บททั้งหมดของ Beneath His Cold Vows: บทที่ 11 - บทที่ 20

Alicia's POV"The ICU was quieter this morning, the frantic alarms and shouted instructions from two nights ago now replaced by the small beeps of machines and the low murmur of nurses at their stations. They’d gone back in to stop bleeding around her heart — not a new problem, but a dangerous complication. She was alive. That was all that mattered.I made my way to Lily's room, my heels clicking softly against the polished floor, the sound seeming too loud in the hushed atmosphere.The lunch with Harrison from the Tribune loomed at noon, but first I needed to see my sister. Needed to sit beside her bed and remind myself why performing for Edward's strategic purposes mattered.As I reached her door, Nurse Maris stepped in from the side hallway, her face lined with fatigue but her tone gentle. “Morning, Ms. Perez,” she said softly. “I wanted to let you know—last night wasn’t easy for Lily. She needed a bit more pain medication, and that, combined with the lingering effects of anesthesi

Two pink lines.I stared at the pregnancy test on the bathroom counter, my reflection fractured in the mirror behind it. The lines remained clear, like scars that refused to fade. They stayed stubbornly clear, two vertical bars that split my life into before and after.Pregnant.The word felt foreign, like a language I'd never learned to speak. I'd been so careful. Two years of pills taken at the same time every morning, a ritual as automatic as breathing. We barely touched anymore anyway, maybe three times in the past two months, perfunctory encounters that felt more like transactions than intimacy.But apparently once was enough.My legs gave out. I sank onto the closed toilet lid, still clutching the test like it might contain different answers if I held it tighter. The room turned hostile, brightness cutting into my eyes, marble gleaming like ice, leaving no softness anywhere to land.How long had I been sitting here? Ten minutes? Twenty? Time had become elastic since I'd watched

Edward's POVSunlight hit my face through curtains I didn't recognize.I blinked awake, disoriented, taking in the guest room at my mother's house. The same dark wood furniture from my teenage years, the same heavy drapes, the same view of the rose garden through tall windows. Everything familiar and unchanged, like I'd stepped back twenty years.I'd fallen asleep here. Actually fell asleep instead of driving home.The family dinner had run late, wine flowing freely while my mother orchestrated conversations around Lucy's return from Paris. Stories about her gallery openings, her time in the fashion scene, all the impressive things she'd accomplished while living the kind of life my mother approved of. By the time dessert finished, fatigue had hit me like a wall.I'd meant to leave. Had said my goodbyes and grabbed my keys. But Lucy had been showing my mother photos on her phone, laughing at some memory from when we were kids, and I'd sat back down. For a minute. To finish my drink.N

Edward's POV I pushed through the front door at half-past eight, loosening my tie as the cool air of the foyer washed over me. The house was too quiet. No music from upstairs, no housekeeper bustling about. Just the low sound of the chandelier and the faint clink of silverware from the dining room. I'd come home hours ago. Showered, changed, left again. Alicia wasn't home. It was easy not to look her in the face. Accepted Lucy's offer to attend the gallery opening. We later stopped by a good private spot and had Lunch. My mother's voice had echoed in my head the entire time—She fits, Edward. She always has. I shook the thought loose and moved toward the dining room. Alicia sat at the far end of the table, perfectly still, fork in hand. A plate of roasted chicken and vegetables sat before her, barely touched. She wore a simple cream sweater, hair pulled back, no jewelry. She looked diminished, but not fragile. Contained. Like she’d stripped out anything that might betray her. S

Edward's POV The boardroom emptied at four‑thirty. Cold coffee sat in a chipped mug. My phone lay facedown on the table. In my mind, the guest list played on repeat: the Carters. Jennifer Caldwell. Senator Whitmore. Three board members have been circling since my father's death. Waiting. They didn’t want champagne and polite smiles. They wanted evidence that I could falter. I intended to give them none. I needed Lucy. The phone buzzed. Lucy: Still on for six? I'm opening the good wine. Me: On my way. I grabbed my jacket and loosened my tie. The elevator door closed behind me. My reflection was sharp—pressed shirt, perfect knot. Everything is in place. Even me. But there was something beneath that polish, a restlessness I didn't bother to hide. I knew the way already. Her gallery in the arts district, all glass and brick, stood quietly as if daring anyone to question it. I parked, footsteps echoing against the pavement as I crossed the street. Evening air was sharp with the