Pain. Blinding, white-hot pain.

Rose Harrison blinked, her vision struggling to focus against the sterile, antiseptic white of the ceiling. It matched the terrifying lack of color in her own cheeks.

A bitter twist touched the corners of her lips. Her hands drifted down to her stomach, light and trembling. The life that had been there was gone; she knew it. The sharp, wrenching agony before she blacked out, the warm, viscous trail of blood—it all came back in a sickening rush.

My baby. It’s really gone.

Where was her husband?

Her gaze drifted aimlessly, eyes void of life. She didn't know where it had all gone wrong. She had loved that man—loved him with a ferocity that had nearly destroyed her—and this was the "surprise" she received in return? He’d shoved her into the arms of other men? Was the nightmare in that prison his doing, too?

A dull, heavy ache settled in her chest. Cold sweat beaded on her forehead, and she bit down on her already-torn lip until the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. She wanted to cry, but the well of her grief had run bone-dry.

The door creaked open. Maximus Anderson stepped inside, his hulking silhouette casting a long, oppressive shadow over her bed. His eyes were dark, swirling with a destructive, barely contained fury.

"You were pregnant?"

His voice was a low, dangerous rumble.

Rose tilted her head back, a hollow laugh bubbling up. Tears blurred her vision, yet she stared him down. "Yes, Maximus. I was pregnant."

"You! Why didn't you tell me sooner?" His fists were clenched tight at his sides, his pupils dilated with the storm about to break.

Tell him? She wanted to laugh. Had he ever given her the chance?

A mocking curl touched her lips. "Maximus, isn't this exactly what you wanted? Don't play the fool now. The baby is gone, isn't it? That’s all that matters to you." Her voice was a wisp of air, fragile enough to vanish into the stale hospital draft.

"You little slut." Her apathy was the final match to his gasoline.

He lunged forward, grabbing her by the collar, his hand snapping up. Crack. The sound of the blow echoed in the room, sharp and jarring. A bright red welt bloomed across Rose’s pale, bruised face.

Maximus stared at her, his eyes radiating pure, unadulterated malice.

"Maximus?" A cooing, sycophantic voice drifted from the doorway. Delilah Kelly rushed in, clinging to his arm. "Don't, Maximus! Rose—Rose probably didn't mean to keep it from you."

A spark of calculated triumph flashed in Delilah’s eyes before she quickly smothered it, turning back to comfort him.

Maximus?

How nauseatingly intimate.

Rose’s eyes burned red. She watched her husband, the man she was legally bound to, coddling another woman right at her bedside. The irony was suffocating. She was the one lying in a hospital bed after a miscarriage, yet she was the villain in their little play?

"How pathetic." The jealousy, raw and festering, finally shattered her restraint. Rose shrieked, her voice cracking. "Maximus, don't forget—I am your wife! I am the only one! As long as I'm breathing, she’s nothing but a glorified side-chick."

Hatred surged, choking her. She couldn't stop the venom spilling out. "Maximus, if you've got the balls, then walk over my corpse to get to her."

"Rose Harrison, do you think I won't?" Maximus was still holding Delilah, but his free hand curled into a fist, his knuckles turning white as he fought for control.

"You'd do it. You've always been a monster, haven't you?" Rose mocked him, her chest heaving. "Go on, kill me. Because otherwise, she’ll never have the title."

Maximus’s face darkened into a storm of black rage. He shoved Delilah aside, closing the distance in one stride. His fingers, callous and unyielding, locked around her throat. He squeezed, just enough to cut off her breath.

"You're begging for it."