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.