He Chose Her Over Our Dead Child

Deidre fell hard, her head striking the cold marble of the feature wall with a sickening thud before she crumpled to the floor. Danial loomed over her, his chest heaving, his imposing frame trapping her against the baseboard. "Are you insane?" he hissed, his face inches from hers, his eyes bloodshot with fury. "You attack a pregnant woman? You could have killed her! You could have killed my child!" Deidre's lungs burned as she gasped for air, the impact knocking the wind completely out of her. Black spots danced in her vision. She scratched at the floorboards, trying to push herself away from his looming shadow, but he didn't even flinch. The sudden shock and physical trauma were making her weak, her heart sputtering in her chest. Daria, still lying on the floor, let out a pitiful moan. "Danial... the pain... I think I'm losing it..." The sound of Daria's voice acted like a catalyst. Danial's glare darkened, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek. He leaned closer, his shadow completely engulfing her. "You vicious bitch. I should have known you'd snap eventually." Deidre looked into his eyes. She searched for the man she loved, the man she had saved from the fire. There was nothing there. Only a monster. Only a man who was willing to destroy her to protect the woman who had ruined her life. She stopped fighting. Her hands fell away from her defensive posture, dangling limply at her sides. The fight was gone. The will to live was gone. She just wanted the pain to stop. She stared into his cold, dead eyes and her voice was a strangled, barely audible rasp. "You killed Lily." Danial frowned. He didn't hear her, or he chose not to. He let out a sound of disgust and shoved her away from him. Deidre's body flew backward. She hit the floor hard, her knees cracking against the marble. The impact sent a shockwave of pain through her body, but it was nothing compared to the explosion in her chest. Her heart, already weak and struggling, couldn't take the physical trauma. It went into overdrive, beating erratically, then slowing down, then skipping beats entirely. She clutched her chest, her mouth open in a silent scream. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't move. It felt like a giant hand was crushing her heart into pulp. She curled into a fetal position on the floor, sweat breaking out all over her body. Her face, which had been red from being choked, turned a sickly, ashen gray. Danial didn't look at her. He turned his back on her and walked over to Daria, helping her sit up. "Call the doctor," he ordered the bodyguard. "Now." He glanced over his shoulder at the writhing figure on the floor. "Get out," he said, his voice flat and emotionless. "Get out of my sight before I call the police and have you committed." Deidre looked at his broad back, at the way he tenderly brushed the hair from Daria's face. The last flicker of light in her eyes died. The love she had held onto for five years, the hope that he would one day see her, turned to ash. She bit down on her tongue again, the coppery taste of blood grounding her. She planted her hands on the cold floor, her arms shaking violently, and pushed herself up. She didn't look at him. She didn't beg. There was no point in explaining the truth to a man who was willfully blind. She staggered toward the door, leaving a trail of blood from her cut arm and dirty footprints on the pristine marble. Every step felt like her last. Her heart was failing, the world fading in and out of focus. As she reached the door, Danial felt a sudden, inexplicable pang in his chest. He watched her retreating figure, a flash of doubt crossing his mind. But Daria whimpered, pulling his attention back. The heavy apartment door slammed shut behind Deidre, sealing her out of the hell she had been living in. She stumbled into the hallway, leaning against the wall for support. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirrored elevator doors. Her face was swollen and bruised, her hair a mess, her clothes stained with blood. She looked like a corpse. The elevator dinged, and the doors opened. She stepped inside, leaning heavily against the metal wall. The descent made her ears pop, the pressure building in her skull. Her vision was narrowing to a thin tunnel. The doors opened to the underground garage. The cold wind from the street howled through the opening, biting into her skin. She walked out into the blizzard. The streets of Manhattan were deserted. The snow was coming down in sheets, piling up on the sidewalks. Deidre walked aimlessly, her body running on autopilot. Every breath was a struggle. Her heart was giving out. She could feel it slowing down, the beats becoming weaker and weaker. She turned down a dark, narrow alleyway between two towering buildings. The snow was untouched here, deep and treacherous. She took one step, then another. Her legs gave out. She fell forward, her body pitching toward the icy concrete. But she didn't hit the ground. Instead, she slammed into something hard and warm. The hood of a car. A blaring alarm shattered the quiet of the night. Red lights flashed, illuminating the falling snow. The door of the car opened. A gust of warm air, smelling of expensive leather and fine tobacco, wafted out. A man stepped out into the snow. He was tall, his shoulders broad beneath a heavy wool coat. He wore bespoke leather shoes that sank into the slush. He stopped right in front of Deidre's crumpled body. He looked down at her, his face obscured by the shadows and the swirling snow. Deidre looked up, her vision fading. The last thing she saw was a pair of sharp, calculating eyes before the darkness swallowed her whole.