Chapter 4

Oscar must have sensed the frost beneath my calm façade. That night, for the first time in years, he came home early.

“You’re home early,” I said flatly, lounging on the couch with a fashion magazine in hand, not even bothering to look up.

“Family matters went smoothly today.” His voice was light, almost cheerful. “I thought I’d come back early to spend time with my most beautiful wife.”

He leaned closer, attempting another tender gesture—another kiss I didn’t want. I turned my head slightly. His lips brushed cold skin instead of my mouth.

The motion made him pause. I could feel his eyes on me, assessing, searching, trying to understand. I pretended to read, eyes fixed on a glossy page that I wasn’t seeing at all.

“I feel like we haven’t spent much time together lately,” he said finally, lowering his tone into something that was supposed to sound gentle, “I’m planning to take a few days off to be with you.”

I shrugged lazily. “I thought the great Webster family couldn’t function without you. But that’s all right—I understand.”

His brows drew together, surprise flickering in his expression. That wasn’t the reaction he expected. Not from the wife who once begged for his attention.

“Gloria, what’s going on with you?” he asked sharply, irritation bleeding through. “Why are you acting so… strange?”

“Nothing,” I murmured, still pretending to read.

“Is it because you saw me with Ava at the hospital?” he pressed, his patience thinning. “I’ve told you again and again—”

I cut him off, tired of the recycled lies. “I said I’m fine. Whether you and Ava are star-crossed lovers or soulmates bound by tragedy, I couldn’t care less.”

Finally, I lifted my gaze, meeting his eyes with a glacial stare. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to finish this article. It’s… fascinating.”

His jaw tightened. Anger surged beneath the surface like lava barely contained. Without another word, he spun on his heel and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door so hard the walls trembled.

I closed the magazine, stood, and made my way to the kitchen. Leaning against the marble counter, I took a deep breath, trying to steady the hatred roaring through my chest.

Then came his footsteps—heavy, deliberate.

“You’ve been moody and sarcastic all damn day!” His voice was laced with fury now, the authority of a man used to obedience. “What the hell is wrong with you? Just say it!”

I turned slowly to face him, expression flat. “I already said I’m fine. Maybe instead of worrying about me, you should focus on Ava—and the precious heir your family is so proud of.”

His face darkened instantly. “What the hell does that mean?”

I gave a small, mocking shrug. “Nothing. Just an observation. You seem to care more about your friend and her child than about your wife.”

“Enough!”

He exploded. The mask of composure shattered. With one violent shove, he sent me stumbling backward—

My back hit the edge of the counter with brutal force. Pain shot through me like lightning. I gasped, collapsing to the cold marble floor. Then came the second wave—the searing agony blooming low in my belly.

“I have business tonight. Don’t wait up.”

He didn’t even look at me. He just left—slammed the door and left me bleeding on the floor.

I curled up, trembling, both arms cradling my abdomen. The warm, sticky wetness spreading beneath me told me what I already feared.

Blood.

“No… no, please, no!” I whispered, panic blurring my vision. My fingers fumbled for my phone, slick with sweat and shaking too hard to hit the right buttons. Somehow, I dialed his number.

One ring. Two. Then—

He answered.

A spark of desperate hope flickered in my chest.

“Oscar—help—”

“Gloria, I don’t have time for your tantrums! Call me when you learn to stop acting like a child!”

He hung up before I could speak another word.

“No! Please—please!” I cried into the dead line, redialing again and again until the cold voice of his voicemail told me the phone was off.

The pain tore through me, merciless and unstoppable. Darkness began to pull at the edges of my vision. With my last ounce of strength, I pressed the emergency number.

I couldn’t lose this child. I couldn’t.

But as consciousness slipped away, the world fading to black, one thought burned bright and furious:

If my baby dies, Oscar Webster… then every ounce of meaning in my life will die with them.

When I opened my eyes again, all I saw was white—the ceiling, the walls, the doctor’s coat. The sterile scent of disinfectant clawed at my lungs.

“Mrs. Hanson,” a gentle voice said, “you’re awake.”

My mind lurched back to the memory—blood, the counter, the floor, the pain.

“My baby!” My voice cracked, raw with terror. “Where’s my baby?!”

The doctor’s expression dimmed. She reached out, her hand cool on mine.

“I’m sorry. We tried our best… but we couldn’t save the child.”

The sound that tore from me didn’t even seem human.

A scream. A howl. Grief so deep it shredded my soul.

Tears flooded down my face as I clutched at the sheets. Rose. My little girl. And now this unborn child—both gone because of him.

Why? Why was every bit of light in my life stolen by the people I loved most?

I cried until I had no voice left, until the tears ran dry and all that remained was emptiness. My body was alive, but my heart was nothing but ashes.

The door opened quietly. Footsteps.

“Hello, Gloria.”

The voice was deep, smooth, but cold as winter steel.

I turned my head slightly. Standing at the foot of my bed was Ken Knowles—Ava’s husband.

He was dressed immaculately in black, every inch the composed, ruthless Mafia heir. His gray eyes were like frozen water—beautiful, but merciless.

I closed my eyes again, unwilling to see anyone connected to her.

He walked closer, pulling out a chair and sitting beside me. The scent of his cologne—sharp and clean—cut through the sterile air.

“I heard what happened,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

I almost laughed. Sorry. That word had lost all meaning.

“Ava isn’t here,” I rasped, voice raw from screaming.

His expression darkened instantly, fury flashing across his eyes.

“I didn’t come for that treacherous, shameless whore.” His tone dropped, low and lethal.

My eyes snapped open in shock. “You… know?”

He nodded once.

“How long?”

“A week.”

A bitter smile tugged at my lips. “I found out this week. Looks like we’re both late to the truth.”

He didn’t smile. He leaned forward, voice deep, controlled, dangerous.

“I came here for one reason, Gloria.” His eyes pinned me in place. “I have a proposal.”

My pulse stuttered. “What kind of proposal?”

His next words were slow, deliberate—like the strike of a blade.

“I’m offering you revenge.”

And in that instant, something dead inside me began to stir again.