Warren Hawkins had an unusual habit whenever he strayed: he'd book ninety-nine hotel rooms.

It was an unspoken understanding in their marriage—a game with no rules.

Ninety-nine rooms, so that by the time Liberty Phillips could track him down, she'd have run out of hope.

Every time, Liberty would go—no matter the hour, the place, or what she had on her plate. She'd wander the hotel's vast maze, knocking on every single door until she found the one where Warren sat beside a woman, perfectly made up.

She'd kneel and say, "Warren, can we go home? I miss you."

But today was different.

Warren's assistant, Kimora Rogers, had sent Liberty the usual hotel details. Liberty didn't go. Instead, she sat in the living room by the coffee table, a divorce agreement spread out in front of her.

Why? Three days earlier, her best friend Ensley Price had sent her a photo.

"Libby, is this your husband?"

The picture showed Warren cradling a newborn. Beside him stood a woman—not some young girl, but in her early forties, gracefully aging yet unable to hide the telltale lines.

Throughout their marriage, Liberty had turned a blind eye to his other women. She told herself he was just playing around. Those women left no trace.

But a child was different. A child meant permanence with another woman.

She called Warren immediately.

"Warren, where are you?"

"At a company dinner. Why?" His voice sounded relaxed, the quiet background clearly not a dinner party.

Liberty didn't bother exposing his lie.

"I need to ask you something, and I want you to be truthful."

A pause.

"Is that child yours?"

Silence.

Warren, who usually owned up to his affairs with ease, hesitated this time. After a long moment, he finally said, "Yes."

Biting back tears, Liberty hung up.

She remembered their wedding night agreement. "I understand that families like yours live differently. I won't ask you to be with only me, but no other woman should have your child. That's my bottom line."

Warren had laughed, pulling her close. "Alright," he said. "I promise."

Years of tolerance hadn't brought them closer. Things only spiraled further out of control.

She looked at the photo of Warren holding the child, and it hit her: her life for the past three years had been a charade.

——

In the hotel's presidential suite, Warren stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, a cigarette dangling between his fingers. A woman in a red dress sat on the bed behind him, idly scrolling through her phone.

It was already 2 AM.

Yawning, the woman asked, "Mr. Hawkins, is your wife coming tonight?"

Warren didn't answer. He glanced at Kimora's phone. The message had been read, but no reply. He frowned, sending another: "Mr. Hawkins is in an even-numbered room tonight."

Still nothing.

Warren sat by the window, the ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts. He stared at his phone, checking it every few minutes. By dawn, he was still there, having barely slept a wink.

Meanwhile, Liberty slept soundly. She lay on the couch, waking at 9 AM. For the first time while Warren was off with someone else, she got a full night's rest.

She picked up her phone to text Warren about meeting at the courthouse to file for divorce. Just as she was about to open the chat, a news alert flashed across her screen.

It was the business section headline: "Warren Hawkins, CEO of Hawkins Corporation, announces the birth of his son, stating his wife is in great health."

Liberty froze. She reread the words several times, making sure she wasn't seeing things. The article detailed how at 5 AM, Warren had used the company's official account to announce that he and his wife, Liberty, had welcomed their first child—both mother and son doing well—and thanked everyone for their well wishes.

Thousands of congratulatory comments flooded below. Her stomach churned with nausea.

Hearing the door open, Warren walked in. Liberty sprang up, shoving the phone with the news article in his face.

"Why claim that child is mine? Warren, you're trying to pass off another woman's child as mine?"

Rubbing his brow, Warren hesitated. "Liberty, the child..."

"Enough! We're going to the courthouse now for a divorce."

Warren's gaze, once uncertain, turned cold.

"Do you think the Hawkins family is somewhere you can just waltz in and out of?"

Liberty was stunned.

"The announcement just went out, and now you want a divorce. How will that look for Hawkins Corporation?"

Listening to his words, Liberty shook with fury. "If you won't go, I will. The court will grant us a divorce."

"Liberty, you can throw a fit, but not right now."

He intended to say the child wasn't his. But his pride wouldn't let him explain. As the sole heir of Hawkins Corporation, he commanded both the market and romantic pursuits at will. No one had ever made him justify himself, let alone beg someone to stay.

"We'll discuss the divorce once the attention from the announcement dies down." He turned, reaching for the pack of cigarettes on the coffee table.

