His Unwanted Wife, The Rival Don's Queen

Haven POV

I remained in the hospital bed for two hours after the procedure.

The cramps came in waves.

They felt like a dull knife scraping against the hollowed-out walls of my uterus, and strangely, I welcomed them.

Every spasm was a reminder of what was gone.

Every sharp pinch was a tether to reality, keeping me from floating away into the grey fog of shock.

Connor never came back.

He didn't call. He didn't send a nurse to check on me. The silence of my phone was louder than the hum of the hospital machinery.

My assistant, Maria, walked in.

She was the only person on the payroll who answered solely to me, not him.

She looked at my pale face and took in the bloodless line of my lips. She didn't ask how I was. She knew better.

Instead, she handed me a manila envelope.

I opened it.

Photos.

Connor and Gemma walking into a jewelry store. Connor and Gemma eating lunch at the bistro where he had proposed to me.

He was laughing. He looked light. He looked like a man who didn't have a wife bleeding out in a recovery room.

I looked at the timestamp.

Forty minutes ago.

While Dr. Evans was scraping his child out of me, Connor was buying diamond earrings for the woman who had set me up to die.

I put the photos down.

My hands didn't shake.

The rage that had been a roaring fire in my chest was gone. It had burned itself out, leaving nothing but cold, hard ash.

"Get the lawyer on the phone," I said.

Maria nodded. She dialed and put it on speaker.

"Mr. Henderson," I said.

"Mrs. Jones," he answered, his tone cautious. "I heard about the... incident. Is Connor with you?"

"No," I said. "And he never will be again. Initiate the divorce."

There was a pause.

"Haven, in our world... divorce is not simple. The Family will not like it."

"I don't care what the Family likes."

I sat up, ignoring the sharp pull in my abdomen.

"And the shares," I said. "My forty percent stake in the shipping lines. The construction fronts. The legitimate face of the Apex Crew."

"Yes?"

"Sell them."

"Sell them? To whom? It has to be internal. Connor won't have the liquidity to buy you out immediately."

"Not to Connor."

I looked out the window at the city skyline.

"Sell them to Elliott George."

The silence on the other end was heavy. Terrified.

"Haven, you are talking about starting a war. Elliott George is his mortal enemy. If you give him the controlling interest in the legitimate fronts, you cripple Connor. You leave him exposed."

"I know."

"Do it, Mr. Henderson. Or I will find a lawyer who will."

I hung up.

I got dressed. The jeans dug into my swollen stomach, a cruel constriction.

I walked out of the clinic and took a cab to the penthouse.

I walked into the foyer.

It smelled of vanilla.

My stomach turned.

They were in the living room.

Gemma was wearing my robe. The silk one Connor had bought me for our anniversary.

She was curled up on the sofa, watching TV as if she belonged there.

Connor was pouring wine. He looked up and saw me.

He froze.

The wine overflowed the glass, spilling onto the expensive rug like a dark stain spreading across our lives.

"Haven," he said. "You're home."

He put the bottle down and took a step toward me.

"I thought you were staying overnight for observation."

I looked at Gemma.

She pulled the robe tighter, smirking behind his back.

She was wearing the diamond earrings from the photos. They caught the light-sparkling little trophies of my destruction.

"Get out," I said to her.

Connor stepped between us.

"Don't start, Haven. She is just recovering. She had a nightmare."

I walked past him.

I went to the guest room and locked the door.

I didn't cry. I didn't scream.

I just listened to the murmur of their voices in the living room, plotting the end of my world while I planned the end of theirs.