The fact that Bryan hadn't had a child yet weighed heavily on Cody's mind.

Summoning the young couple into his study, he fixed them with a look of stern authority.

"Bryan, you and Willa have been married four years now," he said, voice carrying the weight of expectation. "Let's be frank—when are you two going to give me a great-grandchild?"

Willa's lips pressed into a thin line as her gaze flickered briefly to her own belly.

She didn't utter a word.

Bryan finally broke the silence. "Stuff like this doesn't happen overnight," he noted with a shrug.

"Utter nonsense!" Cody snapped, his cane thudding sharply against the floor. "You're just making excuses and brushing off what I've said."

A gentler look crossed his face as he shifted his gaze to Willa.

To him, she had always been the model granddaughter-in-law—gentle, patient, swallowing every grievance without complaint.

Without a hint of emotion, Bryan kept his face unreadable. "Grandpa, I'm just telling the truth. These things can't be rushed."

That only stoked Cody's irritation. He lifted the cane again and gave Bryan a firm tap on the shoulder.

"Enough out of you! Don't think I missed the news that made the rounds online last time..." He broke off mid-sentence, his tone flipping in an instant as he smiled kindly at Willa. "Ah, maybe my old eyes were fooling me. Willa, if this brat ever dares to mistreat you, you come straight to me."

Those words made Willa's chest tighten as she remembered the cold reception she had received from Bryan over the past four years. Her nose stung, and tears welled before she could stop them.

Standing close, Bryan wore a grim look, the crease between his brows growing sharper. "Seriously? You're crying over something this small?"

For a moment, Cody stiffened, convinced Bryan had actually done something unforgivable. "Apologize to Willa this instant," he commanded.

"Grandpa, I haven't wronged her. There's no reason I should be apologizing," Bryan countered, just as Cody's cane cracked against his knee.

A low grunt escaped him, his leg buckling from the blow.

Startled, Willa dabbed at her tears and quickly said, "No, really, it's nothing. A little bug flew into my eye, that's all."

Bryan shot her a frigid glance and muttered under his breath, "Willa, are you crying on purpose just so I'll get blamed?"

He dismissed her tears as another bout of needless dramatics.

"I'm sorry," Willa murmured, forcing a smile. "I didn't mean to—there really was a bug."

Cody drew in a slow breath and handed her a packet of tissues, his tone softening. "I'll give you two a little more time," he said meaningfully. "But don't forget—I'm still waiting for a great-grandchild."

Once they stepped out of the study, Willa slipped back into the guest room.

She opened her laptop, her fingers trembling as she typed—medical abortion risks during early pregnancy. Line after line filled the screen, each more terrifying than the last.

She was so absorbed that the faint sound of the door opening slipped right past her.

A tall shadow crossed the light behind her, the air shifting as someone came close enough for her to feel it—warm breath brushing the back of her neck, sending a chill through her spine.

Jolted by surprise, Willa slammed her laptop shut, pulse hammering in her ears.

"What are you looking at?" Bryan drawled, his tone sharp with suspicion. "You look like you've been caught red-handed. What's on there—something indecent?"

He leaned closer until his broad chest brushed against her narrow shoulders, the faint scent of cologne and heat closing in. His brows drew together as he realized how much weight she'd lost since the last time he'd held her.

Forcing calm, Willa slid the laptop to the side. She said coolly, "Just porn."

Bryan's mouth twisted into a smirk. "Porn, huh? Tell me, are you that desperate for intimacy? Or is it that I fail to satisfy you in bed, and now you've started watching garbage to make up for it?"

The dam of her restraint finally cracked. Four years' worth of frustration burned through her voice. "I used to think you were good-looking enough to make up for your flaws," she sneered. "Even if you didn't last long, I could live with it. But it turns out, you're terrible at it too. Guess I have to look elsewhere for satisfaction."

That fierce defiance had always been part of her. If not for being blinded by love back then, she would never have entangled herself with Bryan, no matter how rich he was.

Bryan's lip curled into a cruel sneer. "I'm not taking that."

Their closeness was suffocating. He could feel the soft press of her chest against him—unexpectedly full for her slight figure.

His voice dropped, low and dangerous. "You like crying in front of Grandpa so much? I can make you cry for real, and in a thousand different ways. Want me to prove it?"

Though he felt a physical pull toward her, he wrote it off as mere desire.

Despite herself, Willa's cheeks flushed, betraying both disbelief and the faint stir of heat his brazen words provoked.

Willa folded her arms, her voice dripping with disdain. "It seems even Cody knows about your little romance with Miss Wall. How do you plan to explain that? If you've got the guts to admit you cheated, I might even applaud you for your honesty."

