Chapter 5: Slaps, Lies, and Divorce

The guards cleared the room and closed the restaurant doors.

The click of the lock echoed, sealing us in.

With no outsiders present, Rachel exploded.

Her voice rose, shrill and furious.

“Michael, I’m a Covington—the real thing—and now I’ve been humiliated by this country girl. Don’t you think you owe me and my family an explanation?”

Her maid stepped forward, glaring at me.

No way I was just going to stand there and take it. If I lost my temper and accidentally killed Rachel, the whole act would be ruined.

I bit my tongue until blood filled my mouth and went pale. “You… you’re the heir!”

I made a show of swaying on my feet, clutching my belly.

With that, I closed my eyes and fainted into Michael’s arms.

He caught me, strong hands steady.

Let’s see if Rachel dares have me beaten now that I’ve fainted.

Michael picked me up and said coolly, “She’s carrying my firstborn. After she gives birth, she’ll be handed over to Rachel to deal with as she sees fit.”

His words were cold, calculated—a warning to everyone in the room.

So ruthless, Michael—truly worthy of a Sterling.

He brought me back to the Sterling estate and called for the family doctor.

The car ride was silent, tension thick between us.

The doctor said cautiously, “Based on the exam, she’s about four months along. She just needs some prenatal vitamins.”

His hands shook as he examined me, sweat beading on his brow.

Michael asked, word by word, “Four months?”

His voice was ice, each syllable a threat.

Michael had left Maple Heights more than six months ago. If I was four months pregnant, the child couldn’t possibly be his.

The math didn’t add up, and everyone in the room knew it.

Damn that idiot Syndicate boss—he sent me the wrong fake prenatal records. Can’t even tell four months from six—are his eyes just for show?

I cursed under my breath, already plotting my next move.

Might as well have killed me himself.

I heard the doctor drop to his knees. Michael was silent for a while, then dismissed him.

The silence stretched, heavy as a tomb.

He sat by my bed, his large hand slowly closing around my neck.

His grip was gentle, almost tender, but the threat was clear.

Michael wanted to strangle me to wipe away the disgrace.

I tensed, ready to fight back if I had to.

In that moment, my breath went shallow. I gripped the knife in my sleeve, ready to take him hostage and escape.

My pulse thundered in my ears.

But I didn’t escape the Sterling estate.

Something in his eyes shifted—anger curdling into denial. He let go, stepped back, and insisted the child in my belly was six months along.

He spun a new story, convincing himself—and everyone else—that the impossible was true. I watched in disbelief, realizing just how far he’d go to protect his pride.

The next day, word spread from the family clinic that the doctor who treated me had retired to the country.

Retired, or disappeared? In the Sterling world, it was often the same thing.

Michael had a list of every male escort at The Blue Note.

He flipped through the names, his face unreadable.

“Shifter, if you had to choose, would you pick one of those whores at The Blue Note, or me?”

He held the thin sheets of paper, his face utterly cold.

Even after more than a decade in the life, he still gave me chills.

His eyes were bottomless, impossible to read.

I hid in the shadows, saying nothing. I realized he didn’t actually want an answer.

Sure enough, Michael didn’t press. He just laughed quietly. “I must be crazy—how could those whores compare to me?”

The laugh was sharp, brittle.

He stood by the window, his profile tense.

For a moment, he looked almost human.

Soon, his security chief came to report: “Sir, The Blue Note in Anson County burned down last night. All the escorts died in the fire.”

The words hung in the air, heavy as lead.

I clung to the beam, not daring to make a sound.

My knuckles turned white, nails digging into the wood.

Michael showed no emotion—just casually burned the list in his hand.

The flames flickered, consuming the names and the past.

Only then did I realize—he wasn’t the gentle scholar from Locust Lane who cooked and warmed the bed for me. At twelve, he was already in the family’s cutthroat world, his hands stained with blood. At fifteen, he took out a rival family’s golden boy. At twenty, he beat a senator’s son half to death for being an idiot.

He was Michael Sterling—holding the power of life and death, ruthless, believing only in himself.

The stories I’d heard were true, and then some. I wondered how I’d ever mistaken him for anyone else.

Yet somehow, the thought of manipulating a man like him made me even more excited.

Danger was an old friend, and I couldn’t help but be drawn to the challenge.

Michael ordered me to guard the pregnant woman in the North Garden without leaving her side.

His tone brooked no argument.

I obeyed.

Sometimes, the best way to survive was to play along—at least for now.

As his wedding to Rachel Covington approached, he grew more tense.

He paced the halls at night, snapping at staff, his nerves frayed to the breaking point.

Well, if I were Michael, I’d go crazy too. Flirting with Rachel by day, soothing me at night. Playing both sides—no wonder he was losing it.

I watched him juggle the lies, wondering how long he could keep it up before it all came crashing down.

When I was about to leave, he added, “I mean it—even if you die, you mustn’t let her get hurt.”

His eyes bored into mine, the weight of his command clear.

I thought, maybe I’ll just pull out a few hairs and throw them in your face.

The urge to rebel was strong, but I kept it to myself.

I said respectfully, “I’ll risk my life to protect her.”

My voice was steady. My smile? Pure habit.