Now I see it for what it was—one long, cruel joke.
I was about to leave the study when the door behind me opened.
Giles stood in the doorway, eyes dark and cold.
"What are you doing in my study this late?"
"Stealing trade secrets? Who are you running to for help?"
He closed the distance step by step, the pressure of him so suffocating I could barely breathe.
I forced myself to stay calm.
I pulled open the drawer and took out the only photograph we'd ever had together, then held it up in front of him and tore it apart, piece by slow piece.
I let the fragments fall at his feet, and when I spoke, my voice carried nothing at all—no anger, no grief, not even the memory of love.
"To get back the last shred of my dignity."
"Don't worry, CEO Gilbert. Your money, your trade secrets—I couldn't care less about any of it."
My answer clearly caught him off guard.
He looked into my hollow eyes, and something like panic flickered through him.
That panic made him angry.
He seized my wrist, shoved me down against the desk, and lowered his mouth toward mine.
I didn't struggle. I didn't respond.
I lay there like a corpse with no warmth left, and let him spend his rage on a body that gave him nothing back.
His kiss started violent, then slowly drained of any hunger at all.
In the end, he pushed me away in disgust and straightened his clothes.
"Beulah, that dead look on your face is revolting."
He turned and left, slamming the door behind him.
I braced myself against the desk and slowly straightened up.
Watching his silhouette disappear through the doorway, I smiled in the dark without making a sound.
Giles, you're wrong.
What you ripped out of me wasn't a useless uterus.
It was your only chance, in this lifetime, at a bloodline.
I was the only woman in this world who could ever bear a child for a man whose body would never produce one on its own.
And now, that chance was gone.
The Gilbert Group's thirtieth-anniversary gala was a grand affair.
Every notable family in the city was in attendance.
Giles wanted to legitimize Lucinda and the "firstborn" in her belly, so he ordered me to dress up and attend.
I chose a pure black couture gown.
The makeup artist said the dress was too somber, wrong for a celebration.
I smiled at my reflection.
A funeral, after all, calls for something dignified.
When I walked into the banquet hall, every pair of eyes in the room turned to me.