Chapter 4

Harley Pennington POV:

When Marcus dropped me back at the mansion, I walked in to find Katerina in the kitchen, humming to herself as she poured herself a glass of my most expensive orange juice. She was wearing one of my cashmere robes. My home, my things-she was settling in like a parasite.

"I hope you don't mind," she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. She gestured with the glass. "Connor told me to make myself at home." She took a delicate sip, her eyes mocking me over the rim. "I'm so glad we could work things out."

The sight of her, so comfortable and smug in my space after what had just happened, made a fresh wave of nausea roll through me.

"That's mine," I said, my voice flat.

She feigned surprise. "Oh, this robe? I can take it off if you want it back."

"No," I said, disgust curling my lip. "Keep it. I'll just burn it later."

Connor walked in then, his expression hardening when he saw my face. "Harley, that's enough. Kat is our guest. She's been through a traumatic experience."

"A traumatic experience?" I stared at him, incredulous. "You think she's the one who's been through a trauma?"

"She's pregnant and you had her kidnapped!" he yelled. "What was I supposed to think?"

I didn' t have the energy to argue. I just felt dirty. The feel of Henderson' s hands, the smell of the warehouse, the leering eyes of the crowd-it was all still clinging to me.

"I need a shower," I said, turning my back on both of them and walking up the grand staircase.

I stood under the scalding spray for almost an hour, scrubbing my skin until it was red and raw, but I couldn't wash the feeling away. I couldn't wash him away. Exhaustion finally took over, a heavy, boneless fatigue. I sank down into the water, letting it surround me, and fell into a dead sleep right there in the tub.

I woke up in our bed. For a disoriented moment, I thought I' d dreamed it all. Then I saw him. Connor was sitting on the edge of the bed, a tray with a bowl of soup and a glass of water on his lap.

"You're awake," he said softly. His voice was gentle, the way it used to be after we'd had a fight. "I was worried. You were asleep in the tub for hours."

He tried to touch my forehead, but I flinched away, recoiling as if from a hot iron.

"Don't touch me," I whispered.

His hand froze in mid-air. A flicker of hurt crossed his face before it was replaced by frustration. "Harley, can you stop this? I said I was sorry."

"You're sorry?" I asked, my voice dangerously quiet.

"I didn't mean for it to go that far," he said, setting the tray aside. "Henderson wasn't supposed to touch you. I was watching on a monitor the whole time. I was there. I came in before he could do anything."

The confession hung in the air between us. He was there. He watched. He waited. He let that man terrify me, tear my clothes, put his filthy hands on me, all while he watched. He only intervened at the last possible second.

The pain was a physical thing, a crushing weight on my chest that made it hard to breathe. The man who had once promised to be my shield had held me down while another man tried to hurt me.

"We need to find a way to move forward," he said, his tone infuriatingly reasonable, as if we were discussing a business deal. "Katerina is going to have this baby. There' s nothing we can do about that. But she doesn' t have to live here. I' ll buy her a condo. I' ll support her and the child, but you and I... we can go back to how things were."

"And the child?" I asked, my voice hollow. "What happens to the child?"

He shrugged, a casual, dismissive gesture. "We can raise it as our own if you want. Or I can set up a trust, hire a nanny. The kid will never want for anything. It doesn't have to change our lives."

I stared at him, at this stranger sitting on my bed, casually discussing the disposal of his own child like an inconvenient piece of furniture. The ambitious, dreaming artist I fell in love with was truly dead. In his place was a monster.

"The Connor I knew would never say that," I whispered.

"The Connor you knew was broke," he sneered. "People change. I changed. For the better."

"No," I said, sitting up. "No, you didn't." I looked him dead in the eye. "You need to make a choice, Connor. It's her and the baby, or it's me. You can't have both."

He looked at me, a long, calculating stare. "I'm not letting you go, Harley."

"Then get rid of them." The words were cold and hard, and I meant them.

"I'll talk to her," he said after a long pause. "About... options."

He was actually considering it. The thought should have made me feel victorious, but it only made me feel sick.

Just then, a crash echoed from downstairs, followed by a theatrical sob.

Katerina.

Connor was on his feet in an instant, his face a mask of alarm. "Kat!" He bolted from the room without a second glance at me.

I followed him slowly, my heart a dead weight in my chest. I already knew what I would see. I already knew what his choice would be.

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