Chapter 4

Draven hung up on me first.

"Fine. Throw your tantrum, Scarlett," he scoffed.

The line went dead. The silence hit my chest like a physical blow.

I didn't sleep a single second on the transatlantic flight back to New York. I just stared at the dark Atlantic Ocean far below, hollowed out.

The bone-deep devastation took its physical toll before the flight even landed. The cramping started, followed by a terrifying, undeniable bleeding.

By the time I was rushed from JFK straight to the emergency room, it was already too late. My body, buckling under the sheer weight of the heartbreak, had given up.

The day I found out I was pregnant, I had cried tears of absolute joy. I genuinely thought it was our fresh start. Happiness had been right there, hovering at my fingertips.

Now, I was waking up to an empty womb and a shattered life.

I rested in my apartment for twenty-four hours. The next afternoon, my phone lit up with a text from Draven.

[Touched down in NY. Formal family dinner at the estate tonight. Don't cause a scene in front of our parents. You're not a child anymore, Scarlett. Act like a corporate wife and know your limits.]

I stared at the message. Then, I replied that I would be there.

By the time I stepped into the dining room of the Rook family's sprawling Hamptons estate, both families were already seated around the long table.

Draven took the empty chair beside me.

He glanced at my averted profile, letting out a long, put-upon sigh.

"Are you still freezing me out?"

Before I could answer, he reached into his suit jacket, pulled out a velvet jeweler's box, and pressed it into my palm.

Inside was a vintage-style necklace.

"My fault for London, okay?" he murmured, leaning in close.

"A peace offering. Can you at least smile for me, baby?"

My hands turned to ice.

Just yesterday, while I was lying numbly in that hospital bed recovering from the miscarriage, Trina had posted a new vlog.

It showed her sitting in the center of that massive, messy hotel bed, surrounded by shopping bags.

She was unboxing her birthday haul—a limited-edition Hermès Kelly, a bespoke bottle of Maison Francis Kurkdjian, a diamond tennis bracelet.

Then, she held up this exact necklace. She had wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"Ew. The design is so tacky and old-fashioned. I don't want it."

The man filming her—Draven—had laughed, his voice thick with indulgence.

"You reject a gift on my birthday? Fine, you brat. I'll just throw it in the trash."

At the dinner table, I opened my fingers.

The necklace slipped from my palm, hitting the rug with a dull thud.

Draven's jaw clenched.

"What more do you want from me, Scarlett? Take it or leave it."

Sensing the tension, Draven's mother, Bryndis, offered a polished, diplomatic smile.

"Now, Draven. I heard Scarlett flew all the way to London to surprise you, and you were too wrapped up in board meetings to see her. You were in the wrong for that."

My mother, Soraya, chimed in to smooth things over, raising her wine glass.

"Oh, let the kids be. Scarlett, you're going to be a mother soon. You can't be so temperamental anymore. The stress is bad for the baby."

The clinking of silverware stopped.

"Mother?" Draven froze. He whipped his head toward me, his eyes wide with utter disbelief.

"Scarlett... you're pregnant?!"

He stood up so fast his chair scraped against the hardwood. The cold, irritated mask vanished instantly. The corners of his mouth broke into a massive, uncontrollable smile.

"I'm going to be a dad?!"

The icy detachment in his eyes melted into a radiant, overwhelming ecstasy. He looked at me like I had just handed him the world.

I didn't look away. I watched every micro-expression of his joy, every ounce of his raw emotion.

Was this real? Or was this just another performance?

I couldn't tell anymore. And looking at him now, I realized I didn't care.

The parents at the table chuckled warmly at his explosive reaction.

"Look at the boy," his father, Kael, mused.

I kept my eyes locked on Draven's face.

"No," I said softly.

The laughter died.

"I lost the baby."

The atmosphere in the grand dining room instantly flatlined.

Draven's ecstatic smile petrified on his face. Panic flickered in his eyes for a split second before he forced out a shaky, breathless laugh.

"Scarlett. Don't make sick jokes like that."

I didn't answer. I reached into my clutch and pulled out the divorce papers my attorney had rushed over that morning.

I slid the folder across the table, right until it hit Draven's plate.

I gave him a faint, empty smile.

"I saw Trina Veyra, Draven. If we don't get a divorce, how is she ever going to be anything more than your mistress?"