It was the last time that reflex ever ran in me.

He was about to burn it out of me for good.

“Sir, you cannot be in here,” the charge nurse said, stepping into his path with both hands up.

“This is an active delivery.

You need to leave immediately.”

I turned my head against the soaked pillow and forced my stinging eyes open, and there he was in the doorway — my husband of four years, Roderick Pembroke, in a custom suit without a single wrinkle in it.

And half a step behind him, one manicured hand resting on the small curve of her own belly, stood Odette Marchetti — a former marketing intern from his old university, a young woman I had personally trained the year before.

Chapter 2 — An Administrative Matter

“Adriana,” Roderick said, crossing to the side of my bed with both hands in his trouser pockets.

“There’s an administrative matter we need to settle, while you’re still clear-headed enough to follow it.”

“Have you lost your mind?” the midwife shouted, gloved hands in the air.

“This woman is crowning.

Whatever this is can wait until the baby is out!”

“It will only take a moment.” He raised one finger to quiet the room, the same gesture I had watched him use to silence a boardroom a hundred times.