When Dayna arrived on the executive floor, Clara was waiting by the door, nerves showing in her posture.

Clara's warning was quick and quiet. "Tread lightly. Mr. Roberts's in a foul mood."

With a nod, Dayna straightened her shoulders and entered the office.

"Dad—" She didn't even get the word out before a magazine sailed across the room, the edge catching her cheek and leaving a thin sting behind.

Glenn Roberts stood rigid behind his desk, eyes blazing. "What is this, Dayna? Care to explain?"

Vincent might have managed to scrub the story from the Internet overnight, but there was no calling back print. One of those magazines had landed right here, in Glenn's hands.

A cold gleam passed through Dayna's gaze. "If I told you Michael did this on purpose, that none of it was my fault, would you believe me?"

"None of it was your fault?" Glenn slammed a palm on the desk, pointing a finger straight at her. "You're not just any employee. You're Roberts Group's director and head designer. You know exactly how Apex Entertainment's media works. If Michael stirs up trouble, the whole family suffers!"

Her face stayed blank, voice steady. "If you're worried about the Clarke family, don't be. Almost no one knows Vincent and I are married. His reputation is safe."

But Glenn refused to listen. "You've kept Vincent at a distance for three years—just waiting for your old flame to show up so you could pick up where you left off? You have no idea how much you've let me down."

Dayna's hand tightened at her side, and her eyes—icy, silent—met his without wavering. There was no warmth in her expression, only a calm frost.

For a moment, Glenn hesitated. In that look, she was the mirror image of her mother. His voice turned even sharper. "You're going to apologize to Vincent. Remember, you don't just represent yourself—you carry the entire Roberts family."

A short, dry laugh slipped from Dayna's lips. All her life, that was all they saw—a bridge to the Clarke fortune, never a daughter.

Glenn's tone grew heavier, words landing like weights. "You're going to do what's needed. We have a massive branding campaign coming up, and Vincent's investment is crucial. Right now, your job is to keep him happy—whatever it takes."

Lifting her head, Dayna's voice cut through the tension. "You're talking about the same campaign built on Mom's old sketches, right? The ones you trot out every time you need approval? Even after everything, you're still squeezing her for every last drop."

"Watch your mouth, Dayna!" Glenn shouted, hand raised in sudden anger.

Before his hand could fall, the door swung wide. The entire atmosphere shifted.

Vincent appeared in the doorway, his expression impossible to read, but the air crackled with presence. He must have caught the tail end of their exchange.

Glenn's fury vanished in an instant. His arm dropped, and a hasty smile flickered on his face. "Vincent! I didn't expect you here today."

Dayna's gaze slid past her father, cold and unwavering.

Vincent entered, flawless in his suit, one hand tucked in his pocket, the other holding her forgotten purse. His eyes passed over her with a brief, searching look.

Glenn rushed to fill the silence. "What a surprise. Please, have a seat. Dayna can bring you coffee."

"That's not necessary. I came to return her bag." Vincent lifted it slightly, then added, "I also wanted to take a look around while I'm here."

Despite the connection between the Roberts and the Clarke families, this was Vincent's first visit to Roberts Group. Glenn could barely contain his excitement, immediately shifting focus to business. "About that proposal I mentioned—have you had a chance to review it?"

Vincent loosened his tie, his voice composed and cool. "I've had a packed schedule. I'll get to it when I'm able."

Glenn swallowed his eagerness and nodded, turning sharply to Dayna. "Don't just stand there. Go on, give Vincent a tour."

Dayna turned away from her father without a second thought, walking straight out of the office.

She made her way back to her workspace, hearing Vincent's footsteps behind her a moment later.

Clara and Zayne stood nearby, lingering at the threshold.

Fighting to keep her voice steady, Dayna accepted the purse from Vincent. "I rushed out earlier and left it behind. Thanks for bringing it over."

Vincent's gaze lingered on the thin red mark marring her cheek—a silent acknowledgment of what had happened between her and her father.

Slipping his hands into his pockets, he spoke up unexpectedly. "Do you want me to get involved?"

Dayna looked at him, thrown off by the question. "What do you mean?"

"Your father's branding project," he said, voice matter-of-fact. "I haven't reviewed the details yet. But if you actually think it has merit, I'll take a look."

