Claudia dug her fingernails into her palms, the pain grounding her. She looked straight into Ezequiel's eyes, summoning every ounce of acting ability she possessed.

"I am not pregnant," she said, her voice steady and hard. "I have acute gastritis from stress. Because my husband is trying to bankrupt my father while sleeping with his ex-girlfriend."

The lie hung in the air.

Ezequiel let out a breath he seemed to have been holding. His shoulders relaxed. A smirk touched his lips.

"See?" He turned to his grandmother. "She's not pregnant. Just sick. Sick with jealousy."

Granddame stared at Claudia. Her eyes were intelligent, probing. She didn't look convinced, but she nodded slowly.

"Very well," she said. "Dinner is served."

They moved to the long dining table. It was set for three, the distance between them vast. The silverware gleamed under the crystal chandelier.

Servants appeared silently, placing plates in front of them.

"Trout Meunière," the chef announced.

The smell hit Claudia like a physical blow. The scent of warm butter and fishy oil wafted up from the plate. Her stomach convulsed violently. Saliva flooded her mouth-the precursor to vomit.

She grabbed her water goblet and downed it in one go, trying to wash away the nausea. She breathed through her mouth, staring at the fish's dead eye.

Ezequiel was watching her, a frown creasing his forehead. He noticed the sweat beading on her upper lip.

"So," Granddame said, slicing into her fish. "I hear the actress is back in town."

Ezequiel's knife screeched against his plate. "Alexa is not an actress. She is a victim."

"A victim?" Granddame let out a dry chuckle. "That woman is no victim, Ezequiel. She is a survivor, I'll give her that. But she is the type who knows exactly when to jump ship. She left when the water got rough, didn't she?"

The room went deadly silent.

Ezequiel stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. His face was red with rage.

"That is a lie!" he shouted. "You forced her out! You threatened her family!"

"I offered her a choice," Granddame said calmly, buttering a roll. "I told her what life would be like if the company failed. I told her there would be no parties, no jewels, just hard work. And she made her decision. She chose the easy way out."

"You poisoned her against me!" Ezequiel slammed his fist on the table. The silverware jumped. "She told me everything. She told me how you tormented her. And now I'm going to make it right. I'm going to marry her."

"Over my dead body," Granddame said. "You will not bring that gold-digger into this house."

Ezequiel spun toward Claudia, his eyes wild. "Did you tell her? Did you tell Grandmother that Alexa was back?"

Claudia looked up, startled. "No. I didn't say anything."

"Who else would it be?" He pointed a finger at her. "You're the only one who gains from this. You're poisoning my family against her!"

"I didn't!" she cried.

"You are a snake, Claudia. A quiet, manipulative snake."

Granddame's hand moved faster than Claudia thought possible. She grabbed the heavy silver napkin ring from beside her plate and hurled it.

It flew across the table and struck Ezequiel squarely on the temple.

"Enough!" she screamed. "You ungrateful boy! Do not speak to your wife that way!"

Ezequiel stumbled back, his hand flying to his head. When he pulled it away, his fingers were stained red. A trickle of blood ran down the side of his face.

The servants gasped. Claudia stood up, her hand over her mouth.

"Ezequiel!" She took a step toward him, her instinct as a doctor kicking in. "Let me see."

He slapped her hand away. "Don't touch me."

Granddame stood up, her face purple with rage. She opened her mouth to shout again, but no sound came out. Her hand clawed at her chest.

Her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed.

"Granddame!" Mrs. Higgins screamed.

The old woman fell backward, her chair tipping over with a crash.

Ezequiel forgot his bleeding head instantly. He vaulted over the fallen chair and caught her just before her head hit the floor.

"Call 911!" he roared at the staff.

Claudia was already moving. She pushed past the paralyzed maids and dropped to her knees beside the old woman.

"Lay her flat," she commanded, her voice sharp and authoritative. "Undo her collar."

Ezequiel looked at her, surprised by the sudden change in her demeanor. He hesitated.

"Do it!" she yelled.

He obeyed, fumbling with the high lace collar of her dress. Claudia placed two fingers against her carotid artery.

"No pulse," she muttered. "She's in cardiac arrest. Get the AED from the medical room. Now!"

She interlocked her fingers, placed the heel of her hand on the center of Granddame's chest, and began compressions.

One, two, three, four.

"Stay with us," Claudia whispered, her hair falling into her face as she pumped. "Come on, Granddame."

The house doctor arrived two minutes later with the crash cart. He took over compressions while Claudia grabbed the ambu-bag to ventilate. They worked in tandem, a seamless medical unit, while Ezequiel stood pressed against the wall, pale and useless.

By the time the paramedics arrived to transport her to the on-site medical suite-the estate was equipped like a mini-hospital-they had a rhythm back. It was weak, but it was there.

Ezequiel stood in the hallway outside her room, pressing a handkerchief to the cut on his forehead. The blood had dried into a dark crust.

He stared at the closed door, then turned his gaze to Claudia.

"If she dies," he said, his voice shaking, "it's on you."

"On me?" Claudia laughed, a hysterical, bubbling sound. "You're the one who screamed at her. You're the one who defended the woman who abandoned you."

