He stiffened, his face closing up tighter than a fist, while the panic in his eyes transformed to something close to revulsion. No, this was not the usual first-time father fears. This was something else.
“Greyson? What’s going on?”
“I know she’s not mine, Olivia,” he said, his voice emotionless, his face frozen into a mask of indifference . . . but his eyes. So much hate and rejection.
It distracted her so effectively that it took a second for his words to sink in. And when they did, she didn’t react, didn’t move, didn’t do anything but stare at him for an endless moment. She understood the words but couldn’t quite fathom the meaning. She broke down the statement and tried to restructure it in a way that would make sense. Because currently, it was all wrong and couldn’t possibly be what he had meant to say.
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” she finally admitted, wondering if she was developing some kind of aphasia. Hearing things wrong. It could happen. A complication of childbirth. For a second the possibility seemed so real—more real than what she’d actually thought she’d heard—it terrified her.
“I can’t have children,” he said, still in that terribly controlled voice. Libby continued to stare at him, completely confused. What was he saying? She shifted her gaze to her baby and then back up to his face.
Did he mean that he didn’t want children?
“What?”
“For fuck’s sake,” he snapped impatiently, finally losing some of that control and shocking her again with his language. “Drop the act, Olivia! I’m infertile, and I don’t know whose fucking kid that is—or maybe I do—but I know for sure that she’s not mine.”
These words were real; she wasn’t imagining them or hearing him wrong. He was actually saying these truly reprehensible things.
“You’re not infertile,” she said, her voice faint. “Of course you’re not. We just had a baby.”
“You have a baby. I have a cheating wife trying to foist another man’s kid off onto me. And I’m sick of this sham.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Olivia, stop this. I’m exhausted—I just don’t have the energy for your games, and I refuse to pretend anymore.”
“If you thought this was all a pretense, a lie, why didn’t you say something before now?” she asked. Her voice lacked heat, sounding as confused as she felt. What was this? Yes, he’d been absent and disinterested during her pregnancy, but she hadn’t ever considered that this was what was churning away just beneath that perpetually moody surface.
“I was hoping you’d both just admit it and release us all from this fucked-up situation.”
“We both? Who’s the other party in this scenario?”
“We can discuss this tomorrow; I’m tired. I’m heading home.”
“No! You can’t just leave after these ridiculous accusations!”
“You can’t deny it, Olivia. The fact is I’m infertile, and you just had a baby. So there’s no way in hell that child is mine.”
“You’re going to regret this, Greyson,” she predicted, the shock and hurt fading a bit to be replaced by absolute fury and indignation. She welcomed those emotions; they made her feel less vulnerable, less fragile . . .
“I really don’t think so, Olivia. My only regret is not ending this farce sooner.”
“I’ll never forgive you for this,” she promised, her voice hushed.
“I’m not the one who needs forgiveness here.” His voice was grating and seemed to scrape across her sensitive nerve endings, leaving her feeling lacerated and raw. He picked up his jacket, draped it over the crook of his arm, and moved toward the door.
“If you leave now, don’t bother coming back.” She wasn’t going to let this hateful, cold man anywhere near her child ever again. He didn’t deserve to be her father.
“Don’t worry, there’s no chance of that,” he said with a humorless little chuckle before giving her his back and striding from the room.
Libby kept her dry, burning eyes glued to his departing figure. Hoping for some sign that he had doubts . . . or regret. One look back. Anything.
But he left without hesitation, and she sagged back in bed, her hold tightening on her defenseless sleeping baby.
Don’t look back!
Greyson kept his eyes fixed forward. He refused to give her the satisfaction of looking back. All these months . . . willing her to just own up to her deception. Wishing both of them would afford him the respect of admitting to their disgusting infidelity.
He hated what they had done to him. Hated that he hadn’t been able to find the words to confront them about it.
Hated them.
He had waited for one of them to admit to the affair, hoping he wouldn’t have to confront them. But neither of them had said a word. They had allowed this day to come. Allowed their baby to be born and expected Greyson to just . . . what? Be her father?
He wasn’t sure when the affair had started. They had always been close. Always been such good friends. It had grated . . . how often Greyson had come home to find him there. So comfortable in Greyson’s home and so at ease with his new wife.
Greyson strode blindly toward the elevator. He was grateful to find himself alone in the metal cubicle once the doors slid shut. He leaned back against the wall and gripped the railing so tightly his palms hurt.
He longed to get home. Longed to close himself off from the world and break something. No. Break everything.
He thought back to the moment he’d absolutely known they were cheating. That day he had seen them having lunch together in an exclusive restaurant. Heads bowed; talking, laughing, whispering . . . so clearly delighted to be in each other’s company. Neither of them had ever been that easy in his company. They hadn’t seen him, and he hadn’t approached them. When he had asked her over dinner what she had done that day, she had lied to him. Blatantly lied. Said she’d had lunch with Tina.
Of course they were cheating on him. Why the fuck else would she lie about having lunch with Harris when she saw him all the time?
The elevator dinged open, and he blindly strode out and toward his car. He climbed in but didn’t start the vehicle; he merely sat behind the wheel, staring blankly out at the almost-deserted basement parking lot.
