A while ago, Albert Harrison had pulled Caspian Hughes into his study for a private talk. He knew Rose was desperate for a divorce, and Caspian had promised—given his word as a man—that he would cherish her and never let her down.

Albert had watched them grow up; he knew their characters like the back of his hand. It had always been his deepest regret that Rose had set her heart on that cold-blooded bastard, Maximus Anderson. Caspian had doted on her since they were children; why couldn’t she see the man right in front of her?

Now, with Caspian completely unfazed by her status as a divorcee and willing to offer her the stability she craved, her father felt a flicker of hope. He only wanted his daughter to be happy.

Then, his gaze sharpened. Suspicion gnawed at him, and he snatched the green folder from her hands. Confirmation hit him like a physical blow: it was a divorce certificate. Fury surged, raw and jagged. He wanted to march straight to Maximus and beat the life out of him.

He forced his hands to stop trembling, clamping down on his rage, and turned to Rose. His voice was a thin, fractured thing. "Rose... did Maximus send this?"

Rose lifted her gaze. Her eyes, once so bright, were now like a stagnant pool, devoid of life. "Caspian," she whispered, her voice chillingly hollow. "I’m divorced. I’m finally, finally divorced." There was no joy, no grief—just the terrifying flatline of someone who had survived a war.

Caspian stood frozen, his own rage suffocated by her apathy. Was he supposed to congratulate her on escaping hell? He stepped forward, pulling her into his arms, trying to anchor her with the only thing he had left to offer: silence and safety.

Perhaps it was the warmth of his chest, or perhaps the sheer, crushing weight of the grief she’d been holding back. Rose buried her face in his shirt and let out a wail—the sound of someone exorcising a lifetime of misery, the sound of freedom finally tasting like ash.

Mid-sob, her stomach spasmed, and she began to dry-heave. Caspian panicked, fearing she was doing herself physical harm. He gathered her up and carried her to the bed. "Easy, Rose, breathe! I'm calling the doctor—don’t move."

Rose pressed a hand to her mouth, nodding, looking so shattered and fragile that it clawed at his heart.

The family doctor arrived with suffocating speed. After a swift, clinical examination, he sighed, his brow furrowing. "Ms. Harrison, you’re pregnant. You must avoid emotional extremes; if the stress continues, the consequences for the baby—"

Rose went cold. Her hands shook as she cut him off. "What did you say? Did you say... pregnant?"

"Yes," the doctor repeated, stern now. "You cannot keep yourself in this state. It’s dangerous for the child."

The news hit her like a lightning bolt. Her child. She was carrying life again. But she was divorced, untethered, and a single mother. How could she offer this child a complete life?

She wrestled with the thought for a second. This baby was a piece of Maximus. She had sworn to the heavens that she was done with him, that she would never let his shadow touch her life again. Was she supposed to rush back to him? Force a reconciliation because of a heartbeat?

No. She scoffed at herself, the sound bitter and self-loathing. Don't be a fool, Rose. Look at reality. Stop dreaming.

Then, a shift. It was her child. How could she possibly despise the life growing inside her? Even if he carried half of Maximus's DNA, he was hers. She would be his mother. That was enough.

The frantic tension in her face eased, replaced by a ghost of a smile. Everything would be okay. She truly believed it.