Too Late To Beg

For three years, Tamsin Ward believed her marriage was unbreakable. That illusion shatters the moment her husband’s best friend, Isla Parker, returns and quietly begins inserting herself into everything Tamsin once thought was hers. By the time Tamsin realizes what’s happening, her marriage already feels impossible to stay in. When Tamsin asks for a divorce, her husband, James Whitmore is blindsided. He refuses, insisting that he cannot live without her. Desperate and cornered, Tamsin seeks out the most powerful divorce attorney in the country. What she doesn’t expect is to come face-to-face with Leo Price, the first man she ever loved, and the one who vanished from her life without explanation. Tamsin wants nothing to do with Leo. But James and his powerful family leave her no choice. Leo agrees to take her case under one condition: she must date him for three months. No secrets. No distance. No pretending the past never happened. As James tightens his grip and old feelings resurface, Tamsin finds herself trapped between the man who refuses to let her go and the man who once walked away. Chapter 001 TAMSIN James was two hours late. I stood in the living room, watching the candles gutter in their holders. Condensation wept down the champagne bottle. The ice had long since melted. Seven o'clock had come and gone. "I wouldn't miss it for the world, Tammy." That's what he'd said when I invited him. When I told him I had something special planned. It was nine o'clock now. I dialed his number for the third time, thumb hovering over the call button. Please don't be drunk. Please don't make me regret this. Two rings. "Tammy, dear." His voice came through, rushed and breathless. "There's been an emergency. I'm at the hospital." Cold flooded through me. "What? Are you hurt? James?" The line went dead. "James?" I said to no one. I grabbed my keys. Ten minutes later, I was white-knuckling the steering wheel toward the hospital. Today was supposed to be perfect. The pregnancy test sat in my purse, wrapped in tissue paper inside a small box. I hadn't looked at it since this afternoon. Didn't need to. I already knew what it said. Pregnant. After more than three years of trying, waiting, and learning not to hope too much. I'd passed out during rounds this morning. Woke up in the ER with a colleague pressing test results into my hand and a smile that said she knew before I did. A little over a month along. I'd spent the afternoon planning. His favorite meal. Candles. Champagne for him, sparkling cider for me. I barely remembered parking. Left the car at an angle, half blocking a loading zone, and ran. "Doctor Tamsin!" I nearly took down a nurse in the corridor. "Sorry, Sandra. My husband. Have you seen him?" "Mr. Whitmore? I saw him heading into Ward Eight." She pointed. "Thank you." The hallway blurred past. Familiar faces. People calling my name. I didn't stop. At Ward Eight, I pushed through the door without knocking. James sat beside the hospital bed, his back to me. His fingers were laced through someone else's. Isla Parker. He lifted her hand, pressed his lips to her knuckles, and murmured something I couldn't hear. So much for the emergency. "This was the emergency?" Both of them turned. James blinked, as if surprised to find me standing there. "What are you doing here, Tammy?" I stared at him. "You answered my call from the hospital and hung up. What did you think I'd do?" "I didn't ask you to come." "You said emergency." I kept my voice level. It took work. "I waited two hours, James." He exhaled, already annoyed. "I'm under a lot of stress right now. Clearly. You can see Isla's condition." I scoffed in disbelief. "Her condition?" "You didn't even ask how she was." His tone shifted into something that might have been disappointment. "Why are you being selfish?" The word hit like a palm to the face. Before I could answer, Isla stirred against the pillows. "Please don't fight because of me." Her voice came out soft, apologetic. "I shouldn't have called him. I didn't mean to cause trouble." She coughed delicately, her fingers tightening in his. James was on his feet instantly. "Don't talk. You need rest." "I just want Tamsin to understand." Isla's eyes stayed downcast, perfectly tragic. "She can't blame you for being here." James turned on me. "Do you see what you're doing? You're upsetting her." I said nothing. Didn't look at Isla. Kept my eyes on my husband. "Do you have any idea how important tonight was to me?" I asked quietly. "Enough, Tammy." He straightened, and crossed his arms. His irritation smoothed into something