Chapter 3

Jane's POV

Beatrice glanced at Matthew first, silently seeking his permission.

Matthew gave her a tiny nod. It was barely noticeable, but I saw it.

"It's true," Beatrice said, turning back to me. "It's a program organized by the school. Miss Zoe says it's a really rare opportunity. Only the most talented students get selected."

"Miss Zoe said that if I want to join a good dance company in the future, having this kind of experience on my record is really important."

My throat felt as though someone had stuffed it with cotton.

"You're only eight," I said. "Do you really need to start building your résumé already?"

"Blair went when she was eight, too," Beatrice replied defiantly. "If you don't work hard, you'll get left behind. Daddy is right. You don't understand any of this."

She was only eight years old, yet she lied without the slightest hesitation. There wasn't even a trace of guilt on her face.

She was becoming exactly like Matthew.

His betrayal had broken my heart, but the look in my daughter's eyes—the coldness, the complicity—was what truly crushed me.

Even the little girl I'd carried for nine months was helping him cover up his affair with that woman.

Didn't she realize that this would only push her mother farther away?

Or did she simply not want me to be her mother anymore?

"I won't let you go," I said.

Matthew's expression darkened.

"Jane."

"Three months is too long. I won't agree to—"

"Can you stop trying to control everything?" Matthew interrupted impatiently. "This is important for Beatrice's future."

"I'm only thinking about what's best for her—"

"You just want to control me!" Beatrice cut in. "You're always like this! When I want ice cream, you say no. When I want to watch TV, you say no. Now that I finally have a chance to go somewhere with Daddy, you're trying to stop me again!"

"That's not—"

"Yes, it is!"

Beatrice stepped forward, glaring at me.

"I'm happy when I'm with Daddy! Being with you just makes me feel suffocated. Even my friends look down on me because I have a mother like you!"

Matthew didn't stop her.

He simply leaned back against the sofa, watching coldly.

"Beatrice..." I tried to explain. I wanted her to understand that every rule I'd made had been for her own good.

"I want to go to the summer camp!" she screamed. "I want to be with Daddy. I don't want to stay with you!"

A sharp pain tore through my chest, as though someone had reached inside and crushed my heart.

"No." My voice trembled. "You're not going anywhere."

Matthew stood up.

"Jane, enough. This really is a good opportunity—"

"I know it's a good opportunity." I looked at him. "But I'd like to know whose opportunity it really is."

Matthew's expression faltered.

"What do you mean?"

"You're not taking Beatrice to Montana."

My fingernails dug into my palms.

"You're taking Zoe. You're going to Europe with her."

"That's ridiculous," he said.

"Ridiculous? I was outside your office this afternoon." I stood up as well. "I was going to surprise you, but instead, I heard every single word you said to Chris."

Matthew's face instantly drained of color.

"You're taking that woman to Tuscany for three months," I said. "And you're planning to use our daughter as your cover."

"Maybe if you weren't so suffocating—"

"And you."

I turned toward Beatrice.

"You're helping him lie to me. You knew that woman was going with him, didn't you?"

Beatrice froze for a moment before her expression twisted with irritation.

"So what if I did?" she shouted back. "At least Daddy doesn't embarrass me in front of my friends! At least Miss Zoe dresses nicely and speaks gently. She doesn't act like some crazy woman!"

I stumbled backward, catching the dining chair behind me to keep from falling.

"Listen to what you're saying..."

"Just look at yourself." Matthew's voice turned ice-cold. "You're hysterical and talking nonsense. Jane, you're seriously unwell."

"I'm not sick." I stared at him. "You're the ones who are sick. You're willing to use your own daughter just so you can be with that woman. And Zoe's so-called depression is nothing but a lie!"

"Shut up!" Matthew roared.

"Am I wrong?" I pointed toward the staircase. "Just look at what she wears when she comes to our house to give our daughter 'private lessons.' Those low-cut, skin-tight outfits. That perfume practically dripping with sexual innuendo. She even dares to put her hand on your thigh right in our living room!"

Matthew strode toward me, as if he intended to silence me by force.

"Zoe is my patient!" he spat through clenched teeth. "She's also Beatrice's dance instructor. I'm helping her because I want her to take better care of Beatrice."

"She's your mistress!" I screamed.

"I've given everything to this family. I've let myself become this exhausted, and I'm carrying your child right now. Yet you're planning to abandon me for three months so you can run off with another woman!"

Matthew reached for my arm.

"You're insane. You're making all this up—"

"I'm not making anything up!"

I jerked away from him.

"The reason I've been feeling so unwell, the reason I've gained weight and keep getting dizzy, isn't because I'm sick. It's because I'm pregnant with your child. The hospital has already confirmed it."

I thought that would make him stop.

I thought it would at least give him a moment of hesitation.

But it didn't.

He simply stared at me coldly, then let out a short, mocking laugh.

"Is this your new trick?" Matthew shook his head. "You want to stop Beatrice from going to summer camp so badly, and you're so desperate to maintain your suffocating control over everyone, that you'd actually make up a pregnancy?"

"I have the test results—"

"Enough!"

This time, it was Beatrice who screamed.

She charged toward me like a lit firecracker, her face twisted with rage.

"You're trying to ruin everything!"

She shoved me with all her strength.

"Get out of the way! Stop blocking us from going!"

I lost my balance.

My abdomen slammed hard against the sharp corner of the solid wooden coffee table.

For a split second, the entire world went blank.

Then an excruciating pain tore through my stomach.

Almost immediately, a warm liquid began streaming down between my legs.