Chapter4
1205 Words
Chapter Four: Something to Lose
POV: Jeremy Sanchez
"She’s not just playing the game. She’s playing me."
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The velvet box was still sitting in the trash can by the front door. I had thrown it there the second Tristan left, but I hadn’t had the nerve to take it out or destroy it. The image of those silk baby shoes haunted me more than I wanted to admit.
It wasn’t a wedding gift. It was a message.
A reminder of what I hadn’t told Stella. And a quiet declaration from Tristan that he somehow knew.
He wasn’t supposed to know about the second clause.
---
“You should have punched him,” I muttered, pacing across the living room.
Peter sat on the couch with one ankle crossed over the opposite knee, his phone in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. He didn’t even bother looking up.
“Yeah,” he said, casually. “That would’ve looked great on the headlines. CEO heir attacks family members with fists. Definitely the kind of press that boosts investor confidence.”
I shot him a glare, but it had no effect.
“He brought baby shoes,” I said through gritted teeth.
Peter raised an eyebrow. “You’re not mad about the shoes. You’re mad because he made it clear he knows what they’re for.”
I didn’t respond. I didn’t need to.
Peter sat forward, setting his water down. “You didn’t tell Stella, did you?”
“No.”
“Then how the hell does he know?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “My mother told Stella, but Tristan must have found out some other way. And that means someone else in this house is leaking information.”
Peter let out a low whistle. “That, or he’s smarter than you give him credit for.”
“Tristan’s not smart,” I said flatly. “He’s just patient. And dangerous when he’s underestimated.”
There was a pause. Peter tapped his phone on his knee. “Are you going to tell Stella the truth now?”
“She already knows,” I said. “She confronted me about it.”
“And?”
“She told me if I wanted an heir, I’d have to earn it.”
Peter smirked. “That’s harsh.”
“She meant it,” I said. “And I don’t think she’s bluffing.”
---
By evening, I had made up my mind. If this was going to work even temporarily, I needed to reestablish control. Stella couldn’t keep dictating the rules.
So I decided we would have dinner. Not catered. Not with staff standing nearby. Just the two of us, in the new house, at the massive dining table that had probably never been used before.
I had the chef prepare something simple and leave. I set the table myself, poured two glasses of wine, and waited.
Stella entered the room ten minutes later, wearing tailored black slacks and a pale cream blouse with the sleeves rolled to her elbows. She looked polished but casual, intentional. She didn’t speak at first. She glanced at the table and raised an eyebrow.
“This is new,” she said, taking her seat without waiting for me to pull out the chair.
I took the seat across from her. “We’ve eaten worse meals.”
“True,” she said, picking up her fork. “Most of them came with cold silence and legal tension.”
“We’re married now,” I said. “Maybe we should try something different.”
“Like pretending we don’t hate each other?” she asked without emotion.
“Like having a conversation that doesn’t end with slammed doors or legal threats.”
She took a slow sip of wine. “Fine. Let’s talk. You start.”
I set my fork down. “I want to know what you think of Tristan’s little visit.”
“I think your cousin is a psychopath with a good tailor,” she said. “I also think he knows exactly where to cut to make you bleed.”
I couldn’t help the smirk that twitched at the corner of my mouth. “You’re not wrong.”
“But you still haven’t told me how he found out.”
“I’m trying to figure that out.”
“Let me help you,” she said, lowering her glass. “Someone close to you is feeding him information. Maybe your legal team. Maybe your mother. But if he knows about the clause in the will, then this marriage is no longer a private arrangement, it’s a public countdown.”
I stiffened. “You think this is a game?”
“No,” she said. “I think it’s a transaction. But I’m not the one who started hiding terms.”
“You’re still here.”
“For now,” she replied. “Don’t mistake endurance for consent.”
The tension between us settled like a fog.
“You married me for your company,” she added. “You can’t deny that.”
“And you married me for the money.”
Her eyes sharpened. “Except now, the price tag includes a child. That was never in the deal.”
I leaned back in my chair. “And if I said I don’t want a child?”
She tilted her head. “Then I’d call you a liar.”
Silence stretched.
Finally, she stood. “Dinner was nice. Let me know when honesty starts.”
She turned and left the room.
---
The next morning, I needed air. I told the driver to drop me two blocks early.
I walked without a destination, hands in my coat pockets, trying to organize the disaster of the past forty-eight hours.
Stella was slipping away from me and I couldn’t decide if that was part of her strategy, or if I was the one losing control.
She had said the words with precision.
If you want an heir, you’ll have to earn it. She wasn’t bluffing. She wasn’t negotiating. She was declaring war.
I stopped outside a café I hadn’t been to in months. Then I saw her.
Stella.
She was seated at one of the outdoor tables, her black coat wrapped tightly around her shoulders, her hands wrapped around a mug.
She wasn’t alone.
Kelvin Parker sat across from her.
I recognized him instantly, the charming British schoolmate from our past. The only guy she used to talk to when the rest of us ignored her.
He leaned in as he spoke, his hand brushing hers briefly across the table.
She laughed. A real laugh. Not the fake smile she wore for cameras or the flat sarcasm she gave to me.
Then she looked up and met my eyes. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t panic.
Instead, she lifted her coffee cup in a small, calculated toast. A challenge.
And then she turned away and resumed her conversation, like I wasn’t even standing there.
—-----
Jeremy realizes Stella is no longer afraid of being seen or walking away. She’s not hiding anymore. She might not be bluffing. And she might not be his for much longer.
- Writer