Her teeth pressed gently into her lower lip. "Roberts Group only managed to stay relevant in luxury because of my mother's legacy. She was the creative force behind everything. For years, my father's cashed in on her name—selling her designs, pushing me to hand over my own work. I'm done letting him bleed her dry."

Meeting his eyes, she straightened her shoulders. "I know Roberts Group made it this far with help from Clarke Group. But I'm sure I can turn things around myself. All I'm asking for is a little time."

The certainty in her voice made Vincent pause. A subtle nod, almost approving, passed over his face. "Alright. I get it."

Relief washed over her features. She took a small step forward, meaning to thank him, but her foot snagged on the edge of the rug and she stumbled.

Vincent reacted instantly, reaching out and steadying her with an arm around her waist.

In an instant, the space between them vanished, and Dayna's pulse hammered so hard she felt dizzy.

She realized she was flush against Vincent's chest, the shape of her lips stamped in rose on his crisp white shirt.

Heat crept up her neck as embarrassment swept over her. "I... I didn't mean to. I just tripped."

Vincent looked down, eyes lingering on her blushing cheeks, then leaned in until his words tickled her ear. "If you want to be close to me, you only have to ask. No need to stumble into me."

Dayna's cheeks turned an even brighter shade, the heat of embarrassment rising up to her hairline.

Just then, the door swung open and Clara stepped inside. She stopped short, her eyes going wide as she took in the scene—Dayna caught in Vincent's arms, far too close for a simple work conversation.

Whatever was left of that charged moment vanished. Dayna quickly stepped back, regaining her composure and clearing her throat. "What is it, Clara?" she asked, doing her best to sound unaffected.

Clara hesitated, then found her voice. "There's a meeting about to start. They're waiting on you."

Vincent, unfazed, remained cool and composed. "You should get going," he said to Dayna. "I'll see myself out."

He strode away, Zayne falling in step behind him.

As soon as Vincent disappeared, Clara hurried over, practically vibrating with excitement. She whispered, "Oh my gosh, Dayna, you two looked amazing together! And Mr. Clarke—His eyes were practically glued to you."

Dayna shot her a look, seeing the eager gleam in Clara's eyes. "Didn't you say there's a meeting starting? You'd better get ready."

"I got it! But next time he stops by, I swear I'll knock first," Clara promised, grinning before dashing off.

Left alone, Dayna sat at her desk, thoughts swirling. The memory of Vincent's cold gaze lingered.

He must have overheard Glenn's reprimand. Did he treat her with such care only because he pitied her?

The meeting started. Dayna took her seat at the front, focusing on the presentation. Midway through, Clara quietly slid a small tube of ointment onto the table beside her.

She glanced over, puzzled.

Clara leaned close and whispered, "Mr. Clarke sent this over. He said to use it on your cheek before it leaves a mark. Isn't he the sweetest? Dayna, you're so lucky."

Dayna only managed a small smile, tucking the ointment away without another word.

At the end of the day, Dayna gathered her files and purse, more than ready to head home—when her phone buzzed with an unexpected call.

"Ms. Roberts, do you have time for dinner this evening?"

Normally she would have declined, but this client had been with Roberts Group for years. She couldn't risk offending them, so she agreed.

At the restaurant, a hostess greeted her with a polite smile. "Ms. Roberts, your party is waiting. Right this way."

She followed, stepping into a softly lit private room—only for her mood to drop at the sight inside.

Michael sat at the table, watching her with a familiar smile, dressed impeccably in a crisp white suit.

He stood as she entered, his voice warm and far too inviting. "Dayna, glad you could make it."

Scanning the room, she kept her tone cool. "Was this your idea?"

Michael's smile didn't falter. "We just landed a deal with Mr. Powell, but he had a last-minute conflict and asked me to attend in his place."

Without hesitation, she turned for the door. "If that's the case, I'll have to excuse myself. I have other plans tonight."

As if on cue, the door clicked shut.

Michael closed the distance, taking his time, his voice gentle but insistent. "What, you're not even going to have a conversation with me? I know I wasn't strong enough to keep you before, but things have changed, Dayna."

She met his gaze without flinching. "I'm married now, Michael. Please respect that."

Michael's smile faded, turning brittle at the edges. "You promised you'd stand by me until I made it. You said you'd never walk away."

"That's ancient history, Michael."

She reached for the door again, hoping to end it, but Michael wouldn't allow it to be that easy.

