Chapter 2
Valerie
What was he saying?
The words circled in my head, over and over, and I couldn't make them fit together into anything that made sense.
Wasn't I supposed to be here for a new mother? Wasn't this supposed to be a normal lactation consultant position?
What was happening?
A hot flush of anger moved through me. I wanted to push him away. "I don't understand, Mr. Magnus, but I think I need to reconsider this position."
I tried to slip out from under his arm.
He blocked me completely — that arm a wall of muscle, veins standing out against the skin, immovable.
Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.
This was insane. I should have asked more questions before I ever set foot in this house.
"The child needs breast milk." Magnus's voice came down from above me, heavy and flat. "And you are the most suitable candidate."
"Then where is the child's mother?"
The question came out before I could stop it.
Something in those gray-blue eyes froze over instantly. The temperature of the room seemed to drop with it.
I regretted it the moment I said it.
I braced myself, certain I wasn't going to walk out of this room in one piece — and then, without warning, he let me go.
He turned away. The aggression drained out of his posture, and what remained, inexplicably, was something that looked almost like loneliness.
"That is not a question you should be asking," he said.
"Of course, you're free to leave right now. We can pretend today never happened."
The relief hit me so fast I nearly swayed. I turned toward the door almost on instinct.
But my hand stopped on the handle.
All I had to do was open this door. Walk out of this estate. Leave every absurd, humiliating moment of today behind me.
I could go back to that cold, cramped apartment, hold my baby, and spend another month praying for the next.
Could I?
My grip on the handle tightened, then tightened again.
Then the baby started crying.
Not fussing — screaming. A raw, desperate wail that filled the entire room.
I turned. The tiny thing had scrunched himself into a furious red ball, fat little fists flailing at the air, face going crimson with the effort.
Magnus walked to the crib and patted the baby's stomach. Once. Twice.
Then, after a long pause, he produced a single sentence.
"Stop crying."
I stared at him. He was using the same tone he might use on a subordinate — directed at a three-month-old infant.
The baby screamed harder.
Magnus's brow furrowed. He reached down and tugged the little blanket up over the baby's kicking legs.
"I said. Stop crying."
This man's approach to childcare was nothing short of catastrophic.
The baby was howling himself breathless, and Magnus stood there like a mountain that had no idea what to do with itself.
He was probably one of the wealthiest men in the world. And he couldn't manage a single crying infant.
I let out a breath, and let go of the door handle.
"Let me."
I crossed the room, reached into the crib, and lifted the little creature into the crook of my arm.
A three-month-old is boneless — soft and warm as fresh dough, but running hotter than any adult. I patted his back in slow circles.
"There, there. You're all right, little one. No more crying…"
And then he grabbed my collar with both fists and shoved his face straight into my chest.
Drool soaked into my blouse.
He rooted urgently at the fabric, but couldn't find what he was looking for. His lower lip trembled. He was winding up to cry again.
I looked at Magnus helplessly.
"He's hungry."
Magnus's eyes flicked away. He turned his back to me.
"Don't worry. I won't look."
What good does that do, I thought, burning with shame. You've already seen everything there is to see.
I pushed the thought down and looked at the baby in my arms.
Don't think about it, Valerie. Just don't.
I settled into the chair and undid the buttons of my blouse one by one. When the last one gave way, my breasts fell free — full and heavy, swollen with milk.
The baby squirmed with excitement, mouth already searching.
"Easy, easy. Here we go."
I cradled the back of his head and guided him into position.
When his mouth latched on, the pull was immediate and strong.
He drew the milk out in long, rhythmic swallows — each one sending a deep, aching pressure through my breast — and the room fell utterly silent except for the sounds of him feeding. The wet pull of his mouth. The soft gulp of each swallow.
The silence made it all the more impossible to ignore.
My face was on fire. I looked toward Magnus without meaning to.
His back was still turned.
Was he listening?
Of course he was listening. The room was so quiet. How could he not be?
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to think of anything else.
At last — I couldn't have said how much time had passed — the baby finished. He pulled off with a satisfied little sound and let out a milky burp.
I quickly refastened my buttons.
Magnus turned back. He walked over, bent down, and with one careful finger wiped the trickle of milk from the corner of the baby's mouth.
"That's the first time he's fed from a lactation consultant," he said.
Those gray-blue eyes were fixed on me without wavering.
"Every one before you — he refused to take a single drop."
I bit the inside of my lip. Was I supposed to consider that some kind of twisted honor?
I held the baby out to him and looked somewhere past his shoulder.
"If there's nothing else, I'll be going."