"I won't accept that!" Liberty stormed toward the door.

The bodyguards outside blocked her. Warren exhaled a slow puff of smoke.

"Take Mrs. Hawkins to the third-floor guestroom. She is not to leave without my permission."

Liberty backed away quickly, bolting for the foyer and gripping the door frame with everything she had.

Standing in the center of the living room, Warren watched, expression unchanged, as she clung to the frame, refusing to let go.

"Move quickly," he ordered.

The guards hesitated no longer. They pried her fingers off the door frame, one by one.

Crack.

A piercing scream tore from Liberty's throat as her fingers were forcibly bent back.

They dragged her to the guestroom, tossed her in, and locked the door from outside.

Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that the man she once desperately wanted to hold on to would become the one she couldn't escape from, no matter how hard she tried.

Liberty Phillips had been locked away for a full week.

During all that time, Warren Hawkins hadn't come to see her once. The only faces she saw were the staff, showing up like clockwork morning, noon, and night with food and water. Liberty's fingers were swollen, dark bruises spidering across her knuckles. Even the slightest movement sent a fresh throb of pain through her hands.

At Warren's insistence, her phone had been confiscated—he didn't want her posting anything online that might tarnish the Hawkins name.

On the seventh evening, the door swung open. Warren stood on the threshold, sparing her only a quick glance. Just behind him in the hallway, a servant waited with a set of clean clothes.

"Get ready. We have visitors," he announced.

A week of confinement had drained Liberty's resistance. She rose mechanically and walked to the door. Pausing beside Warren, she looked up at him.

"My finger is broken," she said.

His gaze flicked to her swollen fingers for a fleeting second, then shifted away. "I'll have a doctor see to it," he replied flatly, turning and walking off.

Liberty stood in the hallway, watching his back until he disappeared down the stairs.

The servant handed her the clothes, lowering her voice. "Ma'am, please change quickly. Mr. Hawkins Sr. is on his way."

Liberty hesitated briefly. Since retiring, Mr. Hawkins Sr. had mostly stayed out of the spotlight, and she'd only met him a handful of times.

When she reached the first floor, the living room was already occupied.

Valentin Hawkins—Warren's father—sat in the center of the sofa. Beside him, cradling the baby from the photograph, was the woman they'd been discussing.

As Liberty entered, Valentin gestured toward an empty seat. "This is Hailey Castro. She'll be the nanny looking after the baby," he announced. His gaze then settled on Liberty. "Liberty, while Hailey is here, everyone in this household should treat her with respect."

The words were spoken gently, but they weren't a request.

Liberty opened her mouth to say something, but one look at Warren's indifferent face made her swallow the words down.

Valentin lowered his gaze, cooing and playing with the baby in his arms, his expression soft.

Warren, on the other hand, just sat there watching.

Liberty couldn't shake a sense of unease, though she couldn't say exactly why.

After a while, Valentin handed the baby back to Hailey, rose alongside Warren, and the two of them left the room together. Before leaving, he reiterated to the household staff how Hailey was to be treated and instructed the butler to prepare the guest room for her stay.

The room emptied until only Liberty and Hailey were left.

Standing by the couch with the baby in her arms, Hailey's demeanor shifted. The humble mask was gone, replaced by a small, smug smile that curled at the corners of her lips as she looked Liberty over.

"What happened to your hand, Mrs. Hawkins?" she asked, nothing but nosy curiosity in her voice.

Liberty ignored her.

Hailey settled into the main chair, placing the baby in her lap and gently rocking him. She glanced up at Liberty. "You heard Mr. Hawkins Sr., right? Make sure you don't cause me any trouble."

Liberty studied her, acutely aware of the throbbing pain in her finger.

"You're just a nanny. Why would I bother with you?"

"Good," Hailey replied casually, eyes still on the baby. "I've been sitting here for a while, and I'm getting thirsty. Would you mind getting me a cup of coffee, Mrs. Hawkins?"

Liberty stood her ground, a small laugh nearly escaping her. This woman, new to the household, was already trying to assert her dominance. Expecting the lady of the house to pour her coffee—this wasn't about thirst. It was a power play.

Liberty chose not to respond or move. Instead, she called toward the kitchen, "Sky, bring some coffee, please."