that might have passed for patience in bad lighting. "Fine. Say it. Whatever you wanted to tell me, just say it." I searched his face. Looking for concern, for guilt. For anything that resembled the man I'd married. Found nothing. Isla coughed again. James turned away without hesitation. His voice dropped as he spoke to her, thumb tracing slow circles over her knuckles. She squeezed back. The world contracted to the two of them. They looked perfect. Complete. When he finally remembered I existed, his decision was already made. "Go home, Tammy. It's late. I'll see you tomorrow." I didn't argue. I turned and walked out. Didn't stop when someone called my name. Didn't slow until the cold outside stole my breath. I made it to my car before I shattered. My hands shook on the steering wheel. I pressed my forehead against it and broke, the sounds coming out harsh and ugly and mine. Then I wiped my face, straightened, and started the engine. The drive home blurred. Traffic lights. Empty streets. Other people's lives moving forward while mine cracked apart. By the time I pulled into the driveway, I'd stopped crying. The house looked exactly as I'd left it. Table still set. Candles burned to stubs. Champagne gone warm. I picked up the bottle and threw it. It exploded against the wall in a spray of glass and gold liquid. I tore down the decorations. Ripped the tablecloth free. Dumped the gift box into the trash without looking inside. In the shower, I cried again. Quietly this time. Until there was nothing left to come out. Finally, I crawled into bed and slept without dreaming. The doorbell woke me. My head throbbed. My throat burned. I sat up slowly, then froze as nausea rolled through me in waves. I barely made it to the bathroom. When I finally opened the front door, James stood there. With Isla. She clung to his arm, head resting on his shoulder, body pressed into his like she'd grown there. James guided her past me. His hand steady at her back as he maneuvered her to the couch, lowering her with the kind of care reserved for blown glass. Then he turned to me. "Prepare the guest room, Tammy. Isla needs to rest." I stared at him. "No." His jaw tightened. "This isn't the time." "If she's unwell, she has her own home." My voice came out flat. "She can hire a nurse." "It's our responsibility." "Our responsibility." I let out a sound that might have been a laugh in another life. "How exactly did caring for your best friend become my job?" He met my eyes, his expression unreadable. "Because Isla is pregnant with my baby." Chapter 002 TAMSIN I stared at him. The words didn't land. Not at first. "Say that again." James held my gaze. "Isla is pregnant. With my baby." I gripped the doorframe. The floor shifted beneath me. "It happened that night," he continued, voice steady, as if he were discussing the weather. "Two months ago. The night we... the accident." Accident. That's what he'd called it when he stumbled home reeking of bourbon and someone else's perfume. When he'd collapsed at my feet, sobbing so hard I thought he might choke on it. An accident. "She's almost eight weeks along," he added. "The doctor confirmed it yesterday." I let out a sound. Sharp and brittle. Might have been a laugh in some other woman's life. "So that's why you were at the hospital." "Tammy, I know this is a shock." James stepped closer. "But listen to me. This could be a good thing." "A good thing." "Yes." His hands found my shoulders. I didn't have the strength to shake them off. "We've been trying for a baby for years. You know how desperately we've wanted this. And now we have a chance." "A chance," I echoed. "Isla has agreed to carry the baby to term, then step away." His grip tightened, as if he could press understanding into me through sheer force. "The baby would be ours, Tammy. Our child. Everything we've been waiting for." Ours. Tears came before I could stop them. I didn't bother wiping them away. "Don't you see?" His voice took on that coaxing quality he used when explaining things to difficult clients. "No one has to lose here. Isla moves on with her life. We get our complete family. Everyone wins." I looked past him. Isla sat on the couch, picture-perfect stillness. One hand rested low on her stomach in a gesture I recognized from countless pregnancy announcements. She wasn't crying. Wasn't performing. Just sitting there with her eyes downcast, expression serene. She looked like a Madonna painting. "Her pregnancy is high-risk," James continued. "She'll need constant care. If you could take some time off work, maybe a year, help me look after her until