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CHAPTER 10
publish date:
2026-09-30 01:25:41ANNA POV
“Look at this,” I say, holding the plastic stick with two fingers like it’s radioactive.
The two sharp pink lines in the little window glare back at me in the harsh light of the boathouse study. I found it thrown in the bottom of the guest bathroom trash bin ten minutes ago.
Peter takes the test from my hand, his face draining of all color. “Lydia’s?”
“She’s the only other woman living in the main house,” I say, my chest tightening as I watch him stare at the white stick. “And those lines are pitch black.”
Peter’s eyes narrow as he starts calculating dates in his head. “The conception window... she was with me three weeks ago. She was with Richard... when?”
I pull out my phone and quickly scroll to the master family calendar. “The trade conference in Geneva. Two weeks before you.”
Silence drops over the room like lead.
Peter collapses backward into the leather armchair, his long legs going slack as his spine hits the cushions. I’ve never seen him sit down in this room. Not once.
“It could be mine,” Peter whispers, his voice completely hollow.
His grey eyes lock onto mine, wide, unblinking, and filled with a raw, paralyzing fear that cuts straight through his frozen mask.
I should feel a sharp pang of jealousy. I should feel sick that he was with her three weeks ago. But looking at the sudden wreck of his face, I don't feel jealous at all. I feel protective.
I sink down onto my knees right in front of his chair, reaching out to grab his hands. “Hey. Look at me.”
Peter’s head snaps up, his eyes meeting mine.
“We don't know yet,” I say, keeping my voice firm and steady. “And if it is yours... we'll deal with it.”
“I don't know how to be a father,” Peter says, a bitter, broken laugh escaping his throat as his knuckles turn white under mine. “My model was Richard. Or Victor. Take your pick of monsters.”
“You’re not them,” I say, tightening my grip on his cold fingers, amazed that he hasn't yanked his hands away. “You held me in that closet last night and didn't let me fall apart. That’s more fatherhood than Richard ever showed anyone in his life.”
The latch on the main door suddenly clicks open with a loud, violent bang.
“That whore is carrying my husband’s bastard!” Mary screams, bursting into the study with her face twisted in pure rage, a duplicate wrapper clutched in her manicured fist.
She stops dead in her tracks, her sharp eyes darting straight down to where I’m kneeling between Peter’s knees with our fingers tightly locked together.
“What are you two plotting?” Mary snarls, stepping deeper into the room.
We spring apart instantly. I scramble to my feet, tucking the test into my hoodie pocket while Peter stands up in one smooth, fluid motion, his cold mask sliding back over his face like steel.
“Peter was comforting me,” I lie without blinking, crossing my arms over my chest to hide my shaking hands. “Jack sent two dozen white roses to the office lobby this morning. It threw me off.”
Mary glares at me, her gaze shifting suspiciously between my face and Peter’s unreadable eyes. She buys it—barely.
“Stay away from Lydia,” Mary warns, her voice dripping with venom as she steps back toward the open doorway. “She’s carrying a legal liability, and I’m taking her to my personal physician tonight. If either of you interfere, you’ll both regret it.”
She turns on her heel and slams the heavy door behind her, her heels clicking rapidly down the corridor.
I let out a long breath, turning back to face Peter.
Peter stands motionless beside the armchair, staring at the closed wooden door.
“If the child is mine,” Peter says, his voice flat, low, and deadly serious, “I won't let Richard destroy it like he destroyed us.”
I step closer to him, looking straight into his eyes. “Then we protect it. Together.”
The word hangs between us in the quiet room, heavy and undeniable.
Peter nods once—a sharp, final movement of his jaw.
He grabs his jacket off the back of the chair and walks past me toward the exit. He steps out into the hallway, but when he leaves the boathouse, he leaves the heavy front door standing wide open behind him.
An invitation. A crack in the ice.
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