Chapter 8
Vincent drove to the Bennett warehouse after midnight.
Two security guards blocked him.
“I need to see my wife.”
“Mrs. Bennett isn’t receiving visitors.”
Vincent stared at the guard.
People usually corrected themselves quickly after calling Claire Bennett instead of Moretti.
This man did not.
A minute later, Claire appeared on the loading dock.
She wore a dark coat over a loose sweater. The wind moved her hair across her face.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“I know.”
For the first time since the scandal, he made no attempt to defend himself.
He simply held out Elena’s signed statement.
“Andrew is moving against you.”
Claire accepted it.
She read every page without inviting him inside.
When she finished, Vincent said, “I can stop him.”
“We can stop him.”
Hope appeared in his eyes.
Claire killed it before it could grow.
“Don’t misunderstand me.”
He waited.
“I’m helping because there is something Andrew doesn’t know.”
“What?”
Claire looked at the man she had married.
This was not how she had imagined telling him.
No candles.
No private smile.
No ultrasound placed between them at breakfast.
Only rain, betrayal and a warehouse loading dock.
She placed one hand over her stomach.
“I’m pregnant.”
Vincent did not move.
For several seconds, Claire wondered if he had understood.
Then his face emptied.
“What?”
“Eight weeks.”
His eyes dropped to her hand.
Then returned to her face.
“Our baby?”
Claire’s throat tightened.
“Yes.”
Vincent stepped backward as though struck.
“You knew yesterday.”
“I had just left the doctor.”
His lips parted.
“You came to tell me.”
“Yes.”
He closed his eyes.
The rain struck the metal roof behind her.
Claire saw the moment he imagined it.
Her arriving with the envelope.
Him standing beside Elena.
The cameras.
The kiss.
The child.
When Vincent opened his eyes again, they were wet.
“I am so sorry.”
“I know.”
“No.” His voice broke. “You don’t.”
Claire clutched the folder against her chest.
“I don’t need a better apology tonight.”
“I destroyed the day you found out about our child.”
“Yes.”
He looked down.
Claire had never seen Vincent ashamed before.
Angry, wounded, exhausted, even frightened.
Never ashamed.
She could have comforted him.
For years, comforting him had been instinct.
She did not.
Vincent finally whispered, “Tell me what you need.”
“Do the right thing.”
“I will.”
“Not for me.”
He looked at her.
“For this child. For every employee Andrew is trying to use. For everyone whose life became collateral damage because powerful men wanted more power.”
He nodded.
“And after?”
Claire understood the question.
After Andrew.
After the scandal.
After the baby.
After apologies.
“After, you will be our child’s father.”
“And your husband?”
May you like
“No.”
The word hurt them both.
