The door didn’t open gently. It swung inward with force, hitting the rubber stopper with a thud that made me jump.
Mark walked in.
He brought the outside world with him—the scent of cold air, expensive sandalwood cologne, and ozone. He was dressed for war, or a board meeting. A navy blue, custom-tailored Brioni suit hugged his frame. His tie was a perfect Windsor knot. His hair was gelled back, aggressive and sharp.
He didn’t look like a new father. He looked like a man checking an item off a to-do list.
But it was who walked in behind him that made the bile rise in my throat.
Chloe.
His executive assistant. Twenty-three years old. A former model turned “scheduler.” She was wearing a cream-colored pencil skirt and a silk blouse that cost more than a nurse’s monthly salary. Her hair was a cascading waterfall of blonde waves. She held a Starbucks cup in one hand and Mark’s leather briefcase in the other.
She looked at me—sweaty, bleeding, exposed in a hospital gown—and smiled. It wasn’t a kind smile. It was the smile of a predator looking at wounded prey.
“Mark?” I rasped, my voice cracking from dehydration. “You’re here.”
Mark stopped in the middle of the room. He didn’t rush to the bed. He didn’t rush to the bassinet. He stood there, adjusting his cufflinks, looking around the room with distinct distaste.
“God,” he said, the word heavy with revulsion. “It smells like iodine and milk in here.”
“The babies…” I pointed a trembling finger toward the bassinet. “Leo and Mia. They’re sleeping.”
Mark glanced at the bassinet for less than a second. He didn’t step closer. He didn’t touch them.
“They’re fine,” he dismissed. “I already called the agency. The night nurses will be at the penthouse by noon. They’ll handle the… logistics.”
He turned his gaze to me. His eyes, usually warm when he wanted something, were now cold, hard stones.
“Look at you, Anna.”
“I just had surgery, Mark,” I whispered, pulling the sheet up to cover my chest. “It was… it was hard. I lost blood.”
“You’re a mess,” he said, stepping closer but keeping out of arm’s reach. “You’ve been a mess for months. The pregnancy made you huge. You’re swollen. You’re tired. You’re… boring.”
The cruelty was so casual, so practiced, that it took a moment to register.
“I gave you children,” I said, confusion warring with hurt.
“You gave me heirs,” he corrected. “But now the job is done. And frankly, I’m tired of the charade.”
He snapped his fingers. Chloe stepped forward, opening the briefcase. She pulled out a thick, blue legal folder.
Mark took it and tossed it onto the bed. It landed on my legs.
“What is this?”
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