He moved quickly, sliding behind her and locking his arms around her waist. "Dayna... don't leave me like this."

Just then, the door swung open as a waiter entered with a tray, startled by the awkward scene.

Dayna's eyes flicked up—and through the open doorway, she caught sight of Vincent in the hallway.

He stopped mid-step, his entourage halting behind him.

Zayne responded instantly, guiding the group quietly down the corridor, away from the growing tension.

Vincent lingered, his presence as cold and impenetrable as winter stone. His eyes were unreadable, but he didn't miss a thing.

Panic jolted through Dayna. She tried to wrench free, but Michael only tightened his grip, fingers digging in as if he wanted everyone to see. His chin lifted, almost daring Vincent to react.

Michael was staking a claim—trying to show the world Dayna still belonged to him.

"Let go of me, Michael! What's gotten into you?" Dayna hissed, struggling against his grasp.

Vincent was known for his cool detachment, never rattled, always in control—but right now, a storm passed across his features, his stare like shards of ice.

Michael noticed, a smug grin curling his lips, as if he had just won a round.

Vincent took a single step into the room, the space between them crackling with tension. The two men faced each other, nearly eye to eye, the room charged with silent threat.

"Mr. Barnett, let go of my wife." Vincent's voice cut through the tension, low and deliberate, each word razor-sharp.

Michael stood his ground, eyes glinting with defiance. "Dayna is mine. Sooner or later, she'll realize it and come back."

A faint smile flickered at Vincent's lips, but his eyes turned hard as steel, a quiet threat swirling in their depths. "Is that what you think?"

Before Dayna could get a word in, Vincent closed the distance, claiming her hand and pulling her firmly to his side.

With one smooth motion, his palm found the nape of her neck. Without warning, he captured her lips in a searing, possessive kiss—leaving no doubt as to whom she belonged.

Dayna froze, eyes wide as Vincent kissed her, the force of it leaving her breathless.

Michael's jaw tightened, his features hardening as he watched the scene unfolding. Each second was a blow, the humiliation cutting straight through him. Rage and envy tangled inside him, and without realizing it, he let go of Dayna's wrist.

Vincent took the opening, pulling Dayna securely against him. His gaze locked on Michael, cool and commanding, every word a quiet warning. "If you're so determined to take her from me, Mr. Barnett... ask yourself first if you're even in my league."

Without waiting for a response, Vincent slipped an arm around Dayna's waist and led her from the room.

Michael stayed behind, motionless, his face livid and his hands shaking with contained fury.

Vincent skipped the business dinner. He took Dayna straight home.

As soon as they returned, Vincent headed for the bathroom, not saying a word. Dayna sat on the edge of the bed, listening to the water running, anxiety knotting her stomach tighter with every minute.

He had barely glanced at her during the drive, the silence heavy and impossible to break. She was sure he had gotten the wrong impression about everything that happened.

Her phone buzzed suddenly, snapping her from her thoughts. The caller ID flashed her stepmother's name—Amanda Roberts.

Dayna let it ring, not wanting to deal with any of it. The calls kept coming, relentless and insistent. Finally, with a sigh, she answered.

Amanda's shrill voice blared through the speaker. "Dayna! Your sister just finished at the film academy. You and Vincent need to come for dinner tomorrow—and make sure he sets her up with a role in one of his movies. She needs real experience if she wants to land a big part."

Dayna's voice cooled, her patience nearly gone. "If she's as talented as you say, let her earn it. Why should she get a handout from Vincent? What can she accomplish on her own?"

Amanda snapped back, "Clarke Group's moving into the film business, so this is the perfect time. Your sister's already won awards—anyone can see she's gifted. Just bring it up to Vincent. I know he'll say yes."

Dayna's answer was cold. "Those awards mean nothing, and I've got enough on my plate. Stop calling me with this nonsense."

She ended the call with a sharp tap and set her phone aside.

Just then, the bathroom door opened and Vincent stepped out, hair damp and a robe knotted casually at his waist, towel in hand.

Dayna stood, quick to bridge the distance. "You're out already? About what happened earlier—I swear I had no idea Michael would be there. It was supposed to be a client dinner."

"I got it," Vincent simply replied, his voice unreadable, giving nothing away.

She took that as a sign he believed her and let out a quiet breath. "I'll get your pajamas."

Dayna ducked into the closet, eager for something to do.

