Chapter 2

The next day, I woke to noise from downstairs.

The dull thud of oak furniture dragging across floors, mixed with workers' instructions, like blunt needles jabbing into my temples.

I threw on a robe and descended the spiral staircase.

A white crib had appeared in the living room.

My velvet sofa by the floor-to-ceiling windows was gone.

Vincent knelt on the carpet on one knee, assembling the safety rail.

White dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, movements practiced like he was born to do this.

"Install child safety locks here," he said to the worker without looking up. "Make sure there's zero risk."

Grace stood nearby cradling a bundle, biting her lower lip. "Vincent... actually, the baby and I would be fine in the apartment you arranged. This is... after all, your and Miss Hawthorne's home."

Vincent stood up, his gaze falling on the child. Those usually cold gray-blue eyes held an unfamiliar softness.

"That place isn't safe enough." He cut her off, his tone brooking no argument. "Only here can I ensure your safety."

He paused, voice dropping lower. "With me, I'm most at ease."

I leaned against the second-floor railing, watching for a long time.

Until Grace moved, reaching to pick up the silver picture frame on the mantel—holding a photo of Vincent and me.

"Vincent." I spoke up, voice not loud but clear enough. "Do you remember where that photo was taken?"

Vincent's body went rigid. He spun around sharply.

Only then did he see me, a flash of awkwardness crossing his face, quickly covered by exhaustion.

"Evelyn? You're awake." He tried to make his tone sound normal. "This is the safest place. Once things blow over, I'll send them away."

His gaze collided with mine—one evasive, one already dead inside.

I looked away first, too tired to argue. "Do what you want."

I turned to go back to my room, but Grace hurried up the stairs with the baby, handing me a thick manila envelope.

"Miss Hawthorne, I'm sorry for the intrusion these past few days... This is a small token of my appreciation."

I took the envelope, my fingertips touching the hardness of documents inside.

Opening it, I pulled out the divorce papers.

At the bottom, "Vincent Rossi" was signed sharply across the page, like his name carved on bullets.

My heartbeat skipped, then went numb.

It was... that easy?

"What is it?" Vincent frowned, walking over, reaching for it.

I jerked the document back, clutching it, shoving it into my robe pocket before he could see.

"This is mine." I met his eyes. "None of your concern."

He stared at me for several seconds, brow furrowed. Moments later, he pulled his wallet from his suit's inner pocket, extracted a black card, and pressed it into Grace's hand.

"Take it. Buy whatever you need." He paused. "PIN is 0324."

0324? My birthday.

And now he was giving that card to another woman—the woman who'd had his child.

I surveyed this home that once belonged to us, my tone flat, almost mocking.

"Am I in the way of your little family of three?"

"Evelyn!" Vincent's face darkened. "Be reasonable! Grace saved my life. I can't leave them in danger!"

He lowered his voice, like he was soothing me, but it sounded more like a warning.

"Even with a child, you're the only one in my heart."

You're the only one in my heart.

The room spun.

My gaze fell on the child in Grace's arms.

Only me? Then why do your eyes keep following them?

The baby suddenly cried, loud and piercing. Grace fumbled, eyes immediately welling up.

"It's all my fault... that night I didn't know you had a wife..." She choked up. "If I'd known earlier, I wouldn't have kept this child..."

She raised her tear-filled eyes. "The child is innocent, Miss Hawthorne. Please don't look at him like that... he's scared..."

Vincent immediately stepped between them, a proper protective knight.

He looked at me, enunciating each word:

"They're both innocent."

"If you want to blame someone, blame me."

I looked at the three of them, my stomach churning violently.

I said nothing, turned and went upstairs, grabbing the purse I'd packed last night.

I had a meeting with the lawyer today to finalize my mother's hospital transfer.

Vincent followed, catching my wrist in the entrance hall.

"Where are you going? I'll drive you."

"No need." I tried to shake free, but his hand was like an iron clamp.

"Don't be stubborn." His tone was forceful. "Weather's bad outside. I'll take you."

He didn't give me another chance to refuse, turning to Grace with instructions. "Don't touch cold water. The AC is set. If your back aches, lie down. Text me what you want for dinner tonight and I'll bring it back—"

He went on and on, impossibly familiar with her needs.

I didn't interrupt, just listened. When he finally finished, I pulled open the door and walked out. Cold wind mixed with moisture hit my face. The car I'd called was just pulling up.

I opened the car door. My wrist was grabbed from behind again. His palm scalding, like a branding iron.

"I said I'll drive you." His tone carried frustration.

"Vincent." I stopped but didn't turn around. "I'm not the one who needs you right now."

His pupils contracted, his grip tightening.

"Evelyn..." His voice was hoarse, carrying a rare pleading note.

The driver leaned out. "Sir, ma'am, are you getting in or not?"

The snow was light but cold and wet. Hard to get a cab.

I took a breath of cold air, suppressing nausea and exhaustion, making a temporary compromise.

"Fine." I got into the back seat, voice flat. "You drive."

Vincent's expression eased slightly as he walked around to the driver's seat and started the car.

On the road, he tried to ease the tension, bringing up old memories.

"Our first date was on a day like this." He kept one hand on the wheel, reaching over with the other to hold my hand resting on my knee. "I was so nervous I almost took a wrong turn."

I said nothing, didn't pull away, just let him work his fingers between mine.

His hands were large. They used to envelope mine completely.

Now they just felt rigid.

As if encouraged, his tone grew gentler. "Once I deal with those old bastards in the family, we'll go out to sea. See the whales."

He looked at me like he was recounting an old dream.

If this were yesterday, maybe I would have wavered.

But right now, the hard corner of those divorce papers in my pocket pressed against my skin.

I almost wanted to tell him directly: I've made my decision.

But his phone rang again before I could.

Through the speaker came Grace's tearful voice. "Vincent... the baby won't stop crying... I can't calm him down... I'm so scared..."

The child's wails came through clearly.

Vincent's face changed instantly. He barely looked at me before responding, "Don't panic, I'm coming right back!"

He slammed on the brakes, tires screeching on the slick pavement.

He turned to me, face full of anxiety and conflict.

"Evelyn, can you go to the lawyer's office on your own? I'll come get you after I handle this."

I looked at those eyes written with worry, and after several seconds, nodded calmly.

"Fine."

I pushed open the door. Cold air rushed in.

I didn't look at him again, didn't listen to whatever he hadn't finished saying, walking straight toward the subway entrance.

New York's snow mixed with rain, cold and sticky on my clothes. I stepped into dirty slush water, soaking through my shoes and socks. Whatever warmth Vincent had left behind was long gone.

I looked up at the gray sky, feeling like fate was a cruel joke.

Almost. I was so close to telling him my decision.

But now, there was no need.