"Will you come back tomorrow morning?"
"…Probably."
I didn't look at him. I walked out and pulled the door shut behind me.
By the time I left the Wolfe estate, the sky had nearly gone dark. I pulled out my phone and checked the time.
I needed to pick up Lily from Ellie's. But first, I had one stop to make.
Jonathan lived in one of the wealthy residential districts on the north side. I pulled up in my battered old Ford and parked outside the gate — and heard them before I was halfway through the entrance.
Maria's voice, shameless and carrying:
"Yes — yes — right there — oh my God — Jonathan —"
Heavy breathing. The rhythmic sound of bodies. Maria getting louder, more unrestrained, her voice rising until it spilled out into the street.
Good God.
They hadn't even closed the window.
I cannot describe what I felt in that moment.
The sounds cut into me like a blade — slow, deliberate strokes, each one finding the same wound. My chest ached so badly I couldn't breathe properly. I bit down on the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood, and forced myself through the door.
Jonathan and I weren't officially divorced yet.
But Maria had moved in three days ago. Since then, I had been sleeping in the guest room.
I went straight to it now and started packing. There wasn't much — a change of clothes, and a nursing textbook I had been carrying around since university.
I had bought it with the money from my first part-time job.
Back then I thought I was going to become an excellent senior nurse. I thought I was going to have a husband who loved me.
What a foolish thing to have believed.
"Back without even knocking?"
Jonathan's voice came from the doorway.
I turned. He was leaning against the frame in a loosely belted bathrobe, looking thoroughly satisfied with himself.
"Are you packing to leave, or are you waiting for me to beg you to stay?"
I swallowed the taste of blood at the back of my throat and pulled the zipper on my bag.
"I found a job. I'm leaving today."
Jonathan let out a short, contemptuous laugh. "Another night shift at a care home? Or are you going to someone's house to give massages?"
His gaze moved over me slowly.
"Valerie. Stop pretending. You know you're nothing without this place." He tilted his head. "A full-time housewife with no work history and a three-month-old baby. What kind of job do you honestly think you're going to find?"
I pressed my nails into my palm until they left marks.
"That's none of your business."
"Fine, it's none of my business." He took a step closer. "But Maria mentioned she needs someone to help around the house. If you asked nicely — if you were a little more humble about it — I might put in a good word. For old times' sake. Better than running yourself into the ground for someone else, isn't it?"
Five years of marriage. And this was the offer I was leaving with — the chance to beg him to let me stay on as his new girlfriend's housekeeper.
The pain in my chest was so sharp I could barely breathe. Before I could get a word out, Maria appeared in the doorway behind him.
"Oh — look who's back."
She settled against the wall with the slow ease of someone entirely at home, looking at me with an expression of leisurely, top-down pity.
"Valerie. You're not exactly young anymore, are you? No real job, no prospects. Don't you find that a little embarrassing?"
I swung my canvas bag onto my shoulder.
"Miss Maria."
"You went to private school your whole life, and this is the man you ended up with — a man who claws his way up by making himself useful to women. A man who needs to perform loudly enough that the whole street can hear, just to convince himself he still matters."
I smiled and shook my head slowly.
"Is this really the life you wanted? How sad."
The color drained from Maria's face.
"Valerie!"
Jonathan grabbed my wrist, his grip hard, his expression twisting with fury.
"Who do you think you are? You can barely take care of yourself. The only reason you were ever in this house is because we happened to date in university. Without that, you would have —"
"Would have what?"
I pulled my wrist free.
"Spent twenty fewer years helping you climb? Yes, congratulations on finding a shortcut." I held his gaze and let each word land clean. "I hope the view from the top is worth it. Though shortcuts rarely take you as far as people think."
I turned away from him and walked toward the door.
"Look over the divorce papers as soon as possible. When you're ready, we'll go to city hall."
"Valerie!"
He followed me out into the street.
"A three-month-old with no father. What kind of life do you think she's going to have?"
He was breathing hard. Then his voice dropped, abruptly softer.
"Valerie. It doesn't have to go this far. If you wanted to… the three of us could make it work."
I stopped.
The three of us.
I turned around.
Jonathan's eyes were moving over me — starting at my chest, tracking down to my waist, sliding lower.
Nausea turned over in my stomach.
Five years.
It had taken me five years to see him clearly.
"Jonathan. You make me sick."
His face changed. He opened his mouth —
And my phone rang.
I picked up.
Lydia's voice came through, clipped and urgent.
"Miss Valerie, the young master won't stop crying. The master is asking you to come now."