Bryan's brows drew together as he shot back, "I didn't cheat."

Willa met his gaze coolly. "I know what I saw, Mr. Scott. From the moment you lit those fireworks for her and had your mother fussing over her, our marriage was finished."

Bryan arched a brow, voice dipping low. "Then tell me why your face is turning red. Grandpa mentioned he wanted a great-grandchild—what's your plan?"

His rough fingertips grazed her lips, the contact igniting a sudden desire within him

Without so much as a twitch, she kept her features locked in perfect stillness. "You won't even have kids with me, but we're still pretending this bullshit matters? Should I find another man to make that happen?"

His expression chilled like frost cutting through the air.

He hissed, "If you dare find another man, I'll tear the Fletcher family apart piece by piece."

A stabbing ache shot through Willa's chest. "Four years, Bryan. We've only shared a bed once. Even if Cody's desperate for a great-grandchild, I can't pull one out of thin air."

She knew that even if she told him about the pregnancy, he would dismiss it. And since she'd already decided on divorce, the abortion was only a matter of time.

Bryan's gaze drifted over her delicate face, his eyes narrowing. "So what you mean is, I haven't fucked you enough? Then maybe it's time I fix that."

He leaned in, his breath warm and sharp as he tried to claim her lips.

Her lashes trembled before she drove her heel into his foot. "If you're so desperate, go find Caylee. Whatever we had is already dead—you've got no right to touch me."

Pain shot up his leg, tightening every nerve in his body.

The tension in the air thickened as Bryan furrowed his brows.

Without warning, he seized her wrist and yanked her against his chest, forcing her back into his hold. His lips crashed down on hers, fierce and unrelenting, prying her mouth open as though to claim every ounce of defiance she had left.

Willa's knees nearly buckled, her body turning pliant under his grasp, sustained only by the firm pressure of his hand at her waist.

His breath came rough and uneven; his mouth consumed hers with bruising hunger, leaving her gasping for air as his other hand traced a reckless path along her trembling frame.

The room thickened with heat and tension—his ragged breathing tangled with her stifled sobs.

Then, the fragile stillness shattered when a sharp knock split the air. Bryan froze mid-motion, his fingers still caught in the fabric of her dress.

"Mr. Scott, your phone's been ringing—it's Miss Wall," a servant said, her voice slicing through the charged air.

The sound jolted Bryan back to himself. The heat in his gaze hardened to ice as he shoved Willa aside and strode to the door.

When he pulled it open, the servant froze, her cheeks flushing at the sight before her—Bryan's shirt askew, Willa's face scarlet as she fumbled to smooth her dress.

Bryan grabbed the phone and pressed it to his ear. Caylee's voice came through in soft, broken sobs.

"Bryan… my stomach hurts. Could you come to the hospital?"

The moment she finished speaking, the line went dead without warning.

The last trace of desire drained from Bryan's eyes. He turned toward Willa, who sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, her expression unreadable, a chill emanating from her like frost.

An uneasy irritation crawled up his chest. "I'm heading out. If Grandpa asks, tell him I went to the office."

Her quiet nod came without protest. She had long accepted that his heart belonged elsewhere. Whatever secret tryst awaited him beyond their walls no longer concerned her.

The part of her that once acted on love had finally gone still.

…

At the hospital, Caylee gripped the sleeve of Bryan's coat with trembling fingers. "I'm sorry, Bryan. I shouldn't have called, but the nausea was awful, and I almost fell in the shower. I panicked… Could you stay a while?"

Her every gesture carried practiced fragility—the faint quiver in her lashes, the tremor in her voice, and the way she leaned just enough to invite his sympathy.

Bryan glanced down at his phone, finding the screen blank—no new messages, no missed calls.

"Get some rest," he said evenly, pulling the blanket over her shoulders. "Don't think too much." He sat beside her, his presence distant despite his nearness.

Caylee hesitated, teeth worrying her lip before she lifted the edge of the blanket. "Why don't you lie down? I don't mean anything by it—I just don't want you to be uncomfortable sitting there."

"There's no need," he replied curtly. "Once you're asleep, I've got to go. I've got things to handle."

Her forced smile barely held. "Do you have to go? Is it because of Willa?" she murmured.

"Of course Willa would mind. We're still married, after all." Not a flicker of emotion touched Bryan's voice.

Caylee bit back a retort and sank into the bed, fingers curling into tight fists beneath the blanket.

Out of the corner of her eye, she studied Bryan—his chiseled features lit by the glow of his phone, the faint crease between his brows betraying his focus.

