Chapter Three: The Reynolds

Beeping. Endless, rhythmic beeping penetrated the darkness.

My eyelids felt heavy as concrete. Something tugged at my hand—an IV line. The antiseptic smell hit next, that unmistakable hospital scent.

I was alive. Somehow.

Memories crashed back in jagged pieces. The window. The fall. Strong arms catching me. Blake's coldness. Delilah's smirk.

My baby. My hand flew to my stomach, panic jolting through me.

"We don't know yet if it survived."

Victoria Reynolds sat primly in the visitor's chair beside my hospital bed, her Chanel suit unwrinkled despite what must have been hours of waiting.

"What?" I whispered, my throat raw. "The baby—"

"The doctors are running tests," she cut me off, checking her diamond-encrusted watch. "Though frankly, a miscarriage might be the cleanest resolution to this mess you've created."

The casual cruelty stole my breath. Before I could respond, the door opened. Blake strode in, scrolling through his phone, not even glancing at me. He was followed by his father, Richard Reynolds, and his brother, Chase.

"She's awake," Victoria announced unnecessarily.

Richard merely grunted. "How long does this take? I have a board meeting at two."

"How are you feeling?" Chase asked quietly, the only one showing concern. Blake didn't look up from his phone, completely detached.

"Like I fell through a window," I managed, voice cracking. "Please—do you know anything about my baby?"

Blake snorted, finally glancing up. "Still pretending to care about a child? Convenient."

The sting came without warning—Victoria's hand connecting with my cheek, snapping my head sideways. Pain exploded across my face, worse from the cuts already there.

"How dare you," she hissed. "How dare you put this family through such humiliation!"

I clutched my burning cheek, too shocked to cry.

"Mother," Chase stepped forward, but Richard's hand stopped him.

"Don't interfere," Richard warned. "This is between your brother's wife and your mother."

"His wife who nearly died," Chase argued, though his voice lacked conviction.

"Don't be dramatic," Victoria snapped. "Do you have any idea what we've been dealing with? Reporters camped outside our home. Investors calling with concerns." She leaned closer, eyes burning. "Couldn't you have just fallen to your death quietly? Why survive only to drag our name through the mud?"

My mouth opened but no sound emerged. She was angry I hadn't died?

"The footage is everywhere," Richard added grimly. "You in Dominic Blackwood's arms. #ReynoldsScandal is trending."

"I didn't do anything wrong," I whispered. "Delilah pushed me. She tried to kill me."

Victoria's laugh was acid. "And? What did you expect, throwing yourself at Blake's office, making a scene in front of his future partner?"

"Future... partner?"

"Oh please," Victoria rolled her eyes. "Did you think we didn't know about Delilah? The Reynolds men have always taken companions. It's part of the arrangement."

"Arrangement?" I echoed stupidly.

"Marriage is business, Scarlett," Richard said. "The Reynolds name requires an heir, social standing, and a proper hostess. Your job was to provide those things. Blake's personal life is his own concern."

"Which he was," Victoria added sharply, "until you created this spectacle."

My head spun. They'd known all along. The family that had scrutinized my every move, criticized my every flaw, berated me for failing to conceive—they'd known Blake was unfaithful and found it perfectly acceptable.

"She pushed me!" My voice broke. "She said she was pregnant with his child!"

"And she is," Blake finally spoke, his tone bored. "Ten weeks along. A boy, according to preliminary tests." He glanced at his watch. "Speaking of which, I have lunch with her father in thirty minutes. How much longer is this going to take?"

His callousness struck like another physical blow. Not even pretending concern for me or the baby I might be losing—his child.

"The best outcome," Victoria added with chilling precision, "would be if this... situation... resolved itself naturally. The trauma, the stress—miscarriages happen all the time."

They were openly wishing for my baby to die. My miracle baby. The child I'd prayed for, endured painful treatments for—they wanted it gone like an inconvenient stain.

"You're monsters," I breathed.

"Spare us the dramatics," Blake sighed, checking his watch again. "I need to pick up Delilah in an hour."

"We don't even know if our baby is alive," I said numbly, "and you're going to a gala?"

"Now you dare to talk back to us?!"

Victoria's hand flew up for another slap, her face twisted with rage. I flinched, bracing for the sting that never came.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." A deep voice cut through the room.