The morning sun streamed into the hospital corridor, a stark contrast to the gloom of the previous night. Claudia sat on a bench outside her father's room, eating a stale sandwich from the vending machine. She felt grimy and exhausted, the stress of the last twenty-four hours settling into her bones.

"Claudia?"

The voice was warm, familiar, like a favorite song from childhood.

She looked up. Standing there, holding a bouquet of yellow tulips, was Jaylen Craft.

Jaylen. Her neighbor growing up. Her best friend before marriage and duty tore her away. He had moved to Silicon Valley five years ago and made a fortune in tech.

"Jaylen?" Claudia stood up, the sandwich forgotten.

He smiled, and it was like the sun coming out. "I heard about your dad. I flew in as soon as I could."

"You came back?"

"For you? Always."

Tears welled in her eyes again-her hormones were a wreck. She stepped forward, and he opened his arms. She buried her face in his chest. He smelled of clean soap and rain, nothing like the heavy, expensive scents of Ezequiel's world.

"I'm so tired, Jay," she whispered into his shirt.

"I know, Claud. I know. I've got you."

He rubbed her back soothingly. For the first time in days, she felt safe.

Ding.

The elevator doors opened.

Ezequiel stepped out. He was holding a large arrangement of lilies-probably a token gesture for her father, or maybe he was on his way to see Alexa again and got off on the wrong floor.

He stopped dead.

His eyes locked onto them. Claudia saw his pupils contract. His jaw clenched so hard a muscle feathered in his cheek.

She pulled away from Jaylen, guilt flushing her cheeks even though she had done nothing wrong.

Ezequiel walked toward them, his strides long and predatory. He didn't look at Claudia. He looked at Jaylen.

"And who might this be?" Ezequiel asked, his voice dropping to a temperature that could freeze water.

Jaylen didn't back down. He straightened his jacket and met Ezequiel's gaze. "Jaylen Craft. An old friend."

"Craft," Ezequiel repeated. "The tech guy."

"That's right."

"What are you doing hugging my wife?"

"Comforting her," Jaylen said smoothly. "Since her husband seems to be absent."

Ezequiel's eyes flashed. He dropped the flowers onto a nearby chair-carelessly, ruining the petals-and stepped between them. He claimed the space with aggressive dominance.

He reached out and wrapped his arm around Claudia's waist, pulling her hard against his side. His large hand splayed possessively over her stomach.

Her breath hitched. His hand was right there. Right over the baby.

"She is my wife," Ezequiel snarled. "She doesn't need comfort from outsiders."

"She looks like she needs a lot of things she isn't getting," Jaylen retorted, glancing at Ezequiel's hand on her with distaste.

"Get out of here," Ezequiel said. "Before I have security throw you out."

"I'm leaving," Jaylen said. He looked at Claudia, his eyes soft. "Call me if you need anything, Claudia. Anything at all."

He turned and walked toward the elevators.

Ezequiel watched him go, his body vibrating with tension. He didn't let go of her. His hand tightened on her stomach.

"Is he the reason?" Ezequiel whispered in her ear.

"What?"

"Is he the reason you want the divorce? So you can run back to your childhood sweetheart?"

"You're the one who wanted the divorce!" she cried, trying to pry his fingers off her.

"Maybe I changed my mind," he muttered, looking at where Jaylen had disappeared. "Maybe I don't like other men touching what belongs to me."

Ezequiel dragged her into the stairwell, the heavy fire door slamming shut behind them, cutting off the sounds of the hospital. The concrete space echoed with their breathing.

He crowded her against the wall, his hands planted on either side of her head, trapping her.

"Is he your lover?" he demanded. "Is that where you go when you disappear?"

"You are insane," Claudia said, staring up at him. "Jaylen is a friend. Unlike you and your 'victim' upstairs."

"Don't deflect," he snapped. "I saw the way you looked at him. You never look at me like that."

"Because he is kind to me!" she shouted. "Because he doesn't treat me like a piece of furniture!"

Ezequiel flinched as if she had slapped him. He stared at her mouth, his gaze intense, confusing. For a second, she thought he was going to kiss her.

Then he pulled back, his mask of indifference sliding back into place.

"Remember our deal," he said coldly. "We are playing the happy couple for Grandmother. If I see you with him again, the deal is off. I'll pull the funding for your father's company so fast your head will spin."

"You wouldn't," she whispered.

"Try me."

He turned and stormed out of the stairwell.

Claudia stayed there for a moment, shaking. Her heart was racing so fast it hurt.

When she finally composed herself and went back to the waiting room, Jaylen was there. He hadn't left.

He was sitting with a thermos.

"I brought you porridge," he said gently. "I remember it was the only thing you could eat when you were stressed in high school."

She sat down next to him, taking the warm cup. The contrast between Ezequiel's violence and Jaylen's care broke something inside her.

"Thank you," she choked out.

Jaylen reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded letter. "And I brought this."

She opened it. It was a letter of recommendation for the Fellowship program at the Sorbonne Medical School in Paris. Signed by the Chief of Surgery.

"How?" she asked, wide-eyed.

"I know the dean," Jaylen said. "I told him about you. About how brilliant you were before you... quit. They have a spot open for next semester. It starts in September."

"Paris," she whispered. It was her dream. And it was exactly where Granddame had told her to go.

"You can leave him, Claudia," Jaylen said softly. "You can have a life. Your own life."

She looked at the letter, then at her stomach. In Paris, she could be a doctor. She could be a mother. She could be free.

But right now, she was trapped by debt and lies.

Suddenly, a sharp cramp seized her lower abdomen. It was different from the earlier pain. It was a deep, dragging ache.

"Claudia?" Jaylen touched her arm. "You're pale."

She stood up, panic rising in her throat. She felt a warm wetness between her legs.

She looked down.

On the light grey fabric of her pants, a small, dark red stain was blooming.

"No," she gasped. "No, no, no."

"Claudia!" Jaylen jumped up.

She grabbed his arm, her nails digging in. "Jaylen, help me. Please."

"I'll get a doctor," he said, looking at the blood.

"No!" she hissed. "Not here. Not Ezequiel's doctors. If they find out... he'll know. He'll take everything."

"Okay," Jaylen said, his voice steady despite the alarm in his eyes. "I know a place. Dr. Aris. He has a private clinic on the third floor, totally off the books for VIPs. I can get us in."

"Take me," she begged.

He scooped her up into his arms without hesitation. He ran toward the service elevators, carrying her and her secret away from the prying eyes of the Sanford staff.

Meanwhile, in his office high above the city, Ezequiel stared at the security footage on his screen. He watched Jaylen carry his wife toward the service exit.

He picked up his phone.

"Sterling," he said, his voice deadly quiet. "Get me the logs for the service elevators at the hospital. And find out exactly who Jaylen Craft is meeting with. I want every detail."

He paused, looking at the frozen image of Claudia's distressed face.

"And check the OBGYN department logs again," he added, a nagging suspicion clawing at his gut. "The footage was corrupted yesterday. I want it recovered."