Greyson hadn’t confronted her about the lie, but that was when he had started retreating. His and Harris’s birthday had been just a few days after that . . . but, knowing that she would feel obligated to celebrate the occasion with him, he had fabricated a two-day business trip on their birthday weekend. He had hated the thought of playing nice with her and Harris. Had absolutely despised the idea of pretending that everything was fine when his life was falling apart at the seams.
After his return from the unnecessary trip, she had presented her news to him like it was some bizarre belated birthday present. He vaguely recalled her nattering on about wanting to surprise him with the news on his birthday. But in the shock of the moment, he hadn’t been paying much attention to anything else she’d had to say. Greyson had loathed the idea of that baby. Of everything it represented.
The baby was here now. And he was shaken to the core by how very much he had found himself wishing that the lie Olivia had concocted was the truth. He had watched, unseen for a few moments, while she had breastfed the baby. And had wished—desperately wished—he had been the one to give her that child.
Harris had given her the one thing Greyson never could. And seeing how happy she was with that baby in her arms made him feel even more inadequate than he had when he had realized that she’d been unfaithful to him. He had never made her that happy. Could never make her that happy.
When Harris returned half an hour later after a pleading phone call from her, Libby simply burst into tears. Harris’s appearance—so painfully identical to her husband’s—finally pushed her over the edge.
“What’s this? What’s wrong, Bug? Is the baby okay?” he asked, all concern, as he wrapped her in his arms. It took a while for her to get t
he story out, and by the time he managed to decipher exactly what it was she was saying in between the sobbing and stuttering, he had dropped his arms and was staring at her with an incredulous, infuriated expression on his face.
“Wait, are you telling me my idiot brother doesn’t believe that the baby is his?” he asked, searching for complete clarification. And a fresh stab of hurt and humiliation hit her as she nodded.
“What the fuck?” Harris muttered beneath his breath and shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. He glared at the floor, shaking his head, obviously as confused by this as she was.
“H-he says he’s infertile,” Libby whispered, plucking a tissue from a conveniently placed box on the bedside table and blowing her nose messily. “I don’t understand this at all. I swear to you, I haven’t slept with anyone else.”
“Libby, I wasn’t even thinking that,” Harris promised, and his resolute faith in her made her resent Greyson’s lack of trust even more. “Look, we’ll get to the bottom of this, okay? There has to be some kind of misunderstanding.”
“No misunderstanding at all. Your brother’s an asshole, and I’m ending this disaster of a marriage as soon as I can.”
“No. You can’t do that. Just give him a chance to fix this.”
“Harris, what does it say that you’re here fighting for his marriage while he hasn’t even bothered to touch his own child? Don’t you get how completely bizarre that is? I don’t care about his reasoning—we never should have married. I don’t know why he pushed for it in the first place.”
“I thought maybe it was because of the pregnancy,” Harris confessed, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.
“Initially, I did too. The first time we slept together was . . .” She hesitated, blushed, and then rolled her eyes at her own stupid embarrassment. “It was my first time. Don’t ask,” she forestalled him, lifting a hand when Harris frowned and looked like he was about to comment on that. “I was celibate and not on anything. He used a condom, but it broke. He didn’t seem overly concerned about it, but immediately after that he mentioned marriage. I figured it was because of the broken condom; I mean, before that night I had always believed that he felt nothing but indifference toward me. I brushed it off . . . but he kept asking. Even when it became evident that I wasn’t pregnant after that first mishap. I know I should have refused his proposal, but he made it seem—ugh, you know Greyson—he made it seem so logical. Like I’d be silly not to agree to his proposal.
“I hesitated at first, but the way he was—we were—together . . . it felt like something more, something real, was developing between us. It felt like a fairy tale, and I was a complete idiot for allowing my past infatuation to color my decisions. I bought into the ridiculous happily-ever-after fairy tale. I foolishly thought that maybe he harbored similar rose-colored visions of the future. I expected this perfect life with this perfect man, but it was nothing like what I imagined it would be. He worked long hours; he rarely confided in me or spent time with me. I mean, you saw what he was like, those evenings he’d come home while you were visiting. He’d be so surly and uncommunicative. Barely a hello before retreating to his study. We had our moments, but they were few and far between, and nonexistent after I told him about the baby.
“I was such an idiot. I was blinded by my own lust and infatuation. I think, realistically, I knew marrying him was a mistake. I knew I was being stupid, but I thought he liked me, that maybe he could love me. I can’t believe I actually thought we had a plausible reason for marriage. Hindsight tells me I was grasping at straws.”
She shook her head. Disgusted that she had been so stupid at the ripe old age of twenty-six. Stupid and embarrassingly naive.
“Now he says he can’t have children, and I-I’m just so confused. I don’t know why he pushed for marriage. I don’t know what he wanted or wants from me. All I know is that he seems to hate me. And I think—I’m sure, after tonight—I hate him.”
“I know he’s been a moody bastard lately,” Harris said. “More so than usual. He wouldn’t talk to me and has been picking arguments for no reason, but he wouldn’t fucking tell me what the problem is. But there must be something else going on. Let me talk to him and see what’s going on in that head of his. Don’t do anything rash until you’ve heard back from me.”
