Chapter 4 - The Woman Who Wanted an Heir
Celeste Cross did not look like a woman capable of frightening anyone.
She was sixty-two, elegant, silver-haired and impeccably dressed.
She carried no weapon.
She raised no voice.
She entered Alina’s hospital room carrying soup.
That frightened Alina more than Matteo’s anger.
“My darling,” Celeste said. “You look exhausted.”
Dorian stood between them.
“Mother.”
Celeste stopped.
“What?”
“How did you know Alina was here?”
A pause.
Then a sigh.
“Must everything be an interrogation?”
“Answer.”
“The driver told me.”
Dorian turned toward Marco.
Marco shook his head.
Celeste noticed.
Her expression cooled.
“This is absurd.”
Alina watched her carefully.
For three years, Celeste had been unfailingly polite.
Never loving.
Never openly cruel.
She treated Alina like a temporary guest who had overstayed politely.
Then there had been the subject of children.
When?
Soon?
Have you considered a specialist?
The questions had stopped six months ago.
Exactly when Dorian began distancing himself.
Alina suddenly understood.
“You knew.”
Celeste looked at her.
“Knew what?”
“That someone entered our bedroom.”
Silence.
Dorian’s eyes hardened.
“Answer her.”
Celeste placed the soup on the table.
“I knew there had been a security concern.”
“You knew everything,” Dorian said.
“Not everything.”
“Did you order the surveillance?”
“No.”
“Did you know Matteo was communicating with Soren?”
Her expression shifted.
That was enough.
Dorian stared.
“You knew.”
“I knew your brother was angry.”
“You covered for him.”
“He is my son.”
“So am I.”
Celeste’s composure cracked.
“And that is precisely why I did it!”
Her voice echoed through the room.
Alina had never heard her shout.
Celeste lowered her voice.
“I spent thirty-five years watching this family destroy itself. Your father died believing power was the only thing keeping us alive. Matteo believed him. You rejected everything.”
“I rejected crime.”
“You rejected the structure protecting us.”
“No. I rebuilt it.”
“And nearly got yourself killed doing it.”
Celeste looked toward Alina.
“Then she came.”
Alina’s spine stiffened.
Dorian stepped forward.
“Careful.”
Celeste laughed bitterly.
“There. That. You would burn every bridge for her.”
“Yes.”
The answer came instantly.
Everyone fell silent.
Alina looked at him.
Dorian did not look away from his mother.
Celeste’s face softened with something almost like grief.
“That was what terrified me.”
“You tried to destroy my marriage because I loved my wife?”
“I tried to make you understand vulnerability.”
“You put her in danger.”
“I never intended harm.”
“Intent does not erase consequences.”
Celeste looked at Alina’s stomach.
Dorian immediately shifted, blocking her line of sight.
Celeste noticed.
Then something unexpected happened.
Tears filled her eyes.
“Is it true?”
Alina said nothing.
“Are you pregnant?”
Dorian answered.
“That is none of your business.”
“I’m her grandmother.”
“You haven’t earned that word.”
Celeste flinched.
Alina watched three generations of damage move through the room without anyone naming it.
Dorian’s father had taught his sons that control was love.
Celeste had learned secrecy as survival.
Dorian had promised himself he would be different.
Then danger arrived.
And he had repeated the same pattern.
Alina understood him now.
Understanding did not mean forgiveness.
“Dorian,” she said.
He turned.
“I want to leave.”
“We have a secure floor upstairs.”
“No. I want to leave the hospital.”
“Where?”
“My apartment.”
“No.”
One word.
Immediate.
Instinctive.
Alina’s expression changed.
Dorian realized his mistake.
He closed his eyes.
Then tried again.
“Your apartment may not be secure.”
“Better.”
“Better?”
“You gave me information instead of an order.”
Celeste stared between them.
Dorian almost smiled.
“Then may I suggest somewhere safer?”
“Suggest.”
“The lake house.”
Alina considered it.
The property was isolated but heavily secured.
“Fine.”
Dorian nodded.
Celeste stepped forward.
“Dorian—”
“No.”
She stopped.
“You will not come near Alina until I understand your involvement.”
“I’m your mother.”
“And she is my wife.”
Alina’s breath caught.
Dorian’s eyes closed briefly.
“Was,” he corrected.
The word landed heavily.
The divorce.
For several hours, everything else had eclipsed it.
But the final page remained unsigned.
They were still legally married.
Not because they had reconciled.
Because Alina had vomited before they finished destroying their marriage.
Later that evening, she sat in the back of another armored sedan.
Dorian sat across from her.
Neither spoke for twenty minutes.
Finally she said, “You meant it.”
“What?”
“When you told your mother you would burn every bridge for me.”
“Yes.”
“Then why couldn’t you say you loved me?”
His answer came quietly.
“Because if the people watching us believed I loved you, they would keep using you.”
“And if I believed it?”
His eyes met hers.
“That was the part I underestimated.”
“What part?”
“How much losing your love would cost.”
Alina looked away before he saw her tears.
They reached the lake house after midnight.
Dorian walked her to the bedroom.
He stopped outside.
“You take the room.”
“Where will you sleep?”
“Downstairs.”
She nodded.
He turned away.
“Dorian.”
He looked back.
“Why did you agree to the divorce?”
His face tightened.
“Because you asked me to let you go.”
“That simple?”
“No.”
“What was the complicated answer?”
He stood there for several seconds.
Then said, “I would rather live without you than bury you.”
He walked away.
Alina closed the bedroom door.
For the first time in six months, she understood why her husband had broken her heart.
And for the first time, she wondered whether understanding might make everything even harder.
Because beneath the anger, beneath the betrayal, beneath every signature on those divorce papers—
she still loved him.
And downstairs, Dorian received a message that made his blood run cold.
May you like
A photograph of Alina sleeping upstairs.
Taken less than two minutes earlier.
