Ryan’s jaw locked. A muscle ticked violently in his cheek as he clenched his teeth, clearly despising the verbal reminder that he had ever shared her.
"I couldn't be one hundred percent sure until they dated the pregnancy at the first ultrasound," Emily continued, turning her attention back to the broken man on the floor. Her smile returned, blinding and confident. "But I just knew. From the very beginning, I knew he had to be Ryan's son."
She looked at him, tilting her head with a faux pout. "You were just so desperate to feel important, Harry. So eager to be the tragic hero who sacrificed his perfect marriage for his 'mistake.' You practically begged to take the fall. I just needed you to pay the rent and buy the prenatal vitamins until Ryan got back to the States and I could reach him."
"You used me," Harrison whispered, his voice cracking, tears streaming down his face. "You let me blow up my entire life. I lost my wife. I lost my career. I let the world think I was a monster."
"You are a monster," Emily snapped, her amusement vanishing into cold contempt. "You cheated on your wife with her sister. Don't try to act like a victim now just because you didn't get a prize at the end of it. You were a temporary funding source, Harrison. A bridge. And I don't need you anymore."
Ryan finally turned to look at Harrison. He reached into his tailored suit jacket and pulled out a leather checkbook. He quickly scrawled a number, ripped the check out, and held it out.
"For your... trouble, Mr. Miller," Ryan said, his voice dripping with condescension. "Consider it reimbursement for the apartment rent. Now, I suggest you leave. My son and his mother need to rest."
Harrison didn't take the check. The humiliation boiled over, replacing the shock with a blinding, reckless rage. He looked at Ryan’s smug, wealthy face, and something inside him snapped.
With a guttural yell, Harrison lunged forward, throwing a wild, desperate punch aimed right at Ryan's jaw.
But Harrison was exhausted, malnourished, and broken. Ryan, despite being older, was composed and fit. He easily sidestepped Harrison's sloppy swing. With ruthless precision, Ryan grabbed Harrison by the collar of his cheap jacket, twisting it tight, and drove a hard, punishing fist directly into Harrison's stomach, followed by a brutal elbow to his jaw.
Harrison collapsed, hitting the hard linoleum floor of the hospital room with a sickening thud. He gasped for air, tasting copper in his mouth, his vision swimming.
Ryan adjusted his cuffs, looking down at him in disgust. "Pathetic," he spat. "If you ever come near my family again, I will have you arrested. Get out."
A sob tore itself from Harrison's throat. He didn't try to get back up to fight. He couldn't. He dragged himself off the floor, turning his back on the woman who ruined him and the child that was never his, and limped out of the room, the sound of Emily’s laughter following him all the way to the elevator.
In the present, Harrison gripped the neck of the cheap whiskey bottle and hurled it. It shattered against the opposite wall, the amber liquid bleeding into the peeling wallpaper, mixing with the dust and the grime.
He pulled his knees to his chest and wept. The kind of weeping that hurt his ribs and tore at his throat.
He had nothing. Literally nothing. He had surrendered his beautiful, brilliant wife, his home, his career, and his dignity. He had walked away from paradise, believing he was chained to a responsibility that didn't even exist, only to be beaten down and discarded like trash.
He thought of Sarah. He thought of her at the Gala tonight, probably laughing, probably shining, completely unaware of the miserable puddle of a man he had become. He hoped she was happy. He hoped she never, ever thought of him again.
Because if she knew the truth—if she knew he had destroyed their entire life for a lie, for a woman who had used him as a temporary wallet—she wouldn't even hate him anymore. She would just pity him.
And sitting there in the dark, shivering on the floor of a roach-infested efficiency apartment, Harrison realized that was the absolute worst punishment of all. He was no longer a husband. He was no longer a father.
Chapter Four
Sarah
The ballroom, with its hundreds of chattering guests and string quartet, narrowed down to a single, suffocating point. The air in Sarah’s lungs turned to glass.
Aren't you going to greet me, little sister?
Emily stood there, radiant in a designer gown, her arm looped securely through Ryan’s tuxedo sleeve. The smugness radiating from her was almost a physical force. She wasn't hiding in a cramped apartment anymore. She was standing in the center of Sarah’s professional world, wearing diamonds bought by Sarah’s boss.
Sarah’s mind scrambled to connect the impossible dots. Emily and Ryan. Ryan, who signed her paychecks. Ryan, who had overseen her promotions.
"Cat got your tongue, Sarah?" Emily tilted her head, a mock-sympathetic pout forming on her glossed lips. "I know it’s a surprise. I told Ryan we should have sent an announcement, but with the baby and everything..."
Sarah blinked, the words snagging in her brain. The baby. She looked at Emily, really looked at her, suddenly realizing that the sleek silk gown was clinging to a perfectly flat stomach. She had already given birth.
"What... what does the baby have to do with this?" Sarah stammered, her voice barely above a whisper, her confusion overriding her panic. "Why are you here with Ryan?"
Emily’s smile widened into something slow and venomous. She shifted closer to Ryan, running her manicured hand flat against his tuxedo-clad chest, her fingers possessively curling over his lapel.
"Oh, Sarah," Emily cooed, a cruel, mocking pity in her voice. "You really haven't figured it out? The baby is Ryan's. Our son is absolutely beautiful, by the way."
