Chapter 2

2

Logan was a man of his word; he disappeared for the next two weeks.

My mother-in-law shed her affectionate facade as well. She stopped inviting me to Sunday brunches and ceased sending her usual luxury gifts.

Instead, she threw herself entirely into doting on her newfound grandson. Every day, she bombarded my phone with short video clips of Logan and his boy.

"Look at Logan taking my sweet grandson out to the polo club…"

"Logan is personally tutoring his son in math today…"

"Oh, what a clever boy! Helping his daddy make breakfast already…"

She went so far as to sing the praises of her precious grandson and her thoughtful new daughter-in-law at high-society charity galas.

I sat among the crowd, enduring the curious and pitying glances of the other socialites.

"Mrs. Prescott," I finally said, keeping my voice low. "Logan and I are still legally married. How exactly does Kinsley Brooks qualify as your daughter-in-law?"

She cast a frigid glance my way. "Whoever provides an heir to the Prescott line is my daughter-in-law."

"Kinsley might lack the formal paperwork, but my grandson will not go unrecognized. Since you cannot bear children and still occupy the title of Mrs. Prescott, you should know your place."

"Have them moved into the main estate immediately so people don't talk. That is the bare minimum duty of a Prescott wife."

Her imperious tone weighed on me, and it took every ounce of strength I had to keep from breaking down in tears.

She had once treated me like her own daughter. Now she looked at me like a parasite.

In the blink of an eye, the doting mother-in-law was gone, and the husband who once adored me had vanished into thin air.

I returned home in a daze. While pouring hot tea, my trembling hands slipped, scalding my skin with boiling water.

Logan happened to step through the front door at that exact moment. Seeing the spill, he rushed over, barking orders for the housekeeper to bring the first-aid kit.

He knelt before me, gently cradling my injured hand as he applied soothing burn ointment.

Looking down at his furrowed brow, I caught a glimpse of the reckless young man who once scaled a garden wall just to steal a glance at me.

Back then, his wounds had barely healed before he was scheduled to fly overseas for grueling negotiations.

The night before his departure, he had snuck into my courtyard and slipped a handmade silver band into my palm.

"I don't know if our family empire will survive this crisis," he had told me softly. "If you accept this ring tonight, you can never marry anyone else."

When I reached for it, he caught my hand and begged me to take care of my health.

Looking at the scars on his knuckles, I had begged him to give up and accept the arranged marriage with the billionaire heiress who could save his company.

He had cut me off with fierce determination. "Nothing in heaven or on earth will ever make me give you up."

He had slid the ring onto my finger, and my tears had fallen silently onto our joined hands.

Memories flooded back with crushing weight. Looking down at the man treating my hand, I whispered in a fragile voice, "Logan… let's have a baby of our own."

No answer came. The prolonged silence dragged me out of my trance.

Logan's expression stiffened, and his gaze shifted awkwardly toward the foyer.

Following his eyes, I froze.

We were not alone in the grand hall.