Chapter 4
The heat from the ornate marble fireplace did nothing to warm the sudden, freezing tension in the room. Adrienne backed away, her flowing satin skirt snagging on the leg of a discarded velvet chair. She looked like a cornered animal, all her aristocratic elegance completely stripped away by Graham's relentless, quiet interrogation.
“I only slapped her because she was blackmailing me!” Adrienne lied frantically, her chest heaving. “She found the prosthetic in my closet and demanded money! I had to protect our future, Graham! What was I supposed to do?”
Graham slowly turned his head to look at Nora, who was still standing completely still, the broken strap of the fake belly digging into her palm. Her heart-shaped face was pale, and the tear that had gathered on her lashes finally fell, tracing a wet path down her cheek.
“Did you attempt to extort money from my fiancée, Nora?” Graham asked, his deep voice softening just a fraction, though the question remained piercingly direct.
“No, sir,” Nora whispered, shaking her head. “I was doing the laundry. I found the receipt for the silicone molding studio in her coat pocket. When I asked her about it, she struck me across the face and told me she would have me killed if I ever spoke a word to you.”
Graham’s eyes shifted back to Adrienne. The temperature in the room seemed to drop another ten degrees. His observant gaze swept over the woman he had intended to marry, seeing her now not as a partner, but as a parasite that had attached itself to his empire.
“Are you going to continue lying to me, Adrienne?” Graham asked. He reached up, casually adjusting his wristwatch, the gold glinting in the candlelight. “Do you truly believe I cannot verify the origin of this prosthetic before the hour is out?”
Adrienne’s knees buckled. She collapsed onto the polished walnut floor, the heavy satin of her gown pooling around her. She buried her face in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably. The lie was dead, and with it, her entire future.
“I'm sorry,” Adrienne choked out between jagged breaths. “I'm so sorry. I just wanted to be your wife. I knew the commission was pressuring you to produce an heir. I thought if I gave you the illusion of a child, you would finalize the wedding. I was going to tell you I lost the baby after we were married!”
“Did you plan to fake a miscarriage to solidify your position in my syndicate?” Graham inquired, his voice entirely devoid of shock, replaced by a cold, calculating disgust. “Did you intend to force me to mourn a child that never existed?”
Adrienne looked up, her face a ruined mess of mascara and despair. “I would have given you real children eventually! I just needed you to commit to me first! Please, Graham, you have to forgive me!”
“Have I ever been known as a forgiving man?” Graham asked quietly.
He didn't wait for her to answer. He turned his broad shoulders away from her, completely dismissing her existence on the floor. He walked slowly toward Nora. The young housemaid stiffened, terrified that the mafia boss's wrath would inevitably turn on her for being the bearer of such catastrophic news.
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Graham stopped just inches in front of her. His towering, masculine frame eclipsed the light from the chandeliers, casting a dark, protective shadow over her.
“Will you hand that to me, Nora?” Graham asked, holding out his tattooed hand toward the fake belly.
