Chapter 5

Connor brought Gemma back to our house. Our home. He laid her in our guest room, called a doctor to check on her "fainting spell," and personally made her a warm meal. I was a prisoner in my own house, locked away in my bedroom while he tended to the woman who was destroying my life.

He came to my door later, his voice soft and placating. "Haven, we need to talk."

"There's nothing to talk about," I said through the locked door.

"The company is in crisis," he said, his voice full of a weary frustration that was all his own doing. "I need you to..."

"Need me?" I laughed, a hollow, empty sound. "You don't need me, Connor. You have Gemma."

He fell silent. A few moments later, I heard his footsteps walking away.

The pain in my abdomen had subsided to a dull, constant ache. I knew I had to tell him. I had to tell him about the baby. It was the only card I had left to play.

I unlocked my door and walked towards his study. The door was ajar. I heard Gemma's voice, laced with real panic now.

"...I told you, it was a mistake! I never meant for it to go this far! Elliott George, he promised me money, a new life..."

She was confessing. Admitting she was a spy. Admitting she had leaked the data.

My hand froze on the doorknob.

There was a moment of silence. Then, I heard a soft sound, a sound I knew all too well. The sound of a kiss.

He was silencing her. He was choosing to live in the lie.

"Do you have any feelings for me at all?" I heard him ask, his voice thick with a desperate hope.

"Connor, I..." Gemma started, but he cut her off.

"I love you," he said, the words a final, fatal blow. "I love you, Gemma. We'll deal with Haven. We'll get a divorce. We can be together. I promise."

I leaned against the wall, my legs giving out. Through the crack in the door, I saw them. He was holding her, his lips on hers. They moved together, their bodies entwined in a passionate embrace on his desk. On the desk where we had signed the papers to create our company.

The pain in my abdomen exploded. It was a searing, white-hot agony that ripped through me. I looked down. Blood was soaking through my clothes, a dark, damning stain.

I tried to call his name, but only a choked gasp came out. He didn't hear me. He was lost in her.

I stumbled back, my hand sliding down the wall, leaving a streak of red. I had to get help.

Mrs. Gable, our housekeeper, found me at the bottom of the stairs, curled in a ball on the cold marble floor.

"Mrs. Jones!" she cried, rushing to my side. "I'll get Mr. Jones!"

"No," I gasped, the word tearing from my throat. I grabbed her arm, my grip surprisingly strong. "Don't... don't tell him. Call an ambulance. Just... save my baby."

My vision tunneled. The last thing I saw was Mrs. Gable's horrified face as I sank into darkness.

...

I woke up in a different hospital. The world was fuzzy, muted. A doctor stood over me, his face grim.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Jones," he said, his voice gentle. "We did everything we could. But the fetus... there was no heartbeat. We had to perform a D&C."

The baby was gone. My miracle baby was gone.

The doctor continued talking about recovery, about follow-up appointments, but his words were just noise. The only thing I felt was a vast, cold emptiness.

"Will it hurt?" I asked, my voice a dead monotone.

"The surgery?" he asked, confused. "No, you were under general anesthesia. You wouldn't have felt a thing."

"I see," I said.

A flicker of something dark and cold ignited in the void where my heart used to be.

"If it ever happens again," I said, my eyes locking on his, "I want you to use a local anesthetic. Only a local."

The doctor looked at me, his expression a mixture of confusion and concern.

"I want to feel it," I said, my voice as cold and sharp as a shard of glass. "I want to remember the pain."