the baby comes, everything would be perfect." Perfect. He tilted his head, searching my face like I was a puzzle he couldn't quite solve. "Why can't you see that?" I said nothing. I wiped my face with the back of my hand. Met his eyes. "If you'd shown up last night like you promised," I said quietly, "you would have found out that I'm pregnant." The silence that followed had weight. James went still. "What?" "I'm pregnant." Each word came out deliberately. "With your child. I found out yesterday morning. Spent all afternoon planning how to tell you. Thought you'd be happy." My voice cracked despite my best efforts. "Silly me." His hands dropped from my shoulders. "Tammy, you're..." "Pregnant," I finished. "Yes." I turned my head toward Isla. She was staring at me now, her careful composure finally slipping. Her fingers curled against her stomach in a gesture that might have been protective or possessive. Hard to tell. "What does it even matter?" I asked no one in particular. Then I turned and began to walk toward our bedroom. Behind me, James called my name, but I kept walking. In the bedroom, I dragged my suitcase from the closet. Threw it on the bed hard enough to make the frame creak. My hands shook as I yanked open drawers. Grabbed clothes. Didn't fold them. Didn't care. For three years, James had been everything I'd convinced myself didn't exist. He'd pursued me relentlessly after we met. Wore down every objection I had. Made me feel chosen in a way that rewired something fundamental in my chest. When his family looked down their aristocratic noses at me, he stood between us like a wall. When they blamed me for our empty nursery, he defended me. For three years, we'd been perfect. Then Isla Parker came back from wherever wealthy, beautiful women go to become more of both. The changes started small. A missed dinner here. A late-night phone call there. James canceling plans because Isla needed something only he could provide. When I complained, he called me unreasonable. When I asked for boundaries, he called it jealousy. I'd clung to the memory of who we'd been before Isla. The man who'd made me believe in fairy tales. Told myself it would pass once she left again. It didn't pass. Two months ago, James came home looking like he'd been hit by a truck. He dropped to his knees on our kitchen floor and wept like a child. They'd been drinking. One thing led to another. He didn't even remember it happening until he woke up in her bed with his clothes scattered across her floor. He begged. Swore he'd cut her out completely. Promised I'd never have to share him with her again. And I'd forgiven him. Because I remembered the three years before Isla. The man who'd loved me so fiercely I thought nothing could touch us. For a while, it worked. James came back to me. Isla vanished. No more midnight calls, no more emergency brunches. It felt like healing. I'd actually believed I had my husband back. The door opened behind me. "Tammy, please." James's voice cracked. "Don't do this." I didn't turn around. Just kept packing. "It was an accident," he said. "You know that. We were drunk. I never planned any of this. I never wanted to hurt you." I zipped the suitcase shut with more force than necessary, and finally looked at him. "You're asking me to stay in this house," I said slowly, "while your mistress carries your baby. You're asking me to put my career on hold, my life on pause, to care for her. So she can give birth to your child." "She's not my mistress." "Then what is she, James?" My voice climbed. "Your best friend? The woman you accidentally slept with? The woman you're now asking me to play nursemaid to for the next twelve months?" "Tammy..." "She's supposed to be your best friend," I cut him off. "And I'm supposed to be your wife. Both of us can't be in the same house carrying your children. I won't have it. I won't raise illegitimate babies alongside my own." He stared at me like I'd suggested we burn the house down. "It's either my baby or hers," I said. "Though I think last night made it pretty clear which one you'd choose." "That's not fair." "Fair?" I laughed, and it came out wrong. "You chose her over me last night. Dismissed me like a secretary who'd interrupted an important meeting. Brought her into our home. And now you want me to play happy families while she incubates your backup plan?" He dragged both hands through his hair. When he spoke again, his voice had gone raw. "I was terrified. Last night, I was cold to you because I thought if I didn't support her completely, she'd get rid of the baby. I didn't know what else