The light above the operating room burned with a sterile, relentless intensity.

When Rose Harrison arrived, she found Maximus Anderson hunched in the corner like a trapped animal. He had his fingers buried deep in his hair, his body curled into a fetal position—a posture of fragile desperation that seemed entirely at odds with his usual, cold-blooded authority.

Rose stood frozen. Her purse slipped from her numb fingers, hitting the floor with a hollow thud that went unnoticed.

Is this what it comes down to? Because it’s Delilah Kelly’s child, you’re this shattered? This devastated? But Maximus, what about my child? My baby was just a child, too! You took his life with your own hands, all because you didn't love me. That makes you the most ruthless, cruelest man I have ever known.

Rose dragged her heavy, trembling legs toward him.

Maximus snapped his head up. His eyes were bloodshot, glowing with a raw, primal rage. He roared at her, "Rose, how dare you show your face here!"

He surged to his feet, indifferent to his own disheveled state, and grabbed her by the wrist. His grip was like a vice, bruising and desperate. "Why are you here? To see if she’s dead yet?"

Rose met his gaze. He was staring at her with those wild, inflamed eyes, his clothes stained with Delilah’s blood. He looked like a man possessed, a demon wading through the wreckage of his own life.

Is this how much you love her? Are you really so convinced that I pushed her? Then what was that kiss at the gala? What am I even to you?

The grief in Rose’s eyes flowed like a dark, relentless river.

"I didn't push her," she whispered. Her voice was brittle, as if any louder, the dam of her composure would shatter, spilling all the agony she had been holding back.

The sorrow in her eyes seemed to bleed into Maximus’s own heart for a fraction of a second, causing him to hesitate. But why? How could he believe her? He had seen it—he had witnessed Delilah Kelly’s terrified face as she tumbled down the stairs.

"You won't admit it?" Maximus sneered, his voice dripping with venom. "Tell me, Rose, do you think a mother who wants a child would throw herself down the stairs to kill her own baby?"

She felt a jolt of disbelief. Of course she wouldn't! That was exactly what Delilah was doing. She hadn't even reached out! She had stood there, watching in horror as Delilah acted like a woman possessed, hurling herself toward the floor.

"How can you judge me like this?" Rose screamed, her voice cracking under the weight of his hatred. "Why can’t you just trust me?"

"Trust you?" Maximus spat back, his voice thick with loathing. "Why on earth would I ever trust you?"

"I lost a child too, Maximus! Do you really think I don't know the pain of losing a baby?"

"So that’s it, isn't it?" Maximus had lost all grip on reason; he only caught the words that fueled his fire. "Because you lost yours, you’re jealous of Delilah. You wanted to kill her baby to spite her!"

"Rose, stop the act. Just looking at you makes me sick."

With a violent shove, he cast her aside.

Rose went flying, crashing hard against the linoleum floor. She felt like a broken porcelain doll, her body splayed out against the unforgiving, sterile tiles. They were so cold—the chill seeped through her clothes, through her skin, and settled deep into her marrow.

She was suddenly back in that prison cell, the women surrounding her, pressing her face into the damp concrete while they kicked her, over and over again. That was how her child had been murdered—coldly, cruelly, and without a shred of mercy.

Was she jealous? Yes. She had been jealous that Delilah was pregnant, that she had everything Rose had lost. But that was all it was—jealousy! She had never touched her!

Maximus, the affection you gave me was so scarce, so thin... did it not even contain a single drop of trust?