Chapter 4

Finley Rhodes POV:

The word "baby" echoed in my ears, bouncing off the sterile hospital walls, mocking me. Not a joyous announcement, but a strategic weapon. Brody looked at me, not with love, but with calculation. He had found his ultimate leverage.

My hand flew to my stomach, a primal instinct. A baby. Our baby. The thought sent a jolt of something akin to fear through me. How could I bring a child into this toxic mess? Into a life constantly overshadowed by Brody' s ambition and deceit?

"No," I whispered, shaking my head, tears welling up in my eyes. "No."

He squeezed my hand. "Yes, Finley. It's real. The doctors confirmed it. Think about it. A baby. A new beginning for us. This changes everything."

But it didn't change everything. It just made everything worse. My pain, his betrayal, Gemma. My heart felt like a hollowed-out shell.

My parents and Brody's parents were ushered in by a nurse, their faces etched with concern. Brody immediately put on his performance, his voice filled with feigned worry. "Finley's awake, everyone. The doctors say she just needs rest."

My mother rushed to my side, her eyes red from crying. "Oh, my darling, you scared us so much!" She stroked my hair, her touch a comforting anchor in the storm.

My father, ever the pragmatist, looked at Brody. "What exactly happened, Brody? My daughter doesn't just collapse for no reason."

Brody cleared his throat, his eyes darting to me, a silent warning. "Just stress, sir. The campaign has been demanding for both of us. Finley's been working so hard." He painted a picture of a doting husband, a hardworking partner. It was sickening.

Then, with a practiced ease, he dropped the bombshell. "And... well, there's another reason for extra care. Finley's pregnant."

A stunned silence filled the room. My mother gasped, tears of joy now mixing with her relief. My father, usually so stoic, looked genuinely surprised. Brody's parents quickly offered congratulations, their faces beaming.

I watched them, a profound sense of detachment washing over me. They were all celebrating, but all I felt was dread. Brody had ensured that no one would question my continued presence by his side now. A pregnant wife. The perfect image.

Later that evening, after everyone had left and the hospital room was quiet again, Brody sat beside my bed. He had brought flowers, a bouquet of white lilies. They smelled cloying, suffocating.

"Finley," he said, his voice soft, almost tender, but I knew better. "We need to talk. About us. About the baby."

I turned my head away, facing the window. The city lights twinkled in the distance, indifferent to my pain. "There's nothing to talk about, Brody. You made your choice. I made mine."

"But the baby," he insisted. "You can't just throw away our family. Not now. Think of the child."

"You think of the child?" I hissed, turning back to face him, my eyes burning. "You think of what kind of life this child will have, with a father who is a liar and a cheat? With a mother who is broken and used?"

He winced. "Finley, that's unfair. I admit I've made mistakes. I'm human. But I can change. I will change. For you. For our baby." He reached for my hand again, his touch almost desperate.

I yanked my hand away. "Don't pretend, Brody. Don't pretend you care. You only care about what this baby means for your image. For your campaign."

His face hardened. "That's not true! I care about you, Finley. I always have."

"No," I said, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "You cared about what I could do for you. My talent. My connections. My ability to create 'Project Nightingale' for you to claim as your own."

His jaw tightened. "That's low, Finley. Attacking my professional integrity now?"

"Your professional integrity?" I scoffed. "You have none, Brody. You stole my work and passed it off as your own. You gaslit me into believing I was crazy for even thinking otherwise."

He stood up, pacing the small room. "What do you want from me, Finley? I'm trying to make things right. I'm trying to be the husband you want me to be. The father our child deserves."

"Oh, you want to know what I want?" I said, my voice rising. "I want my life back. I want my name back. I want my Project Nightingale back. And I want a divorce."

He stopped pacing, staring at me with a mixture of disbelief and fury. "You can't be serious. Not with a baby. You'll destroy us, Finley. You'll destroy me."

"Good," I said, my voice cold, devoid of any warmth. "Because you already destroyed me."

He walked back to the bed, his eyes blazing. "You are not leaving me, Finley. Not now. Not ever. Do you understand? I will not allow it. I will not have my family, my image, my campaign, ruined by your petty revenge."

"It's not petty revenge, Brody," I said, a single tear tracing a path down my cheek. "It's survival."

He laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. "Survival? You think you can survive without me? Without my name? Without my money? Where will you go, Finley? What will you do?"

His words hit home, a cruel reminder of my vulnerable position. He had systematically isolated me, controlled my finances, made me dependent. My professional life had been subsumed by his. He had clipped my wings, then asked why I couldn't fly.

"I'll figure it out," I whispered, the words barely audible.

"No, you won't," he said, his voice laced with a terrifying certainty. "You'll stay. You'll be my wife. And you'll be a mother to our child. And you will smile for the cameras, Finley. You will put on a performance. Just like you always have."

He leaned in close, his breath hot against my ear. "Because if you don't," he whispered, "I will ensure that you lose everything. Your family will disown you. Your reputation will be in tatters. And you will never see a penny from me. Not for you. Not for the baby. You will be utterly, completely alone."

His words choked the air from my lungs. I wanted to scream, to lash out, but I was paralyzed by fear. He wasn' t just threatening me; he was threatening our unborn child. He was using our baby as a shield, a hostage, a tool. My heart pounded, a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

"Understood?" he asked, pulling back, a triumphant smirk playing on his lips.

I couldn't speak. I just stared at him, my eyes wide with terror and a dawning, icy resolve. This wasn't just about me anymore. This was about something much bigger.