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When she came to, she was in a bed, still receiving blood through the line in her arm.
A nurse came in quietly.
"Mrs. Wyndham." She still used the old title — Nurse Claire, who had always been kind to her.
"I noticed something when I was running your bloods just now. You're pregnant. About three and a half months."
The words hit Eliana like a detonation. Her mind went blank.
"What did you say?"
"It's true. The nausea you mentioned last month — you probably put it down to gastroenteritis. You missed it." Nurse Claire held out a printout gently. "Do you want me to let Mr. Wyndham know? It might change things —"
"No."
The word came out louder than she intended.
No. Absolutely not.
She was already supposed to be leaving. She took the report with unsteady hands and walked out into the corridor.
And came face to face with the last person she expected.
"Eliana?"
Maxwell Thorne was standing ten feet away. He crossed to her immediately, taking in her colour.
"What are you doing here? Where's Adrian?"
She pulled back from his instinctive reach with a surge of revulsion. "Get away from me."
"He's not treating you well, is he?" Maxwell's voice softened into something she didn't want to hear. "I told you before — I was blind back then. My head was turned by the wrong woman. I've been thinking, ever since, that maybe you're the one I —"
"I said get away from me. Can't you hear?"
She raised her voice, but the effort cost her. She swayed.
Maxwell caught her before she could fall, pulling her instinctively into his arms, his expression raw.
"I'm a terrible person, I know that. But you weren't exactly fair to me either. Did Adrian ever know you were in love with him? Back then you married me knowing you didn't want me — and the night before the wedding I saw you crying over his photograph. If you could care that much about him, why couldn't you ever turn around and see me?"
Eliana went rigid. The terror of being seen was written plainly across her face as she wrenched herself free.
"Eliana."
A voice like a thundercrack behind her.
Adrian. Standing in the corridor, staring at them, his expression burning with something she used to be able to name.
"He was just helping me stay upright," she said.
"That again?" Adrian's voice went cold. "Same excuse. Twice in a row."
"Adrian, stop —" Maxwell straightened to full height, his jaw set. "Eliana isn't what you think she is."
"Oh —" Something shifted in Adrian's face. A sharp laugh. "I'm sure she's not. Eliana is a paragon of virtue. Nothing like what I've been saying."
"It's very convenient that you keep turning up wherever she is."
"Oh — what's this? Is that a pregnancy report?"
Serena's voice cut across everything — she'd appeared from somewhere behind Adrian, and before Eliana could react she'd snatched the paper out of her hands.
A wail went up that turned heads down the hallway.
"Adrian — she's pregnant — you promised me you wouldn't —"
Adrian's face changed.
In the months since he'd started pushing for the divorce, there had been one night when Eliana had put something in his drink. She'd told herself it was the only way to reach him — that maybe if they were together again, he would remember. He'd woken the next morning with self-loathing all over his face. He'd scrubbed himself clean and stared at her with contempt.
Eliana. I don't know how low you can sink. Sleep with me to try and drag me back? I'll never change my mind. Never.
He'd written out a cheque and thrown it at her.
For your trouble. Satisfied?
She had never told him she'd done it because she needed him. Because she was desperate. She had never explained. She had let it be another wound between them.
And now, on that one night —
Adrian's eyes were on her like blades.
"Is it even mine?"
She pressed her hand to her stomach instinctively. "It's mine. It has nothing to do with you."
He stepped forward and pushed her back against the wall.
"So it isn't mine." His voice dropped. "Then get rid of it."