Ezequiel stepped forward, towering over her. "Don't you dare talk about Alexa."

"The doctor said she needs absolute calm," Dr. Evans emerged from the room, interrupting them. He looked grave. "Her heart is operating at thirty percent capacity. Any shock, any stress, any emotional upheaval could be fatal. Do you understand?"

He looked pointedly at Ezequiel. "No arguments. No bad news."

Ezequiel swallowed hard. He nodded.

The doctor left. Ezequiel leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

"We can't divorce," he said.

The words hung in the air.

"What?" Claudia asked.

He opened his eyes. They were dull, defeated. "Grandmother thinks we're still married. If I tell her I'm leaving you... if I introduce Alexa now... it will kill her."

Claudia's heart hammered against her ribs. This was a trap. If she stayed, living in the same house with him, how long could she hide the pregnancy? Her belly would start to show in weeks.

But she had no choice.

"Fine," she said. "We pause the divorce."

"Until she recovers," he added quickly. "Three months. Maybe four."

"And the loan?" she asked. She saw her opening and took it. "The divorce is paused, but Valentine Group still needs that money tomorrow."

Ezequiel looked at her with renewed disgust. "Is that all you care about? Money?"

"It's all you've left me," she shot back. "I'll play the loving wife. I'll live here. I'll hold your hand in front of her. But you transfer the two hundred million to my father's company account by 9:00 AM."

He stared at her for a long moment, as if trying to reconcile the woman bargaining with him with the silent wife he thought he knew.

"Done," he spat. "Sterling will handle it."

He pushed himself off the wall and walked away toward the guest wing. He didn't look back.

Claudia slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor. She had won the money. She had saved the company. But she had just locked herself in a cage with the man who wanted to destroy her.

It was past midnight when Mrs. Higgins tapped on the door of the guest room Claudia had claimed.

"She's asking for you," she whispered.

Claudia wrapped her silk robe tight around her waist, double-knotting the belt to obscure her figure, and went to Granddame's room.

The room was dim, lit only by the monitors beeping softly. Granddame looked small in the massive bed, her skin grey against the white sheets.

She waved her hand feebly, dismissing the nurse.

"Come here, child," she rasped.

Claudia approached the bed and took her cold, paper-thin hand. "I'm here, Granddame."

She squeezed Claudia's fingers with surprising strength. Her eyes opened, clear and sharp.

"I know you lied," she whispered.

Claudia's breath hitched. "Granddame, I-"

"Hush." She cut her off. "I know you are not happy. I see the way you look when he is not in the room. You are fading, Claudia. You are sick with misery."

Tears pricked Claudia's eyes. She nodded, unable to speak. The old woman didn't know about the baby, but she saw the pain. That was enough.

"He is a fool," Granddame said softly. "Blinded by that woman. But you... you have strength. I saw you today. You saved me."

"I just did what I had to do."

"You did more than that." Granddame pulled her closer. "Listen to me. If it becomes too much... if you need to leave before I am gone... I will help you. I have accounts in France he doesn't know about."

"France?"

"Go there. Study. Live. Don't let him crush you."

"I can't leave yet," Claudia whispered. "Not while you're like this."

"Stubborn girl." A small smile touched Granddame's lips. "Just remember. You have options. You are not a prisoner."

The door handle turned.

They pulled apart instantly. Ezequiel walked in. He had changed into fresh clothes, but he looked haggard.

He saw Claudia sitting by the bed and frowned. "You should be resting, Grandmother."

"I wanted to talk to my granddaughter-in-law," she said, her voice weak again.

Ezequiel looked at their joined hands. A flicker of something-jealousy? exclusion?-crossed his face.

"I'll take you home," he said to Claudia. "Or... to your room."

"I'm staying at my father's house tonight," Claudia said quickly. "To pick up some things. And to check on the house."

He nodded stiffly. "I'll drive you."

The car ride was suffocating. Ezequiel drove fast, the sports car tearing down the highway.

Claudia clutched the door handle, her other hand over her stomach. "Slow down," she murmured.

He glanced at her. "What?"

"Slow down!" she shouted. "I get carsick."

He slammed on the brakes, slowing the car to a crawl. He looked at her, really looked at her, in the dim light of the dashboard.

"You've been sick a lot lately," he said slowly. "Carsick. Food poisoning. Gastritis."

"I have a weak stomach," she said, staring out the window. "And your driving doesn't help."

"The money will be in the account tomorrow," he said, changing the subject.

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me. It's a transaction."

He pulled up to the curb of the Valentine townhouse. She got out without looking back.

Inside the empty house, Claudia didn't sleep. She paced the floor, packing a small bag, checking her phone every ten minutes for updates on her father. The house felt like a mausoleum, filled with the ghosts of her family's former glory.

As dawn broke, she washed her face, drank a glass of water, and called a cab to take her back to the hospital. She couldn't face Ezequiel again yet. She needed to be where she was needed.

Inside his car, Ezequiel watched the house lights go on, then drove away. He dialed Sterling.

"Transfer the money," he said. "And Sterling? I want a full audit of the Valentine Group. And get me the security footage from the hospital. I want to know exactly where my wife went yesterday."