Chapter 2

"It's not Chloe's fault," Liam insisted the next morning, following me into the kitchen as I poured myself a glass of water. "She's always been this way. Proud. She was the top of her class in art school, you know. Everyone said she was a prodigy. Then her family lost everything. It broke her."

He was defending her. Again. As if her past tragedies gave her a permanent pass to destroy our present.

"She just acts tough, but deep down, she' s like a little girl who's scared of being left behind."

A wave of nausea washed over me. It wasn't just the pregnancy. It was his words, his complete disregard for my feelings. I leaned against the counter, taking a deep breath, trying to keep the water down.

Liam' s face softened with concern, a mask he wore so well. "Ava? Are you okay? You look pale. Did you ever get the results from that check-up last month?"

My heart hammered against my ribs. The check-up where the doctor confirmed I was perfectly healthy, perfectly capable of carrying a child. His child.

I shook my head. "It was nothing. Just stress."

He came closer, trying to put his arms around me. "You work too hard. You're always taking care of everyone."

I stiffened at his touch. I knew this part of him all too well. This wasn't genuine concern. It was control. Liam couldn't stand the thought of me having a life, or even a problem, that didn't revolve around him. His love wasn't a partnership; it was ownership. He saw me as his personal rehabilitation center, the one constant that made his chaotic life manageable. My purpose, in his eyes, was to fix him.

And my own needs? My own health? They were secondary. They were an inconvenience.

"I'm fine, Liam," I said, my voice flat. I pushed his hands away gently. "I just need some space."

His brow furrowed. He was like a dog who couldn't understand a new command. My compliance was the foundation of his world. My resistance unsettled him.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked, a hint of irritation in his voice. "You're being weird."

I gave a small, humorless smile. "Am I? I thought you liked it when I was quiet."

I turned to walk away, to go to my study where I could breathe air that wasn't thick with his lies. But a scent stopped me.

It was coming from the kitchen.

A rich, savory smell. It was soup. A very specific soup he used to make.