When the Heir's Cradle Falls

In the armored car on the way back to the penthouse, I forwarded a scanned copy of our marriage contract to my legal counsel, Liam.

I said, "Liam, if the contract is ironclad, please prepare the execution documents as soon as possible. I want this over with, and I want everything that belongs to the Costello family back."

Soon, Liam replied, "Understood."

In the past, to reassure me about our marriage, Ronan had personally drafted this contract, sealing it with a blood oath in the presence of the Don. If he ever betrayed me or stopped loving me, he would forfeit all his legal assets and territorial control, leaving with nothing.

Back then, when he looked at me, his eyes burned with a fiery love, certain he would never break his vow.

Unfortunately, time can erode everything, even the strongest of oaths.

It was six in the evening when I returned home. The air hung heavy with the cloying mix of expensive cigars and cheap perfume. Ronan had clearly brought a guest home last night.

I forced myself to take a shower and took some painkillers to ease the sharp pain in my abdomen. The master bedroom was too filthy for me to touch, so I fell into a groggy sleep in the guest room.

In the middle of the night, the front door was violently thrown open, followed by the sound of urgent, heavy footsteps. The footsteps pounded past the master bedroom, straight to the guest room, and then—BAM!

The door was kicked open, the loud noise jolting me from a nightmare.

The next second, the harsh overhead light flickered on, illuminating Ronan's face, his brow deeply furrowed.

"I'm your husband, Serena! How could you discharge yourself from the hospital without a word? Do you have any idea how many of my enemies are watching you?"

When my eyes finally adjusted to the light, I saw Ronan standing at the door, panting heavily, a crushed dessert box in his hand. His face was a cold mask of blame.

Jenna peeked out from behind him. She was wearing a man's silk shirt that was clearly several sizes too large for her. Her pale face was framed by long, dark hair, and her eyes held an innocent look. The silky fabric concealed nothing underneath, her long, fair legs looming in and out of view, impossible to ignore.

I recognized the shirt immediately; I had designed it for Ronan myself earlier this year.

Ironically, I clearly remembered him telling me just a month ago that the shirt had been ruined in a shootout.

He either didn't realize his lie had been exposed, or he simply didn't care. Without warning, he threw the expensive dessert box at my feet. The delicate cake shattered, and cream splattered onto my ankle, cold and sticky—a bitter reminder of the child I had lost.

Ronan pointed at me and yelled, every word laced with accusation, "How could you leave the hospital without telling me? Didn't you hear the doctor say your condition was critical, that something could happen at any moment?! Serena, grow the hell up! Stop acting like a spoiled brat throwing a tantrum!"

"I've been looking for you for half an hour! Finn turned the entire hospital upside down! Would it have killed you to send a single text?!"

I stared at the cake's remains on the floor, my expression frighteningly calm.

"I was going to inform you, but you were busy comforting Jenna."