Chapter 4

Before the signing began, I went to the restroom. The bleeding had stopped, but my lower abdomen kept tightening in waves.

I called the hospital. As soon as the doctor heard what was happening, she told me to go straight to the ER.

The project manager was waiting outside the door. "Mrs. Lane, the investors are already here."

"Tell Cyrus I might be losing the baby."

His face changed instantly. He pulled out his phone and made the call. After only a couple of sentences, he handed it to me.

Cyrus's voice was cold. "Since when did you start lying about being pregnant?"

My grip tightened around the phone.

"Quinn just got out of the ER. Nothing can go wrong with today's signing. Get through the meeting first, and I'll have the driver take you to get checked afterward."

"I need to leave now."

"Zara Spencer, don't make me call you out in front of the investors. The doctor said you have PCOS and that conceiving naturally would be difficult. We've been trying for years with no luck, and now, of all times, you're suddenly pregnant and bleeding right in the middle of Quinn's signing. Do you really expect me to believe that?"

My fingers slowly went cold.

During all those years we'd been trying for a baby, every time my period was late, Cyrus had been even more hopeful than I was. He'd even had a nursery ready long before there was a baby to put in it.

After being disappointed again and again, he'd stopped letting himself believe a miracle could happen.

I just never imagined that when one finally did, I would be the first person he doubted.

"You think I'm using a baby to compete for your attention?"

"I'm telling you to keep your personal feelings out of work."

"Fine." I held the phone tighter and said quietly, "This is the last time."

Then I walked into the conference hall.

Quinn had already changed into a formal dress. She sat beside Cyrus, still pale from whatever had happened at the hospital.

When one of the investors asked about the load-bearing data for the theater's dome, she couldn't answer. Every head in the room turned toward me.

Cyrus held out the microphone.

"Zara, explain it for Quinn."

I didn't take it.

"It's not my project. I have no authority to answer."

Quinn's eyes immediately reddened. "Zara, I know you're angry with me, but hundreds of people at this company have worked on this project."

I turned toward the audience.

"I completed this proposal independently. Quinn Xavier had no involvement in any of the core design work."

The room erupted.

Cyrus grabbed my wrist. "Do you even know what you're saying?"

His voice hardened. "Apologize to Quinn. Now."

"She took credit for my work and broke the last thing my father made for me. Why would I apologize?"

Quinn suddenly stood.

"Fine. I'm not as good as you. I never have been."

Her voice shook.

"But if I hadn't run away from my own wedding five years ago, you never would've become Mrs. Lane in the first place."

My breath stopped.

"Quinn, shut up," Cyrus snapped.

She shook her head through her tears. "Tell me I'm wrong, Cyrus."

"You folded those stars at our engagement party. You told me we'd open them together on our fifth wedding anniversary.

"If I hadn't suddenly left the country, would you ever have turned around and married her?"

I looked at Cyrus.

"Is that true?"

His hand was still around my wrist, but his grip slowly loosened.

"None of that matters anymore."

"So the wish jar at our wedding was originally meant for her too?"

"Zara, we'll talk about this when we get home."

"Answer me."

Cyrus closed his eyes for a moment.

"Yes."

The word was barely audible.

At that exact moment, pain tore through my lower abdomen.

I doubled over as warm blood rapidly soaked through my skirt. Someone in the audience cried out.

Cyrus instinctively reached for me.

Then Quinn clutched her chest, collapsed beside her chair, and gasped that she couldn't breathe.

He froze.

I grabbed his sleeve.

"Cyrus, take me to the hospital."

His eyes went to the blood spreading across my skirt, then to Quinn on the floor.

"The driver is right outside."

He handed me off to the project manager and turned to scoop Quinn into his arms.

"Quinn has asthma. A few minutes could cost her her life."

By the time they helped me into the car, my vision was already starting to blur.

The driver ran three red lights getting me to the hospital.

After reviewing the test results, the doctor looked grim.

"The fetal heartbeat is very weak. We need to operate immediately if we're going to have any chance of saving the pregnancy."

A nurse placed the consent form in front of me.

"Where's your husband?"

I stared at Cyrus's number and called.

The first time, he didn't answer.

The second time, he declined the call.

Before I could try a third time, Quinn sent me a photo.

Cyrus was sitting beside her hospital bed, holding an almond latte.

Her message read:

[Zara, Cyrus asked me to tell you to stop trying to scare him with a fake pregnancy.]

The doctor urged me again. "Ms. Spencer, we can't wait any longer."

I signed the form and was wheeled into the operating room.

Cold equipment pressed against my abdomen. The faint sound of the baby's heartbeat came through for a few seconds.

Then it stopped.

The doctor removed the monitor.

"I'm sorry. We couldn't save the baby."

The doors slowly closed as the anesthetic flowed into my IV.

Three hours later, I woke in a hospital room.

My abdomen ached with a hollow, empty pain. The only thing beside my bed was a box of post-op medication.

My phone lit up.

Cyrus had texted me.

[Which hospital did you go to?]

[The driver said he couldn't find you at the downtown hospital.]

A few minutes later, another message appeared.

[Quinn's fine now. Text me when you see this. I'll come pick you up.]

I didn't reply.

Instead, I called my attorney.

"Send Cyrus the divorce papers, along with formal notice that I'm withdrawing permission to use my copyrighted work on the Greenwood Theater project."