Inside the hospital room, Sabrina Cole’s face twisted into a mask of pure spite the moment she hit 'post.'

Genevieve Hunter. That bitch. She’d actually had an ace up her sleeve this whole time.

When the door creaked open and Roman Armstrong stepped in, Sabrina’s eyes turned glassy, welling with instant, practiced tears. "Roman, it’s all my fault. I was so drunk that night, I never imagined it would cause such a massive misunderstanding. I’ll go apologize to Genevieve right now!"

Roman had come here to hold her accountable. He had questions, and he had anger. But as the words left her trembling lips and he looked down at those tear-filled eyes, the fire in his chest died out.

"Don't bother," Roman muttered, his voice softening. "You aren't even out of the hospital yet. I’ll talk to her. Just focus on resting."

Sabrina nodded, looking up at him with wide, fragile eyes. "You’re so good to me, Roman. I just hope this doesn't ruin your marriage."

Roman pulled out his phone and dialed Genevieve.

One ring. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Silence.

Roman’s brow furrowed into a sharp, jagged line. He knew exactly what this was—Genevieve was throwing another one of her childish temper tantrums.

Then, a new notification hit his screen. A post currently trending, climbing the algorithm faster than wildfire.

[Genevieve Hunter: New horizons await. Until we meet again, everyone.]

The attachment was a formal discharge notice.

The air left Roman’s lungs in a sharp hiss. His pupils contracted. A cold, heavy knot of dread uncoiled in his gut.

He hammered out a message: *Genevieve, what the hell are you doing? Why did you quit without talking to me? Do you even remember we’re married? How could you make such a massive decision on your own?*

Then another: *Pick up the damn phone, Genevieve! Or I’m coming over there.*

The red exclamation point hit him like a physical blow. He’d been blocked.

Panic, cold and irrational, began to claw at his composure.

Sabrina, watching over his shoulder, caught sight of the discharge notice. Her eyes widened, and a surge of illicit, triumphant joy hammered against her ribs. But she kept her mask firmly in place.

She let out a broken sob, sliding out of bed to stand on the cold floor, her feet bare and vulnerable. "Roman, why did she quit? Is it because I made her angry? Is this all my fault?"

She looked small, pathetic, and agonizingly innocent.

Under any other circumstances, Roman would have scolded her for leaving the bed, for not taking care of her own recovery. But right now, his mind was a storm of static. He felt raw, irritated, and desperate for an explanation.

"It has nothing to do with you," he snapped, though his tone wasn't meant for her. "She’s just… she’s got a stubborn streak. Get back in bed."

Sabrina shook her head, tears streaming down her face. "No, it’s me. I know it is. Take me to her, Roman. I’ll beg her to forgive me!"

Roman opened his mouth to snap back, but his phone buzzed in his palm. It was Brady Mason, his aide.

He swiped to answer, but before he could say a word, the frantic voice on the other end cut through the room.

"General! You have to see this—your secret marriage. It’s been leaked."