Chapter 3

Barron Carroll POV:

A nightmare.

That was the only word for it. I was trapped in a recurring dream where I stood on a cliff edge, Emerson on one side, Cydney on the other. The ground would crumble, and I could only save one. Every time, I reached for Emerson, my fingers brushing against hers, only for her to slip through my grasp as I was forced to pull Cydney back from the brink. I would wake up in a cold sweat, Emerson' s name a raw cry on my lips.

When I finally surfaced from the anesthetic haze in the hospital, the dream clung to me like a shroud. The first thing I saw was Emerson. She was sitting in a chair by my bedside, her face pale and drawn, a bandage wrapped around her head. Her eyes, usually the color of warm honey, were cold and empty.

Relief, so sharp and potent it was painful, washed over me. "You're okay," I breathed, my voice hoarse. "Thank God."

I reached for her hand, but she pulled away as if my touch burned her.

"The doctor said you have a concussion," she said, her tone flat, devoid of any emotion. "And several fractured ribs. Cydney is fine. You protected her well."

The guilt was a physical weight, pressing down on my chest, making it hard to breathe. "Emerson, I... I panicked. I never meant for you to get hurt. You have to believe me."

"I believe you panicked," she said, her gaze unwavering. "And in your panic, you made a choice. You always do." She stood up. "I want a divorce, Barron."

The words hit me harder than the oxygen tanks. "No. Absolutely not. We are not getting a divorce."

"It's not a negotiation."

"Anything but that," I pleaded, trying to sit up, but the pain in my ribs was blinding. "I'll do anything. I'll get rid of her. I'll send Cydney away, I swear. We can go back to how things were."

A flicker of something-contempt, maybe-crossed her face. "You want me to forgive you? Fine. I will, on one condition."

Hope, desperate and pathetic, surged through me. "Anything."

Her eyes hardened. "I want her to have a miscarriage. Just like mine. Make it happen, Barron. Make her lose the baby you two created. Then we can talk about forgiveness."

I stared at her, horrified. The cruelty of the demand was shocking, but what shocked me more was that it came from her. My gentle, compassionate Emerson. "I can't do that," I whispered. "It's an innocent child."

Her laugh was a brittle, ugly sound. "Innocent? Was my first child innocent? My fifth? My tenth? Were they not innocent enough for you to spare? Or did your debt to Cydney outweigh their lives?"

The blood drained from my face. She knew. God, she knew everything.

"How..."

"The walls in this hospital are thinner than your lies," she spat. "You chose her, Barron. You chose her over me, over and over again. You chose to protect her from a minor fall while I was bleeding to death. You chose to shield her from a runaway trolley while I took the full impact. You chose her baby over the ten you murdered inside of me. So don't you dare talk to me about innocence."

She walked to the door, her back straight and rigid.

"Where are you going?" I called out, my voice cracking.

"To see your 'surrogate'," she said, without turning back. "I want to offer my congratulations."

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving me alone with the wreckage of my choices.

I had to fix this. I had to make her understand. The debt to Cydney was real, a toxic obligation that had festered for a decade. But my love for Emerson... that was real, too. It was the one pure, undeniable thing in my life. It was an obsession, a possession, the very core of my being. I had built my empire for her, destroyed her family to possess her, and I would burn the world to the ground before I would let her go.

Ignoring the searing pain, I ripped out my own IV and staggered out of my room, following her down the hall.

When I reached Cydney's room, the scene inside froze me in place. Emerson was standing by the bed, a serene, almost pleasant smile on her face. Cydney was propped up against the pillows, looking triumphant.

"Barron, darling," Cydney cooed, seeing me in the doorway. "Emerson was just telling me how happy she is for us. She understands that some women are just... barren. It's not her fault she's defective." She patted her stomach. "But thank God you have me to give you a healthy heir."

Emerson's smile didn't waver. "Yes," she said, her voice smooth as silk. "I'm so thrilled. In fact, I came to give you a gift."

Before anyone could react, she reached over and snatched the water pitcher from Cydney's bedside table. With a flick of her wrist, she emptied the entire pitcher of ice-cold water directly onto Cydney's pregnant belly.

Cydney shrieked, a high-pitched sound of shock and outrage.

"What the hell are you doing?" I roared, rushing forward.

Emerson just stood there, her expression beatific. "Just helping her cool down. Pregnancy hormones can be so... inflammatory."

I pushed Emerson aside, my hands grabbing a towel to dry off a sputtering, furious Cydney. "Are you crazy?" I yelled over my shoulder at my wife.

"Perhaps," Emerson replied calmly. "You've had five years to drive me there."

Cydney, seeing her opportunity, burst into dramatic sobs. "She's trying to hurt the baby, Barron! She's jealous! You have to get her away from me!"

I turned to Emerson, my face a thundercloud of fury. "Get out. Now."

She just looked at me, her eyes filled with a chilling, profound disappointment. It was a look that said I had failed one final, crucial test. Without another word, she turned and walked out of the room.

I knew I should have gone after her. I knew I was making another catastrophic mistake. But Cydney was crying, clutching her stomach, and the primal, protective instinct-the one I had honed for a decade to keep her safe, to repay my debt-took over.

I stayed. I soothed Cydney. I promised her Emerson wouldn't come near her again. And with every word, I could feel the invisible thread connecting me to my real wife stretching thinner and thinner, until it finally snapped.

---