Reginald—my stomach! It hurts!”

Blood bloomed across the pure white silk of my dress.

Sir Reginald panicked. “Quick! Someone! Get her to the hospital—now!”

Mr. Hale and two Beaumont Security Guards rushed me into the car. Within minutes, I was speeding toward Blackwood Clinic.

After two hours in surgery, Dr. Hargrove stepped into the waiting room, her expression grave.

“Sir Reginald,” she said quietly, “Mrs. Beaumont has miscarried.”

His face turned to stone. “Felix,” he ordered, voice sharp, “find out who did this to Clara.”

Mr. Thorne hesitated. “Sir… are you certain you want to pursue this?”

“Of course I am,” Reginald snapped, eyes glacial. “I want the truth—every detail.”

That night, Mrs. Ellis knelt on the marble floor of the drawing room, sobbing. She confessed Victoria had forced her hand—her son worked under Victoria’s direct supervision, and her daughter served as Victoria’s personal assistant. If she refused, Victoria would destroy them all.

Sir Reginald slammed his palm against the arm of the sofa, trembling with rage—just as Victoria walked in.

She sensed the tension immediately and tried to retreat, but he struck her across the face with a resounding slap.

Stunned, she stared at him, eyes wide with disbelief. “Father! You hit me—for that woman’s bastard? You don’t even know if it was yours!”

Reginald pointed at her, his voice shaking with fury. “Victoria Beaumont—you disgrace!”