Hailey chuckled softly—a quiet, unsettling sound. "No one makes it quite like you, though. I'd much prefer it if you poured it, Mrs. Hawkins."

Sky appeared with a coffee tray, hesitating just inside the doorway, her eyes flicking between Liberty and Hailey. Liberty didn't want to drag Sky into this, so she took the cup herself and bent to pass it over.

As her hand reached Hailey's, Hailey's fingers clamped around Liberty's injured one and squeezed—hard and deliberate.

Liberty's breath caught. Her grip went slack. The cup fell. Scalding coffee splattered across the baby's face.

The infant's shrill cry pierced the room, shredding its fragile silence. His face flushed red, his mouth stretched wide in a heartbreaking wail, his little body writhing in Hailey's arms.

"Blame me if you want, but leave the child out of this!" Hailey screamed, her voice sharp and panicked.

Warren Hawkins got wind of what happened at home while he was still in his meeting.

He walked through the door looking darker than a thundercloud. Without even taking off his coat, he made a beeline for Hailey Castro.

Hailey was holding the baby, his little face covered with a damp cloth, still whimpering, his cheeks red and dotted with blisters.

"What happened?" Warren’s voice came out low and heavy, like the air itself was weighed down.

Hailey looked up, eyes swollen and red, voice shaking. "Mr. Hawkins, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have asked Mrs. Hawkins to handle the coffee. She must have done it by accident... the baby’s face got burned, and the doctor said there might be a scar."

She kept talking in front of Warren, never once directly blaming Liberty Phillips, but every single word pointed right at her.

Warren turned to look at Liberty. She stood by the coffee table, her left hand hanging limp at her side, swollen fingers still trembling.

She opened her mouth to explain—it wasn’t like that, Hailey was the one who squeezed her hand. But before she could get a word out, Warren was on her.

The slap came so hard it sent her sprawling sideways, her forehead smacking into the corner of the coffee table.

"I thought you were just being difficult. Never figured you for cruel."

Liberty lay on the floor, ears ringing. Words of defense rose to her lips, but all that came out was the metallic taste of blood from her split lip.

Everything blurred to black. The last thing she heard was the shuffle of feet—Warren carrying the child away, Hailey following, and the rest of the staff trailing after them.

No one tended to her.

When Liberty woke, all she saw was white.

Someone had brought her to the hospital.

Her broken fingers had been reset and bandaged. The pain still throbbed, but at least it had dulled.

A nurse came in, holding a stack of reports.

"Ms. Phillips, your test results are back."

Liberty took them, her eyes skimming the dense medical terms before stopping on a line halfway down.

Four weeks pregnant.

She was pregnant.

Pregnant at the exact moment she wanted nothing more than to divorce Warren Hawkins. A sudden emptiness washed over her.

But as she stared at the stark print, her mind fought against it while her body’s instinct took over.

Without thinking, she placed her hand on her stomach, gently stroking it.

"Baby," she whispered to herself, so softly even she barely heard it, "Why now?"

The door swung open.

Warren came in after the baby’s check-up, Hailey trailing behind him. The baby had ointment smeared on his face and was already asleep.

Warren stopped when he saw Liberty was awake, his gaze flicking to the report in her hand.

Liberty didn’t have time to hide it.

Hailey leaned in, glanced at it, and her expression shifted in a heartbeat.

She snatched the report, eyes glued to the word "pregnant," then shot a look back at Liberty, a strange mix of emotions on her face.

"You’re pregnant?" Hailey could barely believe it.

Warren paused, his eyes lingering on the paper.

He studied it for a few seconds, then his brow started to crease, his mouth opening to speak.

"Mr. Hawkins." Hailey cut him off.

She shifted the baby in her arms. "The announcement came out just a week ago, saying Mrs. Hawkins gave birth. Now she’s pregnant, four weeks along. If you do the math, she was already carrying when you made the announcement."

Warren’s words died in his throat.

"No woman can have two kids at the same time, unless they’re twins," Hailey added casually, glancing down at the baby in her arms like it was just a passing remark.

The room went dead silent.

Warren stood at the foot of the bed, quiet for a long moment.

His brows went from a slight furrow to a hard line, his gaze shifting between Liberty’s face and her stomach.

Then, he broke the silence.

"Terminate the pregnancy."