to do." I studied him. This man I'd married. This stranger wearing his face. Then I crossed my arms. "Fine," I said. Hope sparked in his eyes like a match strike. "If you want me to stay," I continued, "I'll stay. If you want my forgiveness, you'll have it." His breath caught. "Thank you. God, Tammy, thank you..." "On one condition." He went still. "Anything." "Isla terminates the pregnancy." The hope in his eyes died so fast I almost felt sorry for him. Almost. He stared at me in stunned silence. Chapter 003 TAMSIN "How can you ask for something so absurd?" James's voice climbed. "How do you expect Isla to feel, hearing you say that?" I let out a short laugh. "Funny. Last night you were terrified she'd terminate. Now you're offended I'm suggesting the same thing. Which version of Isla are we protecting here? The one who didn't want the baby, or the one you convinced to keep it?" He exhaled through his nose. "Yes, but..." "Answer a few questions for me," I cut him off. He nodded, wary now. "Doesn't Isla have a fiancé?" "She did." His jaw tightened. "Once he found out she was pregnant with my baby, he called off the engagement." "Right. And weren't they together for more than two years?" "They were, Tammy. But I don't see what these unnecessary questions..." "Unnecessary?" I smiled, but it didn't reach anywhere near my eyes. "One more question then. Is Isla a child?" He rolled his eyes. "What is all this, Tammy?" I stood up from the bed. "Forgive me, but I'm trying to wrap my head around something. Isla was with her fiancé for over two years. They definitely had sex regularly. But she took precautions. Understood her cycle. Never once got pregnant." I took a step toward him. "Then she sleeps with my husband. One night. Calls it a mistake. Claims she's ashamed." Another step. "But somehow, she conveniently forgot everything she knew about contraception. Forgot about her cycle. And accidentally ended up pregnant. Is now in my home. Expecting me to put my career on hold and play nursemaid while my child competes with hers for their father's attention." "What are you trying to say, Tammy?" "I'm saying that if this pregnancy was the unplanned accident you claim, then accidents can be corrected." I crossed my arms. "So what's your decision? Will you have her terminate the pregnancy or not?" He shook his head. "Tammy, don't do..." "Yes or no." Silence. He just stared at me, mouth half-open like he'd forgotten how words worked. I took that as my answer and went back to packing. Of course he wouldn't say yes. Of course Isla would never agree. They'd played me beautifully. The whole performance about it being an accident. A drunken mistake neither of them planned. He probably asked her to carry his child months ago. And that snake seized the opportunity with both hands. In the past, I'd suggested IUI. Even IVF. But no, he'd said we weren't desperate enough yet. All our tests came back normal. He believed I'd conceive naturally if we just kept trying. All lies. He'd been prepping his best friend to be his surrogate. Without bothering to use my eggs. "Tammy." His voice came from behind me. "Get out." When he didn't move, I turned. "Get out of my sight, James." "I accept." I stared at him. "What?" "I agree to your terms," he said, clearer now. I nodded slowly. "All right then. Let's get it over with." "Right now?" His voice pitched up in surprise. I smiled but there was no warmth in it. "Why, were you hoping to wait until she delivers? Let's go." He nodded once and walked out of the room. I followed behind him, suitcase forgotten on the bed. We walked into the living room together. Isla sat exactly where we had left her, hand resting on her stomach like she was posing for a portrait. She looked up and took in our expressions. Her eyes widened with what might have been concern if I still believed in her performances. "What's wrong?" Her voice came out small, worried. James didn't waste time. "You'll need to terminate the pregnancy." Isla's head snapped back like he'd struck her. "What? No. I won't kill my baby." "Tammy's already pregnant," James said, his voice harder than I'd heard it in months. "It doesn't make sense for both of you to carry my children. You're my best friend, Isla. This situation is impossible." He paused and took a breath. "Besides, you told me yesterday you wanted to terminate. That you were worried about Tammy's reaction. I was the one who insisted you keep it." His tone shifted into something almost gentle. "But now that Tammy's pregnant, there's no reason for you to go through with this." I stared at him. He was doing