Chapter 3

Stella turned off every light in the Tribeca penthouse except the candles on the dining table, waiting for the man who had carried another woman out of a café hours ago.

At eight o'clock, the private elevator chimed. The front door opened, and Lucian stepped into the dim foyer.

Stella walked toward him barefoot in a backless crimson silk dress, the bandage on her right hand hidden behind her hip. In the candlelight, she tilted her chin up and smiled. "Welcome home, fiancé."

Lucian's dark gaze swept down her frame, his throat working once before his eyes dropped to her bare feet on the marble. He loosened his tie, his brow furrowing. "If you think putting on a show tonight makes up for hitting Celeste this afternoon, it doesn't."

Instead of answering, Stella stepped in close and looped her arms around his waist, resting her cheek against his chest. "I missed you."

Lucian stiffened for a second. Then his hand came down on the small of her back, pressing her against the entryway credenza. He bent his head to take her mouth.

Right before his lips touched hers, Stella turned her head. His mouth brushed her cheek instead.

He pulled back an inch, frowning. In three years, she had never dodged him. "You slap someone, refuse to apologize, and now you're sulking?" He nipped her earlobe, his voice low.

Stella pressed her palm lightly against his chest. "I made dinner. Eat with me first. What happened with Celeste today?"

"She told me it was her fault," Lucian said against her neck. "She's harmless, Stell. Bringing her back to New York was my call. If you're upset about it, take it out on me, not her."

"I don't like her," Stella said quietly. "It's her or me."

Lucian bit her bare shoulder, just hard enough to sting. "You don't have to choose. Your place and hers don't conflict. I know you're not feeling well today, so I'll let the attitude slide, but Celeste isn't up for negotiation. I need her. You'll accept her."

Stella went completely still in his arms.

Inside her purse by the table sat a flash drive with the café's security footage—showing Celeste shoving her toward the table corner with a blade between her fingers. There was no point showing it to him now.

She closed her eyes, drew a slow breath, and curved her lips into a practiced smile. "Understood."

"Good girl." Lucian pinched her chin and kissed the corner of her mouth. "Once this quarter wraps, I'll take you to Rome. You've always wanted wedding photos on the Spanish Steps."

The Spanish Steps. Where he had just held Celeste Moore in his arms.

"Let's eat before it gets cold," Stella said, slipping out of his hold and leading him to the dining table.

They sat across from each other with two tall tapers flickering between them. Lucian picked up his knife and fork, sliced his prime ribeye into even, bite-sized pieces, and swapped his plate with hers. It was a habit he had kept for three years.

Stella picked up her wineglass, filled with sparkling cider she had poured in place of Bordeaux, and raised it. "A toast."

Lucian touched his rim to hers and drank.

Watching his throat move, Stella swirled her glass. "Let's get married tomorrow. City Hall."

Lucian paused mid-swallow. He lowered his glass to the marble tabletop with a sharp clink and looked across at her. "Say that again."

"I said, let's go to the County Clerk's office tomorrow and sign the papers."

A cold laugh left his throat. "Is this the surprise you cooked for? Stop acting out, Stella. Our wedding is set for December. You know I don't like my plans disrupted."

"What if I can't wait until December?" She set her glass down hard enough to crack the stem. Her voice stayed steady and quiet. "What if I told you I'm pregnant?"

Lucian froze.

There was no joy on his face. Only a flat, cutting scrutiny.

"I got the lab report three days ago," Stella said, meeting his eyes across the candle flame.

The dining room went dead silent.

"Stell," Lucian said, his voice dropping to subzero. "Don't lie to me."

A sharp, humorless laugh escaped her. Her eyes burned, but she refused to let a single tear fall. "Three years together, and your first instinct is that I'm lying?"

Lucian stood up, looking down at her from his full height. "Don't test my limits."

"I'm not lying," Stella said, her hands flattening on the table as she rose to face him. "Last month at the St. Regis, the night you proposed, we didn't use anything—"

"I had a vasectomy two years ago."

The words cut through the room like a guillotine.

Stella stared at him, the blood draining from her face. Two years ago. Celeste's voice from the café echoed in her ears: Luc promised me no kids for five years.

He'd had the procedure to keep a promise to Celeste, while letting Stella believe they would have a family.

"Satisfied?" Lucian looked at her chalk-white face, his lip curling with disgust. "Three years, and you couldn't wait three more months for the ring? I thought you were smart enough to know your place without playing dirty tricks. Turns out you're no different from the rest."

Stella gripped the edge of the table, her chest heaving. "What did you just say to me?"

"It must have been exhausting," Lucian said coldly, buttoning his suit jacket. "Putting on an act for three years just to lock down the Mrs. Rhodes title. Watching you pretend to love me and obey me is disgusting."

He turned his back on her, strode to the foyer, and yanked the heavy door open.

The slam shook the walls. The draft snuffed out the candles on the table, plunging the penthouse into pitch darkness.

Stella's legs gave out. She sank onto the cold marble floor beside her chair.

A violent cramp tore through her lower abdomen, stealing her breath. Seconds later, a warm gush soaked through the silk between her thighs.

She didn't reach for her phone. She sat alone in the dark, pressing her cut hand to her stomach as the warmth pooled beneath her.

"Lucian," she whispered into the empty room. "You got what you wanted. As of tonight, I don't love you anymore."