Chapter 4
Eleanor battled the intoxicating tide of Logan’s touch, her resolve teetering as his warmth threatened to sweep her under. She bit down hard on her lower lip, the sharp sting a lifeline, tethering her mind against the seductive fog of desire that once consumed her so easily. She couldn’t surrender to this hollow intimacy—not anymore, not in a marriage stripped bare of love’s tender roots. Just then, a phone’s shrill cry sliced through the charged air, a jarring interruption to their tangled moment.
Logan’s hands stilled, but he made no move to retreat, his focus unwavering until the relentless ringing frayed his patience. With a flicker of irritation, he glanced at the screen and released her, the spell broken. “Riley” glowed in stark white letters, a name that carried the weight of inevitability. Eleanor’s eyes caught it too, and the sight twisted the knife of memory deeper. She knew this dance well—other calls he’d mute without a second thought, but Riley’s voice was a siren song he’d never ignore, answered with the immediacy of a moth drawn to flame.
His tone softened as he spoke, a velvet murmur reserved solely for her. “I’m at home… She didn’t mean anything by it; don’t let it trouble you… Yes, I’ll come see you later…” Each word was a caress, a promise that drifted through the room like incense, leaving Eleanor adrift in its wake.
She sat up, her trembling fingers fumbling with her blouse, each button a small act of reclaiming herself. Logan ended the call and turned, a teasing smile curling his lips, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Such haste to cover yourself—are you afraid I’ll unravel you again?” His voice carried a playful lilt, as if their nearness had been a game she’d lost.
Eleanor offered no reply, her silence a shield against his probing gaze. He stepped closer, his hands deftly assisting with her buttons, his touch lingering with a casual intimacy that belied his departure. “If you want them to stay fastened, come downstairs for dinner.” His words were a gentle command, an olive branch she knew better than to refuse. Resistance, she’d learned, was a fleeting rebellion against his will.
In the dining room, Chloe Sinclair had woven a tapestry of culinary delights, the air rich with the scents of rosemary and thyme. “Mrs. Barrett, you’ve lost so much weight,” Chloe said, her voice threaded with concern as she ladled soup into a bowl. “You need to nourish yourself.”
Logan’s gaze swept across the table, settling on Eleanor with a quiet intensity. Chloe’s words rang true—prison had whittled her frame, sharpening the delicate lines of her face into something almost ethereal. Her beauty endured, a quiet flame unextinguished, yet Logan sensed a shift, an indefinable alteration in the woman before him, as if the year had carved something new into her soul.
Chloe placed a generous portion of braised beef on Eleanor’s plate, its savory aroma curling upward. But the richness turned against her, a sudden wave of nausea clawing at her throat. She gagged, her hand flying to her mouth as the room tilted. “Mrs. Barrett!” Chloe hurried to pour water, her brow creasing with worry. “Are you unwell?”
“I’m fine,” Eleanor murmured, steadying herself as she rose, the chair scraping softly against the floor. “I’ve had enough.” She slipped away, leaving the meal untouched, her retreat a quiet echo in the grand space.
Logan’s appetite dissolved as he watched her go, the clink of his fork against the plate abandoned. He stood, shrugging into his coat with a restless energy. “Mr. Barrett, you’ve hardly eaten,” Chloe called, her voice tinged with confusion.
“I need to step out,” he replied, pausing at the threshold. “Prison food is bland—her body’s still adjusting. Keep the meals light for now.” His instruction hung in the air, a fleeting nod to her care before he vanished into the night.
Upstairs, Eleanor had barely crossed into her room when the low rumble of a car engine vibrated through the silence. A bitter smile twisted her lips, sharp and fleeting, as she imagined Logan racing to Riley’s side, his promise fulfilled with the speed of a man unbound by her presence. His love for Riley was a beacon, unwavering and bright, casting Eleanor into its shadow once more. She drifted to the floor-to-ceiling window, the glass cool against her fingertips as she watched his taillights fade into the rain-slicked distance, swallowed by the dusk.
Her eyes fluttered shut, weary and heavy, only to snap open as a jolt of realization struck her like lightning—she might be pregnant. The timing was mercilessly clear. A month ago, in the throes of that fateful day, Logan had dismissed protection, his disdain for it a constant refrain: too restrictive, too distant. She’d always countered with pills, a quiet ritual after their intimacy. That day, she’d intended to buy them after seeing Clara, but grief had engulfed her when her grandmother slipped away, and the thought had crumbled to dust amid her tears.