“Rash? I’m sorry, nothing I do now will be rash . . . he spent the last seven months thinking the absolute worst of me. He never let on, he made me believe that we had something real . . .”
Only he hadn’t. Not really. The first two months of their marriage hadn’t been perfect, but she had told herself they needed to get used to each other, used to married life. It had felt like the start of something potentially good. But now, looking back on that promising beginning, she realized that it had only been sex. Lots and lots of really hot sex. The times not spent in bed, he’d been at work, and they had rarely had any meaningful conversation.
Libby had always known that he was naturally reticent; Greyson had never been one to let anyone—even his own twin—close. He was buttoned down and closed in. She had figured it would take time for him to get used to the idea of having her around, having a mate he could share his thoughts and feelings with.
And then the last seven months, after she’d announced her pregnancy, had been completely joyless and frigid, without even sex to foster the impression of closeness. Now that she thought back on it, she considered all those moments she had spoken to him about the baby, consulted him—despite his blatant lack of interest—on nursery decor, urged him to consider names. She remembered the missed ob-gyn appointments, that first ultrasound test (the one Tina had attended with her), and the scary fall after which she’d started spotting. Her parents, Tina, Harris—even her less-than-friendly mother-in-law, Constance, for heaven’s sake—those people had been there for her. Greyson hadn’t.
Not once.
And Libby had made excuses, while her husband had barely bothered to offer a single one. He was busy; it was a difficult time of transition in the company, with new contracts, old contracts, business meetings/trips/dinners . . . she’d only been fooling herself. He had never shown an inkling of interest in her or the baby.
Their marriage had ended with a positive pregnancy test, and she hadn’t even realized it was dead until now.
“Look, just give me some time to get to the bottom of this. You know how Greyson can be. He never says what he’s really feeling . . .”
“Oh, believe me, there’s absolutely no doubt about his real feelings, Harris. He looked at us like he hated us. He looked at my baby like she was the most repulsive thing on the face of this earth. I won’t have him anywhere near us ever again.”
“Libby . . .” Harris ran a frustrated hand through his hair. He kept it a little longer than his brother did, but the gesture still reminded her of Greyson, and Libby fought back a pang of pure agony as she understood that she would never see her husband again. That the man she’d thought she knew, thought she loved, had never existed beyond her imagination.
“I’m going there right now,” Harris said decisively. “I’ll be back later. Don’t worry, Bug. We’ll get this straightened out.”
Frustrated that he wouldn’t listen to her, didn’t understand, Libby just stared at him, refusing to respond. He would have to see for himself.
Harris squeezed her shoulder and dropped a kiss on top of her head. He hesitated for a moment, looking like he wanted to say something more, before leaving without another word.
Libby blinked back tears as she watched him leave and then dragged out her phone. She scrolled through her contacts before finding the one she needed. The one person she knew she could rely on, who would have her back without question.
“Tina? I need you. Please, can you come back? It’s urgent.”
Chapter Two
The loud, obnoxious knocking took a while to register. Greyson, completely wiped after his long journey, had come home and—going against the cardinal rule of combating jet lag—
fallen into bed, succumbing to sleep almost immediately.
He hated personal confrontation. Professionally, he had a reputation for being an aggressive go-getter. But he liked keeping things neat and tidy in his personal life. He didn’t do ugly scenes, which was why he had allowed his farce of a marriage to continue for so long. It had felt like a kick to the groin when Olivia had so smugly announced her pregnancy, looking at him with that bright, sunny smile, her face expectant, while she waited for him to fall all over himself at the prospect of that baby.
The faithless, cheating bitch. He should have ended this months ago. But he had hoped she and her lover would decide that they were better off together and do the deed for him.
But today, when she had so proudly tried to introduce him to his “daughter” . . . he shook his head. Her absolute gall had sickened him. Who knew? Maybe she didn’t know which one of them was the father. Greyson didn’t much care what her reasoning was . . . all he knew was that it wasn’t him, and now that she knew the possibility of Greyson being the dad was zero—and understood that he knew about her infidelity—she could go and play house with Harris.
The pounding at the door continued, and Greyson grunted before levering himself out of bed and making his way to the front door of the huge penthouse apartment in the V&A Waterfront in Cape Town that he had shared with Olivia these last nine months. He had given the maid the night off after getting home, ignoring the woman’s excited congratulations.
He dragged the front door open and grunted when Harris stormed into the apartment, slamming his shoulder aggressively against Greyson’s as he shoved past him.
“What the fuck, Greyson?” his brother seethed.
Greyson bristled, offended that his brother dared invade his privacy like this. What was he doing here? Was he here to apologize? He could take his fucking apology and shove it up his ass. Greyson would never forgive him for what he had done.
The thought of Harris touching Olivia, kissing her, stroking her . . . seeing every part of her. It was enough to make Greyson feel physically ill. All his life he’d had to compete with his fucking brother. They’d shared a womb, and despite being born first, Greyson had been the weaker of the two babies, constantly plagued by ill health throughout his childhood because Harris had taken the lion’s share of nutrients in vitro.
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