POV Norah
The wail pierced the air before I even registered where I was. A newborn’s cry — sharp, desperate, full of life. It echoed down the sterile hallway, ricocheting off the white walls, sinking claws into my chest.
I dug my nails into the sheets beneath me, waiting for the answering cry that would be mine.
But there was nothing.
The silence from my own body was louder than the baby’s scream.
“Congratulations,” I heard a doctor murmur to someone behind the thin curtain. “She’s perfect. Strong lungs.”
The words sliced me open. My throat constricted, but I forced myself to breathe.
I already knew. Deep down in the marrow of my bones… I knew. Still, I asked, because denial is cruel and I needed the cruelty confirmed.
“Doctor?” My voice shook, pitiful in its weakness. “My baby…?”
The physician hesitated. That pause was everything. His expression softened as he stepped closer, lowering his voice.
“I’m so sorry, Miss Mason. The pregnancy… it didn’t sustain.”
Something inside me fractured.
I couldn’t cry — not yet. It was as though my body turned to stone, too heavy to move, too cold to feel. But my lips parted anyway, and the words stumbled out, broken. “Gone?”
“Yes.” He placed a hand on my shoulder, clinical, distant. “There was nothing you could have done.”
I turned my head away from him, toward the far wall where sunlight filtered weakly through the blinds. A baby’s cry carried down the hall again. This one louder, jubilant.
My tears came then, hot and silent, streaking across my temples into my hair.
When the doctor finally left, I sat up slowly, gripping the thin blanket around me. The ache wasn’t just physical. It was a shame. Failure.
I hadn’t only lost a child — I had failed Xander.
I had failed the only reason I was here.
My body shook as I whispered into the empty room, “He’s going to send me away…”
I dressed myself numbly, the gown too loose, the air too cold. Every movement felt like betrayal. By the time I stepped into the hallway, I’d rehearsed the words in my head a hundred times.
Don’t beg. Don’t hope. Say it plain. Let him be rid of you.
And then I saw him.
Xander stood like a carved statue by the window, his broad shoulders rigid, his jaw tight. His suit was immaculate, of course it was, but there was a wildness in his eyes I had never seen before.
He turned when he heard me, his gaze locking onto mine, unreadable, unrelenting.
I forced myself to speak. “You can dispose of me now.”
My voice cracked, but I pushed on, swallowing the lump in my throat.
“I failed the contract. I failed you. I don’t even know how to return the money, but—”
“What are you talking about?” His voice cut across mine like a blade.
I flinched and Xander stepped forward, his tone lower, sharper, like he was restraining himself.
“Norah. Look at me.”
I lifted my eyes, tears blurring the man I’d spent a month trying to figure out. He didn’t look cold now. He looked like the floor had been ripped out beneath him.
“You’re not leaving,” he said, each word deliberate. “Not like this. Not ever like this.”
I blinked at him, confusion crashing into despair. “But… I lost the baby. The only reason you—”
“The only reason?” His jaw clenched, and he raked a hand through his hair, uncharacteristically disheveled. “Is that truly what you think? That you’re disposable to me? That you’re just… just a womb under contract?”
I had no answer.
My lips trembled, and the tears came again, pouring freely now.
He exhaled sharply, then moved closer, so close I could feel the heat rolling off him. His hand hovered in the air, as if he wanted to touch me but didn’t trust himself.
“I’m not gonna leave you in this alone, Norah. How could I?”
His voice cracked on the last word. And I believed him.
Against all thoughts and reasons in my mind… I believed him.
The drive back to the penthouse blurred past me, a haze of city lights and silence. I stared out the window, clutching my hands in my lap.
My body ached, but my heart ached worse.
When we arrived, I expected him to retreat — to bury himself in his office, to leave me to the silence of that cold, cavernous space. But instead, he surprised me again.
“Come,” he said, guiding me to the sofa like I was made of glass. “Sit.”
I obeyed, numb.
He disappeared briefly, and when he returned, he set a tray before me: a steaming cup of chamomile tea and delicate sandwiches cut into perfect halves.
Even the shortbread cookies I used to sneak at night when I thought he wasn’t watching.
My throat tightened. “You remembered…”
“I remember everything,” he said simply, taking the seat across from me.
I lifted the tea to my lips, the warmth steadying me, but guilt twisted inside. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do.” His eyes held mine, unwavering. “You’re not alone in this. Not while I’m breathing.”
I didn’t know what to say.
The Xander I knew delivered orders, signed contracts, wielded control like a weapon. But this Xander — this man brewing tea and watching me drink to be sure I ate — I didn’t know how to fit him into my understanding of him.
Later, when exhaustion dragged at my limbs, I rose to retreat to my room. He followed, silent, steady, a shadow at my side. When I reached the door, I faltered.
“Xander… really, you don’t have to—”
“I said I do,” he murmured, and gently opened the door for me.
When I slid into bed, curling against the cool sheets, he adjusted the blanket over me with surprising care. His hand brushed against my forehead as he smoothed back a stray strand of hair, lingering for a heartbeat too long.
My breath caught.
His voice dropped to a whisper, rough and unguarded. “Stay, Norah. Please. Let me take care of you.”