Her mind spun, a whirlwind of autumn leaves caught in a tempest, until a stark truth settled in her bones. She dashed out, the cold air biting at her skin as she sought a pharmacy, her pulse a frantic drumbeat. The pregnancy test’s twin lines stared back at her, an unyielding verdict etched in plastic. One lapse, one forgotten shield, and life had taken root within her. Her hand drifted to her abdomen, a trembling anchor as emotions roiled—shock, fear, and a fragile flicker of wonder clashing like waves against a rocky shore.
Fate’s cruel jest landed like a blow: just as she’d braced herself to sever ties with Logan, she carried his child, a tether forged in the wreckage of her resolve. Sleep eluded her that night, her thoughts a relentless tide until exhaustion dragged her under. Morning light spilled through the window when she awoke, the bed beside her pristine, Logan’s absence a silent testament to his vigil elsewhere.
Descending for breakfast, she found Chloe bursting into the dining room, her excitement a barely contained spark beneath a veil of hesitation. “What’s got you so giddy?” Eleanor asked, stirring her oatmeal as she studied Chloe’s flushed cheeks. “Did you win the lottery?”
“Mrs. Barrett, it’s you who’s lit me up!” Chloe brandished a pregnancy test, her eyes dancing with joy. “I found this while tidying. You’re pregnant! It’s marvelous—why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
Eleanor’s silence was a heavy curtain, dimming Chloe’s glow. “Mrs. Barrett?” Chloe faltered, her enthusiasm wilting. “Aren’t you pleased?”
Eleanor’s spoon traced slow circles in the bowl, her voice steady despite the storm within. “Chloe, I’ve told Logan I want a divorce.”
The words struck Chloe like a thunderclap, her mouth parting in disbelief. “Divorce Mr. Barrett? How could you even think it?”
“Why not?” Eleanor’s tone held firm, a dam against her churning heart. “Haven’t you seen how Logan and Riley shine together? They’re the true pair, bound by love. I was the interloper, stealing a title that was never mine, wedging myself between them.” Her lips curved in a wry, self-mocking smile, a quiet requiem for the dream that Logan might one day turn to her.
Tears glistened in Chloe’s eyes, her voice softening with empathy. “Mrs. Barrett, I know prison carved deep wounds this past year. But that’s behind you now. You and Mr. Barrett could weave something new, something whole. In time, he’ll see your worth. And with a child—everything could shift. Your baby deserves a family, a real one. You can’t walk away now.”
Eleanor’s hand paused, memories of her own fractured childhood rising like ghosts. Orphaned early, she’d been cradled by her grandparents’ love, yet the absence of parents had left a hollow ache, a yearning as she watched other children flanked by both. She knew too well the hunger for a complete family, the quiet longing it bred. “Children change men,” Chloe pressed gently. “Fatherhood roots them, turns their eyes homeward. For your child’s sake, shouldn’t he have the chance to prove it?”
Eleanor nodded faintly, a concession born of hope rather than certainty. Perhaps Chloe was right—her child deserved that chance. If Logan could step back from Riley’s orbit, she’d bury the past, stitch their frayed marriage into something enduring. After breakfast, she hailed a taxi to the Barrett Group, the city blurring past in streaks of gray.
Few there knew her as Logan’s wife, so she dialed his assistant, who escorted her through the gleaming corridors to his office. Logan was mid-call, his lack of surprise at her arrival a testament to his belief that her fury always faded by dawn. The assistant offered her water and slipped out, leaving her alone with him. He hung up, his gaze settling on her with mild curiosity. “Why didn’t you sleep in?”
“I’ve rested enough,” she said, gesturing to the thermos she’d brought. “Chloe insisted I deliver this soup.”
“I’ll have it later,” he replied, dismissive as he leaned back in his chair.
“Where were you last night, Logan?” Her question hung between them, fragile yet pointed.
“Riley wasn’t well—she’s in the hospital. I stayed with her,” he answered without a flicker of hesitation, his voice smooth as polished stone.
Her fingers trembled around the glass, but she steeled herself, drawing a breath. “If we had a child, would you spend more time at home?”
Logan’s brow creased, a shadow of confusion crossing his face. “You want a child now?”
“Don’t you?” she countered, her heart a tight knot as she watched him.
He lit a cigarette, the flame casting fleeting gold across his features as he inhaled deeply. Smoke curled upward as he spoke, his words measured. “Eleanor, this isn’t the time for us to have a child.”
She paused, the air thickening with unspoken dread. “Why?”
“Riley’s health is failing,” he said, exhaling a plume of gray. “If you were pregnant, you couldn’t donate blood to her.”