A man like him—disciplined, handsome, and coldly self-contained—was the kind others spent lifetimes trying to claim.

The weight of her gaze drew his irritation. Bryan's brow furrowed, the muscle along his jaw tightening.

He despised being stared at, the scrutiny pressing against his composure like grit under skin. Out of old sentiment, he let the moment pass without remark.

Only once Caylee's breathing deepened did he rise, sliding his phone into his pocket and stepping out into the corridor.

Outside, Jarrod scrambled upright, shaking the numbness from his legs. "Mr. Scott, there's a function scheduled for tomorrow," he reported, rubbing his knees. "It's getting late—you should turn in. I've got the newest sleep aid on hand. Practically no side effects."

He knew too well that if Bryan pushed past this hour, insomnia would surely follow.

At the sight of the pills, Bryan's eyes narrowed and a crease formed between his brows. "No need."

The thought of choking down those bitter tablets repulsed him—he'd rather exhaust himself in Willa's arms.

Once their bodies unraveled together, sleep would come easily, heavy and deep till morning.

But the realization itself unsettled him, and his face darkened with irritation.

...

From that day on, Willa seemed like an entirely different woman. Around others at the Scott Mansion, she played the part of a devoted wife to perfection—gentle smiles, light conversation. But once the doors closed, she and Bryan went their separate ways.

She already had a plan in motion: to leave her husband for good and start a new life.

Lately, Bryan had been relentlessly swamped—business luncheons by day, high-profile parties by night, often working past midnight without a proper meal.

Truthfully, nothing he ate outside ever satisfied him.

He preferred mild flavors, but the trendy chefs seemed obsessed with heavy sauces.

After the latest event, Jarrod brought in takeout, setting the boxes down.

"Not to your liking?" The sight of Bryan ignoring his food, paired with that unmistakable look of displeasure, prompted Jarrod to speak.

Bryan's brows tightened, a faint look of disgust flickering across his face. "Get something lighter."

Jarrod, well aware of his boss's exacting tastes, pulled out his phone and called Willa instead.

Less than thirty minutes later, a thermal container arrived—steam curling from the lid, with neatly arranged shrimp glistening on the top layer.

The moment Bryan lifted it, he recognized Willa's cooking.

"Where is she? Bring her here," he ordered, his tone cool yet unmistakably expectant.

Jarrod hesitated, throat tightening, but eventually fetched Willa, who hadn't gone far.

She entered calmly, a simple gift bag in hand, which she set discreetly on a side cabinet before facing Bryan.

His eyes flicked toward her, his voice edged with dry amusement. "You've been unusually quiet lately—not a word about divorce. What's this about? Did you finally decide to behave, or are you planning to poison me instead?"

His long fingers circled the spoon, stirring the soup in slow, deliberate motions.

Meeting his gaze, Willa reached for the spoon, took a sip, and swallowed. "Don't worry. I'm not that stupid."

The soup that was meant to be rich and comforting left a bitter trace on her tongue.

After setting the spoon down, she dabbed the corner of her lips with a tissue, waiting until he'd finished half the bowl before stating in a flat tone, "Once you're done, we need to talk about something important."

With a slow lift of his brow, Bryan let the sarcasm drip from his voice. "Must be exhausting keeping up the act. So what's your prize—car or house?"

"I don't want anything. Just your signature." Her voice was calm but worn, stripped of fight. She reached into the gift bag and pulled out the divorce papers, neatly folded and sealed by a lawyer.

Bryan's lips twisted in disdain. Without so much as a glance, he crumpled the document and discarded it like garbage.

"Planning to make Miss Wall your mistress?" Willa sneered. "Don't forget she's carrying your child. Try not to be so damn selfish."

Four years had gone by, and she still hadn't found a place in his heart. The realization that he'd never stopped loving his ex made her feel like the biggest fool.

"Next time you bring up divorce, remember your place before you start talking nonsense. Oh, and the soup's a little salty—ease up on the salt," Bryan remarked casually, scooping up a meatball.

Before he could swallow, the bowl vanished from his hands.

Willa, face drained of color but eyes steady beneath her lashes, moved with calm precision. "Then stop eating. Wouldn't want you getting too salty yourself."

Without another glance, she turned and strode out.

In the hallway, Jarrod sprang from the couch. "Heading out already, Mrs. Scott?"

Willa gave a brief nod, her expression unreadable, already deciding she'd mash the meatballs to feed the stray cats by the gate.

When Jarrod turned back, Bryan was standing in the doorway, frowning as he stared at the half-bitten meatball still resting on his spoon.