Vincent watched her disappear, eyes unreadable, then tossed the towel aside and sank onto the sofa with a glass of water.

Moments later, her phone rang again.

He glanced over. Amanda's name flashed across the screen. Almost without thinking, he picked up.

Amanda's angry voice filled the room. "You ungrateful brat! How dare you hang up on me? Your sister deserves your support, and don't forget—your father says you'd better give Vincent an heir soon, or you can forget about Roberts Group!"

Footsteps sounded from the hallway. Vincent quickly ended the call.

Dayna returned, pajamas in hand. "Here you go."

Vincent didn't reach for them. Instead, he watched her for a moment, then asked, unexpectedly gentle but direct, "Dayna, do you actually want a child?"

Dayna stood still, surprise flickering across her face.

Not once in their marriage had the topic of children come up. She had always assumed he wasn't interested. For him to mention it now—was this his idea, or was pressure from the Clarke family behind it?

She hesitated, then gave the only answer she could. "If you want a child, I won't say no."

Vincent's eyes turned darker, unreadable. Setting his glass aside, he reached for her and pulled her down onto his lap.

She let out a soft gasp as she landed against him, feeling the tension thrumming in his body. Gone was the calm, distant mask—his expression had turned sharp and cold.

With a hand at her chin, his voice dropped to a chill. "Would you do anything for your family, Dayna? No matter the cost?"

Her teeth pressed into her lower lip, words failing her.

Deep down, she knew the answer. Roberts Group owed everything to Clarke Group, and she had agreed to this marriage to keep her father's company alive.

If he asked anything of her, no matter how unreasonable—she would probably go along with it.

Vincent shifted, lowering her gently to the sofa, looming over her with a storm in his eyes.

He made quick work of her clothes, leaving her exposed to the cool air, each movement edged with something urgent and unyielding.

This wasn't like before—he was harsher, need sharpened by something almost bitter.

When he went into her, Dayna bit her lip to stifle a cry, a quiet tremor escaping despite herself. A tear slipped down her cheek.

Vincent's mouth traced the line of her face, pausing when he tasted salt. His body froze, and his eyes landed on her furrowed brow.

In that instant, whatever had fueled his anger seemed to fall away. "Are you in pain?"

Dayna blinked back tears and gave a shaky nod, her whole body quivering as she clung to him for warmth, needing his presence more than she wanted to admit.

Vincent said nothing, but the roughness in his touch melted away, each movement becoming more careful, as though he feared breaking her.

When they finished, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her straight to the bathroom, gently helping her clean up.

Her legs threatened to give out beneath her, so he swept her up once more, laying her softly in bed and pulling the blankets around her.

Just as he turned to leave, Dayna's hand shot out from beneath the blanket, her fingers catching the hem of his shirt.

"Where are you going?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, worry woven through the words.

She feared he was still upset.

"I have some things to take care of in the study," Vincent replied, his tone steady and impossible to read.

"Okay." Dayna nodded slowly, letting her grip slip away.

Left alone, Vincent moved to his office, sorting through paperwork. His phone vibrated with a call from Zayne. "Mr. Clarke, I've sent over the Apex Entertainment dossier."

He hung up and opened his laptop, eyes scanning for what mattered.

Skipping past the financial summaries, Vincent landed on the final page. "Apex Entertainment's new president, Michael Barnett, is the illegitimate son of Harold Barnett. One year ago, Harold's legitimate heir died unexpectedly, plunging the family into crisis and tanking the stock. To restore order, Harold called Michael back and handed him control of the company."

Vincent sank deeper into his chair, his gaze turning heavy as realization settled in. That explained Michael's sudden return, and as for his background as an illegitimate son, it was obvious Dayna had never been told.

He had barely shut his laptop when a loud crash echoed from the bedroom.

On instinct, Vincent was already on his feet. When he rushed inside, he found Dayna crouched near the table, one hand pressed to her abdomen, pain etched clearly across her face.

Dropping beside her, he steadied her shoulders. "What's wrong?"

Her breath came uneven as she tried to answer. "I went to get some water... and then my stomach started hurting. It hurts a lot."

As she spoke, Vincent's eyes caught sight of red soaking into the pale fabric of her nightdress.

His expression changed at once. Without hesitation, he lifted her into his arms. "We're going to the hospital."

Dayna clutched his sleeve, as if she wanted to say something, but the pain surged again, stealing her voice before she could get the words out.