Chapter 3

Things at the lawyer's office went quickly. The medical transport agreement for my mother was signed, the hospital in Switzerland contacted and confirmed. We just needed final word—Mr. Carlton's people were handling the last coordination to ensure nothing went wrong.

Until I received the "all clear" signal, I had to be patient, couldn't tip anyone off.

By the time I returned to the manor, it was dark. The snow had gotten heavier, covering the footprints workers had left during the day.

Surprisingly, the living room was quiet. The crib was still in place, but many of Grace and the baby's belongings were gone. Only under the guest bedroom door did a warm yellow light seep through.

Vincent's low voice came from inside, muffled through the door.

"...and so the prince defeated the dragon and lived happily ever after with the princess."

He was telling a story. Putting that child to sleep.

I stood in the hallway shadows, feet rooted to the spot.

"What should we name the baby..." Grace's voice drifted out, soft and tentative.

"Aiden." Vincent answered almost without thinking, his tone carrying a gentleness I'd never heard. "It means 'fire and life.' I want him to be strong and full of vitality."

Aiden.

The name we'd discussed all night and chosen together. When we thought we had a future.

My chest felt like it had been pierced by an ice pick—sharp pain, then gone, leaving only numb cold.

I silently twisted my lips and turned toward the master bedroom.

I turned the shower to maximum, trying to drown out all the nauseating sounds from outside.

But the hot water pouring over my skin couldn't wash away that bone-deep chill.

After a hasty wash, I buried myself in the cold blankets, forcing myself to sleep.

After an unknown time, a sickeningly sweet perfume mixed with body wash approached.

It was Vincent. He climbed into bed, his hot breath on the back of my neck, cool wet lips trailing across my skin.

His hand came around from behind, trying to slip under my nightgown.

I sat up abruptly, pushing him away with all my strength.

"Vincent!" My voice was sharp in the silent room. "You may not be disgusted, but I am!"

In the darkness, his movements froze, his breathing growing heavier.

"You're disgusted by me?" His voice dropped, anger at rejection creeping in.

The next second, he grabbed my face roughly, ignoring my struggle, and kissed me hard. It was punishing, full of possession and violence.

My thin nightgown was easily torn away. His touch no longer carried any tenderness, only conquest and claiming.

Like needles pricking skin.

At some point, tears fell silently, dropping onto his hand locked around my waist.

The scalding sensation made him stop abruptly.

"Baby, don't cry." He released his grip, frantically wiping my tears, his tone carrying panic and regret. "I'm sorry... I shouldn't have forced you."

My whole body shook uncontrollably. I bit down hard, looking at his blurred outline in the darkness.

"You said everything could go back to how it was."

"But Vincent, you never used to force me."

He froze, and after a long pause, quietly said "sorry," then grabbed a pillow and silently moved to the sofa.

I grabbed tissues from the nightstand, wiping my face expressionlessly. But the more I wiped, the harder the tears came.

After a long time, I finally fell asleep, utterly exhausted.

The next morning, I opened my eyes to find Vincent sitting by my bed.

His eyes were bloodshot, stubble darkening his jaw, looking somewhat haggard.

"You had a fever last night." He reached to check my forehead, but I turned my head away.

His hand hung in midair, his tone carefully ingratiating. "Don't kick me out when you're angry anymore, okay?"

But whose fault was my fever? If not for him, I wouldn't have walked alone in the snow for so long, wouldn't have had an emotional breakdown while utterly exhausted.

I didn't bother arguing, silently looking away.

"Still upset?" He sighed. "I'm taking time off. Where do you want to go? I'll take you anywhere."

I thought about it. The anger churning inside me needed an outlet.

The shooting range, where he'd once taught me to shoot hand over hand, now seemed like the most appealing option.

I needed to hear gunfire, feel the recoil, do something to tear through this suffocating false peace.

And getting into that range required his credentials.

"The range." I spoke up, voice flat. "Right now."

A flash of impatience crossed his eyes, but he quickly smiled in agreement. "Okay."

As we were getting ready to leave, Grace stood at the door with the baby, looking pale.

"Vincent, Miss Hawthorne, are you going out?"

"Grace, I'm taking her to the range. Take care of yourself." Vincent's voice was gentle.

Grace looked curious and timid. "The range? I've... I've never been to a place like that." "It sounds a little scary."

Vincent was reaching for his coat when he paused, looking at her. "Want to come see?"

"Can I?" Grace asked timidly, then quickly lowered her head. "Never mind, I don't want to intrude..."

"It's no intrusion." Vincent put on his coat, tone casual. "Come along. Think of it as getting some air. It's very safe there."

As he said this, he didn't even glance at me, as if it were some trivial matter.

I said nothing, grabbed my bag, and headed for the door first.

From the moment those divorce papers were signed, whatever Vincent did no longer concerned me.