exactly what I'd demanded. No hesitation. No backtracking. Just clean, decisive action. Had I been wrong? Was the pregnancy really an accident and not the calculated trap I'd imagined? Guilt crept in, cold and unwelcome. This was the man who'd given me three perfect years. Maybe I'd been too quick to assume the worst. Isla was crying now. Full sobs that shook her shoulders. But James didn't move toward her. Didn't soften. I walked over to him and took his hand. I was going to tell him it was fine. That Isla could keep the baby. That I'd accept his child because I still loved him, even after everything. The words were forming on my tongue when the front door crashed open. James's mother swept in like a storm front, tears streaming down her face. Happy ones. "Is it true?" She didn't direct the question at anyone specific. "Am I finally going to be a grandmother?" I sighed. Of course she was here. The woman who'd spent four years making it abundantly clear that a doctor with no trust fund wasn't good enough for her son. James nodded. His mother let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. She rushed past me like I was furniture and pulled Isla into her arms. "Oh, my darling girl! Congratulations!" Isla cried harder. Mrs. Whitmore pulled back, cupping Isla's face between her perfectly manicured hands. "Why are you crying? This is wonderful news!" "James wants me to abort the baby," Isla choked out between sobs. Mrs. Whitmore's head whipped toward her son. "What? Have you lost your mind? How can you even think of destroying such a blessing?" "Tammy's pregnant," James said flatly. "What happened with Isla was a mistake. It needs to be corrected." His mother stood and walked toward us. Her eyes slid over me like I was something she'd found on the bottom of her shoe. "This dry well?" Her voice dripped disdain. "She's pregnant? How convenient. I'm sure she's the one demanding you get rid of Isla's child. I've always known she was nothing but a manipulative little bitch." I let out a short laugh. "Of course. Even if I gave birth to quintuplets, it still wouldn't matter to you, would it?" She ignored me and turned back to James. "When did you find out Tammy was supposedly pregnant?" "This morning," he said. "After I told her about Isla." "And when did you learn about Isla's pregnancy?" "Yesterday. Right before I was supposed to go home to Tammy's surprise dinner." Mrs. Whitmore's smile turned poisonous. "Interesting. Four years and three months of marriage, and Tammy never conceived. But the moment she finds out Isla's pregnant, suddenly she is too?" She crossed her arms. "Why didn't she mention it sooner if it's real? Sounds like a convenient lie to me." "What is that supposed to mean, Mrs. Whitmore?" My voice came out sharper than I'd intended. Isla gasped. Actual performance-level shock. "Tamsin, how could you lie to James about being pregnant just to get rid of my baby?" "What nonsense," I snapped. But Isla was committed now. Full tears, hand clutching her stomach. "Tamsin, how could you do this to him? Don't you want him to be a father? You'd really leave him childless just because you hate me?" Mrs. Whitmore's hand flew up, ready to slap me. I caught her wrist mid-swing and shoved it back at her. "I am pregnant," I said through my teeth. I looked at James. His face had gone carefully blank. I picked up my phone. "I have test results in my email. From Bright Star Hospital." "But you work there," Isla said softly, almost apologetically. "You could easily have a colleague falsify results." I looked at the three of them. Mrs. Whitmore with her hatred. Isla with her calculated innocence. James with doubt creeping into his eyes. I laughed. The sound came out bitter. "Fine. I'll take a home pregnancy test right now." However, James moved fast, snatched my phone from my hand and hurled it against the wall. It exploded into pieces. "That is enough, Tammy!" he shouted. Chapter 004 TAMSIN "How could you?" James's voice came out raw and broken. "How could you betray me like this? Lie about being pregnant just to manipulate me into killing my child?" He dragged both hands through his hair, pacing. "Do you understand what you almost made me do? I was going to make Isla terminate. Because I believed you. Because I trusted you." The words landed like blows. "What kind of person does that?" His voice cracked. "What kind of person uses a fake pregnancy as a weapon?" I stood there. Frozen. Tears sliding down my face. He looked at me one more time. Something that might have been pain flashed across his face. Then he turned and walked out. The