The next morning, the sun rose, piercing directly into Rose’s eyes.

She instinctively reached up to shield her face, her hand brushing against a patch of warm, bare skin. Memory flooded back—the intensity of the night before, the tangled sheets, the suffocating proximity. She blinked, eyes focusing on the man still wrapped around her in a desperate, tangled embrace. It was a picture of the domestic bliss she had prayed for so long.

Rose gazed at Maximus’s sharp, handsome features. She didn’t dare stir, unwilling to shatter the fragile peace of this stolen moment.

Maximus’s lashes fluttered—a sign he was stirring. Rose squeezed her eyes shut, terrified to face him once he was fully awake.

When Maximus finally opened his eyes, he froze, staring at the woman held firmly against his chest. Yesterday, he had lost control. He looked down at the pale, smooth skin of her shoulder, now marred by dark, purpling bruises—vivid testimony to his own savagery.

Was he really that starved for a woman?

Maximus shook his head as if to clear the fog, crawled out of bed with practiced caution, and locked himself in the bathroom. The sound of the shower roared to life. Rose opened her eyes, struggling to move her stiff, aching limbs.

"Damn it," she hissed, gasping. Her entire body felt like she had been flattened by a steamroller; every muscle screamed in protest. She stared blankly at the ceiling. What now? Was this marriage worth saving, or was she just waiting for the next blow?

A moment later, Maximus emerged, a towel cinched low at his waist. He caught her staring, and for a fleeting second, his composure fractured into something resembling panic.

"Maximus," Rose asked, her voice hollow. "What are we even doing?"

"Rose," he muttered, his voice thick and devoid of warmth. He stared at her, unblinking, his resolve wavering as he saw the fragility in her eyes.

"If you don't trust me, why do you keep giving me hope?" Rose turned, pinning him with a sharp, piercing look.

Her words ignited his rage. The lingering tenderness vanished instantly, replaced by a wall of ice. "Rose, don't be insufferable. I'm trying to—"

"Hmph." She cut him off with a bitter scoff. Her mind drifted to Delilah Kelly and the child she had lost, and her eyes burned with hot, unshed tears. "Tell me, Maximus. Does Delilah Kelly not satisfy you? What exactly is this? Are you keeping me around for sport?"

"You are absolutely impossible." With a sharp turn, he stormed out, slamming the bedroom door hard enough to rattle the frame.

His gait was hurried, almost desperate—the movements of a man fleeing a crime scene.

Impossible. That was all he had to say. Rose felt a hollow ache settle deep in her chest. She had offered him every shred of her love, and to him, it was nothing more than an "impossible" nuisance. She rested a trembling hand on her stomach. Had a new life taken root in the chaos of last night? She didn't know whether to pray for a miracle or a tragedy.

***

At the Anderson Estate, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Maximus had stayed out all night, leaving only a vague message about a disaster with a pending lawsuit.

Delilah Kelly sighed, pacing the floor. Three days. Everything was hanging by a thread, and a delay like this felt like a bad omen. She felt a cold shiver trace her spine.

Her phone chimed, cutting through the silence. She shook off the gloom and glanced at the screen. A smile instantly plastered itself onto her face as she picked up.

"Hello, John?"

"Delilah," a cold, gravelly voice echoed from the other end. "Why did you kill our child?"

Delilah’s blood ran cold. Her breath hitched. "No... John, you don't understand! It wasn't me! It was Rose! She pushed me!"

"Save the script for someone who cares," the man retorted. "My people saw the whole thing. Rose didn't even lay a finger on you."

Delilah froze, her eyes darting frantically around the room. Was she being watched? Were there eyes in the walls?

"Stop looking around," John snarled. "My people are everywhere. I wanted to protect you, and this is how you repay me? You really are something else, Delilah."

"No, John, please!" she stammered, trembling. "I did it so I could secure my position as Mrs. Anderson! I thought... I thought if I stayed here, I could help you more effectively!"

"Oh, really? Is that right?" John let out a dark, mocking laugh. "Fine. Then listen closely: don't you dare try to play me. Keep your head down, do exactly what I tell you, and you might live to see another day. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes... yes, John. I understand. I’ll do whatever you say." Delilah nodded fervently at the empty room, her voice frantic with compliance.

"Good. Remember that."

The line went dead. Delilah slumped against the wall, the silence of the mansion pressing in on her, gasping for air as the true weight of her game began to sink in.