Chapter 4

"You don't have fever medication at home?"

"I do! I gave her some, but it's not working. I—" His voice cracked. "I've never taken care of a sick kid."

Maya whimpered weakly against his neck, mumbling, "Daddy..."

I looked at him standing there in pure disarray—his suit jacket slung over one arm, his tie crooked, deep purple bags under his eyes.

The ruthless CEO who appeared invincible on every financial magazine cover looked utterly helpless, fumbling with a digital thermometer held upside down.

"Bring her in."

It wasn't because my heart softened toward him.

A four-year-old child had a 103-degree fever. I couldn't bring myself to slam the door in her face.

I laid Maya gently on the sofa and pressed the back of my hand to her forehead. She was burning up.

Cooling patches, lukewarm sponge baths, monitoring her vitals—I moved swiftly and methodically.

Not because I was a mother, but because during these three years of marriage, I had learned how to take care of everyone except myself.

Maya groaned softly in her feverish haze, her small, sticky fingers latching onto my thumb, refusing to let go.

"Miss..."

"Shh. I'm here, sweetheart."

Julian leaned against the doorframe, watching in silence. There was a strange, unreadable emotion swirling in his dark eyes.

"You're so much better at this than I am," he murmured.

I didn't look up from wringing out the washcloth.

"That's because you've never taken care of anyone in your entire life."

His lips parted, but he couldn't form a comeback.

Half an hour later, the fever finally began to break, dropping to 100.8 degrees. I bundled Maya into a soft fleece blanket. Clutching my finger, the little girl mumbled drowsily into the pillow, "Mommy..."

My hand froze.

Julian spoke up instantly. "She gets confused when she's sick—"

"Save it."

I tucked the blanket around her shoulders and stood up, smoothing down my sweater.

"Her fever broke. Take her home. Keep her hydrated, and if it spikes again tomorrow, take her to the emergency room."

"Chloe—"

"Julian, you didn't bring her here today just because she was sick."

His face stiffened.

"You came to test the waters. You wanted to see if a sick child would make me back down. A 103-degree fever, and instead of rushing to the ER, hiring a private pediatric nurse, or calling your mother, you drove straight across town to my apartment. You gambled on my empathy."

He opened his mouth. "I—"

"You only won half that bet," I met his gaze dead-on. "I'll nurse a sick toddler, but I won't stay in your sham of a marriage."

As he scooped Maya up into his arms, the drowsy child rested her chin on his broad shoulder and whispered, "Daddy, I want that pretty lady to be my mommy."

Julian's feet paused.

As he walked past me toward the hallway, he said quietly, "She grew up without a mother, Chloe. Can't you just—"

"Before you finish that sentence," I blocked the doorway, looking him straight in the eyes, "have you ever stopped to ask yourself why I don't have a child of my own?"

His pupils contracted sharply.

Three years of celibacy.

For three entire years, he had never even given me a real reason for rejecting me in bed.

"I married you when I was twenty-seven. I'm thirty now. Every time my mom called asking when we were going to start a family, what was I supposed to tell her? That my husband wouldn't even hold my hand?"

His grip on Maya tightened, causing the sleeping girl to whimper slightly.

"For three years, I honestly thought something was wrong with me. I went to fertility clinics, had endless exams, and—" I swallowed the lump in my throat, "I even secretly wondered if there was some scent on my body that disgusted you."

Saying it aloud didn't feel humiliating anymore.

All the humiliation had already been bled dry over the past three years.

Julian stood frozen in the hallway for a long time.

Finally, three hollow words slipped past his lips: "I'm sorry."

Three words. Weightless and empty, just like every text he had ever sent me.

*Fine. Okay. Noted. Sorry.*

"Just go," I said, unlatching the door fully. "Next time Maya gets sick, dial 911."

Once the door clicked shut, I leaned back against the wall, my palms soaked in cold sweat.

My phone screen lit up. A notification popped up from a private chat.

It was a screenshot from Evelyn in the Sterling family group chat:

*Julian took Maya over to Chloe's apartment. Looks like things are turning around.*

The family group again.

Deleted within nine seconds again.

Only this time, she hadn't been fast enough.

Because the person who took the screenshot wasn't me—it was Julian's maternal cousin, Elena.

Elena had forwarded the screenshot directly to my private message, adding a caption:

*Chloe, don't you dare look back. This whole family is running a coordinated circus act on you.*