Chapter 3

The air in the study stayed heavy and still as Keagan slowly pulled back his frozen hand, tugging open two buttons at his collar to hide the panic in his eyes.

He walked over to the liquor cabinet, poured a glass of neat whiskey, and drank it down in one gulp, the burning alcohol bringing back his usual cold composure.

"Since you're standing here in one piece right now, it means you're fine."

He set the heavy glass down hard on the bar counter, his voice flat and unfeeling again.

"There's no need to use a pity play like this to get my sympathy."

Barbara stared at him in disbelief, her voice shaking with anger as she pointed at the bloody gauze on her forehead.

"A pity play? Keagan, do you really think the whole world revolves around putting on a show for you?"

Keagan turned around and slid both hands into his suit pockets, looking her over with cold eyes.

"Isn't that the truth? You came to the hospital on purpose just to check up on me and make a scene."

Tears spun in Barbara's eyes as she laughed out of pure anger, refusing to let a single drop fall.

"I'm making a scene? You're the one cheating in our marriage and getting your mistress pregnant, and somehow it's my fault?"

At the word "mistress," Keagan's face darkened completely, and he took two long strides to tower right over Barbara.

"Shut your mouth! Catina is not a mistress-her older sister lost her life saving my big brother years ago, and the Cohen family owes her a life!"

Barbara met his glare without a trace of fear, her lips curving into a mocking smile.

"Oh? So the Cohen family repays a life debt by having a married man father her child?"

Keagan raised his hand high as if to slap her across the face, stopping his palm just an inch away from her bruised cheek.

Barbara did not flinch or even blink, staring straight back at him with cold, dead eyes.

After several tense seconds, Keagan dropped his hand to his side, his chest heaving with anger.

He spun around and sat down in the wide leather chair behind his desk, folding his hands on the surface like the ruthless Wall Street M&A tycoon he was.

"Barbara, I have to remind you to face reality. You are nothing more than a contract wife who signed a prenuptial agreement."

An invisible hand crushed Barbara's chest so hard she could barely draw breath.

"Three years ago, you willingly signed that agreement to be my wife in name only in exchange for a wealthy life," Keagan said without a single change in his tone. "Don't dream about getting things you don't deserve, like my affection."

Barbara bit her lower lip until she tasted blood; she had married him in secret only to repay the man she thought saved her life at the airport years ago, yet he saw her as a greedy climber.

"As for Catina," Keagan continued, his voice full of firm protection, "she is pregnant and weak right now, and I won't allow anyone to bother her, including you."

Barbara took a deep breath to keep her voice steady.

"And what if I insist on getting in the way?"

Keagan let out a cold laugh full of contempt.

"With what right? With your poor background from some Appalachian small town, or with the monthly allowance you rely on me to give you?"

He leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing in warning.

"Remember your place and play the role of Mrs. Cohen properly, or I won't mind making you walk out of this house with nothing."

Looking at the cold man behind the desk, Barbara felt her past three years of quiet devotion turn into a complete joke.

She did not argue or cry, just looked at him silently for so long that Keagan's brows furrowed in annoyance again.

"Have you looked enough? Get out."

Keagan waved his hand impatiently as if brushing away a fly.

Barbara turned around and walked slowly toward the study door, every step steady and firm.

Pausing with her hand on the doorframe, she spoke softly without looking back.

"Keagan, you're going to regret this."

Keagan snorted at her back.

"The word regret doesn't exist in my dictionary."

Barbara pulled the door open and stepped out into the dark hallway, shutting the study light and the man behind the heavy wood.

Back in the cold master bedroom, she left the lights off, walked straight into the walk-in closet, and dragged a dusty black suitcase out from the bottom drawer.

She opened the suitcase and threw in a few simple clothes with stiff, mechanical movements.

Reaching into the back of the closet, her fingers brushed against a brown paper envelope, making her pause.

She pulled the envelope out into the faint moonlight coming through the window, looking down at the bold black letters printed on the front: Prenuptial Agreement.

Tossing the envelope into the suitcase, she walked over to the vanity table, pulled open the drawer, and took out the divorce agreement she had prepared months ago.

She picked up her gold Montblanc pen from the table and, without a second of hesitation, signed her name neatly at the bottom: Barbara Burke.