Chapter 4

Emerson Keller POV:

He didn' t follow me.

I walked out of that hospital room, out of the hospital itself, and he didn' t follow. I stood on the rain-slicked pavement, the city lights blurring through my unshed tears, and waited. A part of me, a foolish, masochistic part, still expected to hear his footsteps, to feel his hand on my arm, to see him choose me, just once.

But the only sound was the traffic and the rain. He stayed with her. Of course, he did.

The next day, he sent a car to bring me back to the penthouse. The place felt alien, contaminated. Every surface seemed to hold a memory of his touch, a phantom of his lies. I walked through the opulent rooms, a ghost in my own home.

He found me in the library, staring at the collection of first-edition novels he had "rescued" for me. My father' s books.

"Emerson," he said softly, his voice full of a manufactured remorse. He was holding a velvet box. "I know I failed you. I was wrong. I've been thinking about what you said... about my priorities."

He opened the box. Nestled inside on a bed of black silk was a necklace. It wasn't just any necklace. It was the Keller Medallion, a priceless, one-of-a-kind emerald piece that had been in my family for over a century. It had been my mother' s. It was supposed to be mine. It had been sold at auction after my parents' deaths, and I thought it was lost forever.

My breath hitched. A raw, visceral longing seized me. It was the last tangible piece of my mother I had. "Where did you get it?" I whispered, my eyes fixed on the deep green stone.

"I' ve been tracking it for years," he said, his voice a low, seductive murmur. "I finally acquired it last week. I wanted to give it to you after our next child was born. A new family heirloom for a new generation of Kellers." He held it out to me. "But I want you to have it now. As a promise. From now on, you come first. Only you."

It was a beautiful lie, wrapped around a beautiful truth. He knew my weaknesses. He knew this medallion was a direct line to my heart.

Before I could take it, the library doors swung open. Cydney sashayed in, wearing one of my silk robes, the medallion clasped around her neck.

She gave a little moue of apology, her hand fluttering to the emerald at her throat. "Oh, darling, I' m so sorry. I saw it on your dresser and just had to try it on. It' s exquisite." She smiled sweetly at me. "Barron told me all about it. A new heirloom for the new Keller heir." She patted her stomach pointedly. "I promise I' ll take good care of it for our son."

Rage, white-hot and blinding, surged through me. I lunged for her, my hands outstretched, my only thought to rip that symbol of my family' s legacy from her undeserving neck.

"Don' t you touch her!" Barron roared, stepping between us. He grabbed my wrists, his grip bruising.

Cydney, ever the actress, stumbled backward with a theatrical gasp, her hand flying to her belly. "Oh! The baby!" She tripped over the edge of the Persian rug, an intentional, clumsy movement, and went down hard. The velvet box flew from Barron' s hand, and the spare medallion he' d clearly had made-the one he was about to give me-skittered across the floor. Cydney, in her fake fall, landed directly on it.

There was a sickening crunch.

We all froze. Slowly, Cydney pushed herself up. Beneath her, the magnificent emerald was shattered, the gold setting twisted and broken. My mother' s legacy, crushed under the weight of his mistress.

A sound tore from my throat, a primal scream of loss and fury. I flew at her, my nails seeking her lying face. "You did that on purpose!"

"Emerson, stop!" Barron bellowed. He shoved me back so hard I stumbled and hit the edge of a bookshelf. Pain exploded in my shoulder. He didn't even look at me. He was already on the floor, cradling a sobbing Cydney.

"Are you hurt? Is the baby okay?" he murmured, his voice frantic with worry.

I watched, my breath caught in my chest, as he helped her to her feet, his hands gently probing her stomach, his face a mask of terror. The same terror he had never once shown for me or for any of the ten children I had lost.

"It' s broken," I whispered, staring at the ruined jewelry on the floor. "She broke it."

Barron finally turned to me, his eyes cold as ice. "It' s a thing, Emerson. It can be replaced. Cydney and our child cannot be." He pointed a finger at me, his voice low and dangerous. "You have been unstable and irrational since your... episode. I' ve been patient, but this attack is the final straw. You are a danger to Cydney and my son. Until you can learn to control yourself, you will not be leaving your room."

He half-carried a still-sobbing Cydney from the library, leaving me alone with the shattered remnants of my past and the horrifying clarity of my present.

He wasn't just choosing her. He was punishing me for grieving, for reacting, for not quietly accepting my role as the broken, barren wife. He was imprisoning me.

Later that evening, two guards he' d hired stood outside my bedroom door. I was a prisoner in my own home. When I refused to eat the dinner a maid brought up, Barron came in himself.

"You' re being childish," he said, his tone one of weary disappointment.

"And you' re a monster," I retorted.

His jaw tightened. "I know you' re in pain, but you cannot be allowed to harm Cydney. I won' t have it." He gestured to the guards outside. "They will remain until I am satisfied you are no longer a threat."

He turned to leave, but paused at the door. "You know," he said, his voice softening into that familiar, manipulative purr, "I remember when you were afraid of the dark as a child. Your parents told me they had to leave a light on for you until you were a teenager. You were terrified of being alone in a locked room."

My blood ran cold. He was right. It was a deep, primal phobia I had, stemming from a childhood incident where I' d been accidentally locked in a closet for hours.

He smiled, a slow, cruel curving of his lips. "Good night, Emerson. Try to get some sleep."

He closed the door. I heard the distinct, final sound of a key turning in the lock. And then, the main breaker switch was flipped. The entire penthouse plunged into absolute, suffocating darkness.

My breath seized in my chest. The walls seemed to close in, the air growing thick and heavy. The primal, childish terror I thought I had conquered clawed its way up my throat. He knew. He knew this was my deepest fear. And he was using it to break me.

I was alone. In the dark. Locked in. And for the first time, I understood that Barron Carroll wasn't just content to let me suffer. He intended to actively participate in my torment.

---