The Wife He Left to Die

Chapter 3

"Cedric, this is your gift to me?"

She shoved her phone toward him, the ultrasound image still glowing on the screen. Cedric clearly had not anticipated that Clara would confront Violet so directly. His face twisted with discomfort.

"Violet, calm down. Do not take it out on her."

He shifted in his seat, running a hand through his hair. "We had too much to drink that night and things just happened." Seeing Violet's face bleach white, he backpedaled quickly. "I told her to terminate the pregnancy. I did. But the stubborn girl refused."

He reached for her hand, but she pulled away.

"Losing our baby devastated me too. You know it did." His voice took on a pleading tone. "But think positively. When this child is born, you could be its mother. We could raise it together."

Violet stared at him as if he had started speaking a foreign language.

"The Stones need this child. The family name, the legacy. Be generous about this, Violet. Be the bigger person. Do this for me, please. For us."

"Cedric, our baby died." Her voice cracked on the word. "She was barely seven months old. She was so tiny. So small I could hold her in one hand."

She pressed her fist against her mouth, trying to push the grief back down where it lived now.

'How could you even suggest—'

Tears blurred her vision until the interior of the car swam like a watercolor painting. The atmosphere turned so thick and oppressive she choked on it. The remaining words curdled in her throat, too vile to voice.

"The baby is buried now. What good does rehashing this do?" Cedric's patience snapped like a dry twig. "Are you planning to wallow in this grief forever? Because I cannot keep apologizing for something I cannot change."

Violet listened to him speak, and somewhere inside her chest, her heart guttered like a candle drowning in its own wax.

'What was the point of any of this?'

The car rolled into the estate moments later. They entered the house like ghosts passing through walls, weighted down by storms neither of them would acknowledge.

Cedric's brow furrowed as he glanced around the foyer. Clara was not there, which was strange given her usual habit of appearing the moment he arrived home.

Since Violet's pregnancy, they had maintained separate bedrooms. It had started as a practical arrangement—her discomfort, his restless sleep. It had become something else entirely.

When Violet turned her doorknob and pushed open the door, she found Clara inside.

The girl was mopping the floor with frantic energy, her clothes soaked through with sweat and her face beet-red from exertion. She looked up the moment Violet appeared, and her expression shifted instantly into something sickly sweet and faux submissive.

"Madam, I have prepared your room for you," Clara said, her voice dripping with false deference. "I wanted to make sure everything was perfect for your return."

Behind Violet, Cedric's breath caught. He shouldered past her and scooped Clara up into his arms without a moment's hesitation.

"I ordered you to rest during your pregnancy. I told you explicitly. Why would you disobey me?"

Then he rounded on Violet, his eyes blazing. "Explain this. Now."

"I did not." Violet's hands fluttered helplessly at her sides. "I have hardly seen her since we got back. I did not ask her to do anything."

Clara sagged against Cedric's chest, letting out a delicate little sigh. "Cedric, do not fuss over me. I am fine, really. I just wanted to help."

"Oh, sweetheart." He cradled her closer, his voice softening to something Violet had not heard in months. "You are carrying my child. You should be resting, not cleaning. Tell me who troubled you. Name them."

The girl buried her face in his shirt, and her shoulders shook with artful sobs. Every tear landed for maximum sympathy, every tremor perfectly placed.

"Violet." His voice exploded through the room like a detonation. "I warned you about harassing her. I told you what would happen if you kept pushing. She is pregnant too. What kind of monster are you?"

Violet's tears fell despite everything. Despite her shattered trust and broken heart, they still came.

"You are taking her word over mine? Just like that?"

"Clara is carrying my child. What possible reason would she have to fake this? What would she gain?"

Holding Clara close, he murmured soothing words against her hair. "Do not cry, sweetheart. It breaks my heart to see you like this. Tell me what you want. Anything. Just name it."

Clara's voice came out small and quivering, muffled against his chest. "Ms. Shaw has this beautiful heirloom. It is so pretty. I saw it once and I cannot stop thinking about it. I want one for our baby too. For protection."

Cedric looked up at Violet, his expression hard and unyielding.

"Violet. This is how you will make it up to her. Go and get that heirloom. Bring it here yourself."

Violet stood frozen in the doorway. Cedric's voice might as well have been reaching her through thick fog, distorted and distant.

When she did not move, his face darkened further. "If you will not apologize to her, if you will not do this small thing, then I will make sure Celia never works in this industry again. I will destroy her career myself."

The memory of Celia's smiling face flashed before Violet's eyes. Her sister's laughter. Her sister's dreams. All of it balanced on the edge of a knife.

Violet's shoulders slumped in surrender.

"I will go," she whispered.

She did not miss the smile that flickered across Clara's face. That cat-who-got-the-cream expression of triumph. But Violet was just so tired. Too tired to fight anymore.

Two thousand goddamn steps.

Violet climbed every single one in the pouring rain, her body still healing from surgery and blood loss and grief. Each step sent fire through her muscles. Each breath came harder than the last.

By the time she reached the top, she was drenched and trembling, her vision swimming at the edges.

She retrieved the heirloom from where she had stored it—a small locket her own mother had given her years ago. Then she turned around and climbed back down the same two thousand steps, the rain plastering her hair to her face and soaking through to her bones.

When she finally returned to the house and presented the locket with shaking hands, Clara made a show of wrinkling her delicate nose.

She took one look at the wet, worn object and flung it across the room.

"Cedric darling, it is all icky now. Wet and ruined." She pouted up at him, her lower lip trembling. "I do not want it anymore. It is gross."

The world swam before Violet's eyes. The floor rushed up to meet her as her legs finally gave out.

The last thing she heard before darkness took her was Cedric's voice, soft and indulgent, speaking to someone else.

"Then we will get you a new one, sweetheart. A better one. As long as you are not crying anymore."