His Cruel Revenge, Her Secret Child

Rory burst out of the club's side exit and into a torrential downpour.

The sky had opened up, releasing a furious, cleansing deluge. The cold rain was a shock to her system, a brief respite from the fire raging under her skin from the allergic reaction. She was soaked in seconds, her thin silk dress clinging to her like a second skin.

She clutched the fifty thousand dollars to her chest, the wad of cash already damp. It felt heavy, dirty. The price of her soul.

She stumbled to the curb, trying to flag down a taxi, but the street was a river of red taillights. No one was stopping. The city, like Corbin, had turned its back on her.

She had to get home. She had to see Willa.

She started walking, her heels sinking into the soft asphalt, the rain plastering her hair to her face. Her throat was closing up, each breath a painful, wheezing struggle. Black spots danced in her vision.

A few blocks away, Corbin's Bentley sliced silently through the rain-slicked streets. Miles Finch was at the wheel. Corbin sat in the back, his face a thunderous mask, while his assistant tried to awkwardly bandage his bleeding hand. Julian and Kade had wisely taken another car. The explosion of glass and blood had left them shaken and silent.

Corbin stared out the window, seeing nothing but the reflection of his own grim face. The image of Rory, her eyes wide with pain as she drank the scotch, was burned into his mind. The tiny, pathetic sound the ring had made hitting the bottom of the trash can echoed in his ears.

Up ahead, Rory reached a crosswalk. She saw the distant headlights of a cab and lurched toward the street, waving her arm frantically.

She didn't see the dark, sleek luxury car approaching from behind.

Miles saw her, a lone, desperate figure about to step into traffic. He instinctively slowed the car. "Sir, there's someone on the side of the road..." Corbin glanced up, his eyes briefly registering a rain-soaked shape before dismissing it as irrelevant. "Why are we slowing down?" he asked, his voice laced with irritation. "Sir, the pedestrian..." "That is not our concern, Miles," Corbin cut him off, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Drive." Miles hesitated, then pressed the accelerator. The Bentley surged forward, its passage through a deep puddle unavoidable. It sent a massive wave of dirty street water arching into the air.

The wave crashed over Rory, drenching her in cold, gritty water. She gasped, sputtering, but she barely registered it. She had finally caught the attention of the taxi.

She scrambled inside, gave the driver her address, and collapsed against the worn vinyl seat, her body shaking from the cold and the allergic reaction.

When she finally made it to her apartment building, the babysitter, a teenager from down the hall, was waiting in the lobby, her face pale with panic.

"Miss Conway! Oh, thank God! It's Willa... she's not doing well! She was having trouble breathing, and then she just got so... quiet."

The world fell away. The alcohol, the allergy, the humiliation-it all vanished, replaced by a pure, primal terror.

Rory bolted up the stairs and burst into their apartment. Willa was lying on her small bed, her face a frightening shade of blue. Her breaths were shallow, almost nonexistent. Her lips were purple.

Her heart. Her tiny, fragile heart was failing.

Rory scooped her daughter's limp body into her arms and ran back out into the storm. She stood on the curb, Willa in her arms, screaming for help, for any car to stop.

Just minutes before, her daughter's father, the only other person on earth who shared her blood, had passed this very spot. He had seen a woman in distress and had ordered his driver to keep going.

A police cruiser, its lights flashing, screeched to a halt beside them. An officer saw the child in her arms and immediately got on his radio, his voice urgent.

Rory clutched Willa, whose eyes were now closed, her body terrifyingly still. Rory's world, which she thought had been destroyed six years ago, was collapsing all over again, this time into an even deeper, darker abyss.

The wail of an approaching ambulance was the most terrifying and beautiful sound she had ever heard.

They placed Willa on a stretcher. Rory climbed into the back of the ambulance, her hand gripping her daughter's small, cold one. As the doors slammed shut, she looked out at the rain-streaked, indifferent city, her heart shattering into a million irreparable pieces.