Chapter 4 - The Lie Beneath Her HeartDalia woke to the smell of antiseptic and rain.
For one terrifying second, she thought she was back in Daniel’s apartment after the night she had pretended to sleep while he planned another man’s downfall. Then she opened her eyes and saw painted ceilings, heavy curtains, and Rowan Fiero sitting beside the bed.
Not beside it like a worried man.
Beside it like a judge.
Bobby lay across the doorway, blocking it.
Dalia tried to sit up.
“Don’t,” Rowan said.
She obeyed before she could stop herself.
A woman in a navy medical jacket adjusted a blood pressure cuff around Dalia’s arm. The doctor was in her fifties, calm, and too professional to show curiosity.
“You fainted from exhaustion, stress, and dehydration,” the doctor said. “You should be eating more frequently.”
Dalia closed her eyes.
No.
The doctor glanced at Rowan, then back at Dalia. “Would you like me to ask Mr. Fiero to leave before we discuss the rest?”
Yes.
No.
Dalia’s mind raced. If Rowan left, he would know there was a rest. If he stayed, the secret died in the room.
Rowan stood immediately. “I’ll be outside.”
That surprised her.
He did not demand. He did not command. He simply left, closing the door behind him.
The doctor waited until his footsteps faded.
“How many weeks?”
Dalia swallowed. “Fourteen.”
“Any bleeding? Cramping?”
“No.”
“Do you have an obstetrician?”
“Not one nearby.”
The doctor’s face remained neutral, but Dalia saw judgment waiting behind restraint. Not moral judgment. Medical judgment.
“You need consistent care. Especially under stress.”
“I know.”
“Does the father know?”
Dalia turned her face toward the window.
The doctor wrote something down. “I’ll take that as complicated.”
“That’s generous.”
When the examination ended, the doctor gave her vitamins, instructions, and a look that said secrets did not impress women who delivered babies for a living.
Rowan returned after she left.
He did not sit this time.
Dalia stared at the blanket. “I’m sorry.”
“For fainting?”
“For bringing trouble into your house.”
“Trouble was here before you.”
She looked up.
He stood by the fireplace, face half in shadow. “Daniel Marsh is more than an ex-lover.”
Dalia’s mouth went dry.
Rowan saw the answer before she spoke.
“The child is his,” he said.
It was not a question.
Dalia’s hand went instinctively to her stomach.
Rowan’s gaze followed the movement, but his expression did not change.
“Does he know?”
“Now he suspects.”
“Before tonight?”
“No.”
“Why did you run from him?”
The truth stood at the edge of her tongue.
Because he was using me.
Because he planned to destroy you.
Because your future bride is part of it.
Because I heard the word succession and understood enough to be afraid.
Instead, she said, “He is dangerous.”
Rowan gave a humorless smile. “Many men are dangerous.”
“Not like him.”
“Exactly like him.”
Dalia looked away. “Then you understand.”
Something in his face shifted. Not sympathy. Recognition.
“My father used to say there are two kinds of dangerous men,” Rowan said. “Men who enjoy causing pain, and men who believe pain is a reasonable administrative cost.”
Dalia’s skin prickled.
“Daniel is the second,” Rowan continued. “Those are harder to stop.”
“Then send me away.”
“No.”
The word was immediate.
“You should,” she said. “He came because I’m here. If I leave—”
“He finds you outside my protection.”
“I was never under your protection.”
Rowan looked toward the doorway where Bobby slept. “He disagrees.”
Dalia almost laughed, but tears burned instead.
“I can’t stay here,” she whispered.
“You can.”
“Serena Marsh is here.”
At last, his expression changed.
It was small.
But devastating.
“What about Serena?”
Dalia pressed her lips together.
Rowan stepped closer. “Dalia.”
The way he said her name made hiding feel useless.
“I heard Daniel on the phone before I left New York,” she said. “He said you would never see it coming. He said you still believed loyalty was inherited.”
Rowan went still.
“He talked about companies, shipping, offshore accounts. A succession window. Then he said…” She forced herself to finish. “Once my sister marries him, the door opens from the inside.”
The room became very quiet.
Too quiet.
Rowan turned away, but not before she saw the murder in his eyes.
“Did you tell anyone else?”
“No.”
“Do you have proof?”
“No. Only what I heard.”
“And the child?”
Dalia stiffened. “The child has nothing to do with this.”
Rowan looked back at her. “In families like mine, children have everything to do with everything.”
Fear flooded her.
“No,” she said. “I won’t let anyone use my baby.”
“Neither will I.”
She searched his face for manipulation and found only steel.
A knock sounded at the door.
Mrs. Hargrove entered, pale but composed.
“Mr. Fiero,” she said, “Miss Marsh is asking why Mr. Marsh was ordered from the estate.”
Rowan’s jaw tightened.
“And your aunt is insisting on a family meeting before morning.”
Dalia felt the walls closing in.
Rowan looked at her one last time.
“Stay in this room. Lock the door. Bobby stays with you.”
Mrs. Hargrove hesitated. “Sir, if the dog stays here, everyone will know she matters.”
May you like
Rowan opened the door.
“They already do.”
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