Chapter 5

Inside the cavernous mahogany study of the Long Island estate, Guilford stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows. He rolled an unlit cigar between his fingers, his jaw tight.

The heavy double doors creaked open. Imogene walked in, her footsteps entirely silent on the Persian rug. She carried a steaming cup of black coffee.

She set the cup on the massive desk, walked up behind Guilford, and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her chest against his back.

Guilford's spine went rigid. He reached down, peeled her hands off his stomach, and stepped away, putting the width of the desk between them.

Imogene's smile faltered, but she quickly recovered, her face morphing into a mask of gentle concern. "How were Isadore's latest labs?"

Guilford sank into his leather chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Worse. We have to start the process immediately."

Imogene placed both hands on the desk, leaning in. "Guilford, we should use IVF. That woman... her life is a mess. Who knows what diseases she carries? Natural conception is too risky. It'll dirty you."

Guilford's hands stopped moving. He slowly raised his head. His dark eyes locked onto hers, piercing and analytical.

Imogene swallowed hard, her gaze darting away to nervously straighten a stack of files.

"Dr. Adler was clear," Guilford said, his voice devoid of warmth. "IVF has a ten percent success rate. Isadore doesn't have time for us to fail."

Imogene bit her lip. "I can bring in the best specialists in the country. My family's medical connections-"

Guilford slammed his Montblanc pen onto the desk.

The sharp crack echoed like a gunshot. Imogene jumped back, her face draining of color.

Guilford stood up. His towering frame cast a long, intimidating shadow over her. "This is a Gates family matter. I don't need outsiders interfering."

The word outsider hit Imogene like a physical strike. Her eyes instantly welled with tears. "I'm just trying to protect you."

"To save my son," Guilford said, his voice dropping to a brutal, absolute register, "I would sleep with the devil herself. I don't care how disgusting she is."

Imogene's chest tightened with a sickening jolt of jealousy. She realized she couldn't stop the physical contact. She forced a sob, playing the victim. "I just love you so much."

Guilford waved his hand toward the door, already looking back at his laptop. "I have work to do. Leave."

Imogene ground her teeth together. She whispered an apology and walked out.

The second her hand touched the brass doorknob, her gentle, victimized expression vanished instantly, replaced by a mask of cold, calculating malice. She stepped out into the hallway and pulled the heavy door shut behind her. Pulling her phone from her designer purse, her thumb hovered over a contact name, her mind already racing with contingencies to ensure this new arrangement wouldn't threaten her position. She took a deep breath, smoothing her features back into perfect elegance just as Alistair walked by.

Imogene stopped him. "Alistair. Find out Carissa's exact address in Queens. Immediately."

Alistair bowed his head. Imogene walked away, her heels clicking aggressively.

Inside the study, Guilford pressed the intercom button. "Franklin. Did she sign the contract?"

His assistant's voice crackled through the speaker. "Yes, sir. She agreed to the natural conception. And... she didn't ask for a single cent in additional compensation."

Guilford's brow furrowed deeply. No money? That completely contradicted the greedy, manipulative profile he had of her.

A sudden, irritating itch of suspicion crawled up his spine. He looked out the window at the darkening sky. He tossed the unlit cigar into the trash can, grabbed his suit jacket off the chair, and walked out. He was going to get her himself.