silence that followed felt like drowning. I became aware of movement behind me and turned my head slowly. Isla was smiling. Not the careful, tragic smile she wore for James. This one was pure triumph. She turned to Mrs. Whitmore, who immediately swept her into another embrace. "Don't worry, darling," the older woman cooed. "We'll get you married to James before the baby comes. You'll be family. Properly this time." I turned away, and walked back toward the bedroom on legs that didn't feel attached to my body. Of course I was a fool, I thought. What was I expecting? James never planned to choose me. It was all performance. In the end, he showed me exactly where I stood. A wave of nausea hit me so hard I had to grip the doorframe. I barely made it to the bathroom before I threw up. Afterward, I stood at the sink, hands shaking, hungry but unable to imagine eating. There was this tightness in my chest that made breathing feel like work. I quickly washed up, went back to the bedroom, and started packing what was left of my things. Then, I heard footsteps behind me. I didn't turn around. Maybe James had come back. Maybe he'd realized how wrong he was. But it was too late. My mind was made up. But the voice that spoke wasn't his. "Leaving so soon?" I turned. Isla stood in the doorway, that smile still playing at her lips. My stomach cramped, hard. I didn't have the energy for this. "Yes," I said flatly. "You can have him." She laughed. It was soft and musical. "Oh, Tamsin. You are not giving him to me. I'm taking back what was always mine." She stepped into the room. "James belonged to me long before you showed up and stole him. But don't worry. I'm here to correct that mistake now." I'd suspected it for months. The way she looked at him. The way she inserted herself into every corner of our marriage. But hearing her say it out loud still landed like a blow. "Congratulations," I managed. "You've won." Because she had. There was nothing left to salvage here. The man I'd loved was gone. The one left behind was a stranger who thought I was capable of faking a pregnancy to destroy his child. That hurt worse than anything else. Worse than the affair. Worse than the baby. Worse than all of it. He thought I was lying. I tried to lift my suitcase, but it was too heavy. My arms felt like water, so I left it on the floor. James had destroyed my phone. I'd have to go out if I needed someone to help with my luggage. It was better to leave now and come back for my things later. I was halfway to the door when Isla's hand shot out, grabbed my arm and shoved me backward. "That bastard in your stomach won't save you," she hissed. I staggered, and caught myself on the bedpost. Something in me snapped. My hand flew up before I thought about it, and connected with her face with a crack that echoed. Isla screamed. Loud enough to wake the dead. I didn't care. I raised my hand a second time, but James burst through the door and caught my wrist mid-swing. "Tammy, stop!" His voice was sharp with shock. "What are you doing?" I tried to pull away, but he held on, though not roughly. Like he was trying to restrain me without hurting me. Isla sobbed. Perfect, theatrical sobs. "I only came to talk to her. To ask her not to be angry with you. To give my baby a chance because it's yours too." Her voice broke beautifully. "She just attacked me for no reason." "Let me go," I said through my teeth. James released my wrist and stepped back. I stumbled, and my foot caught on the suitcase. I tried to catch myself but my body was moving wrong, too fast. My stomach slammed into the bedpost. Pain exploded through me. White-hot and terrible. I cried out. Doubled over. One hand clutching my abdomen. I collapsed forward, upper body draping over the bed, legs still on the floor. I couldn't straighten. I couldn't move. Something warm trickled down my inner thighs. Chapter 005 TAMSIN "James..." My voice came out weak. Shaking. "Please. Help me. My baby..." "Tammy, please." His voice was strained. "After everything today, I can't... I need you to stop." "My baby..." Tears streamed down my face. I was bent over the bed, and I could feel the wetness spreading. I knew what it meant. "Don't let me lose my baby. Please. Take me to the hospital." My vision started to blur at the edges. Everything going soft and distant. I turned my head slightly. James stood near the door, his face a mask of conflict. Pain and doubt warring in his eyes. He took a step toward me. Then Isla made a sound. A horrible, choking gasp. I couldn't see her from my position, but I heard the thud as she hit the floor. "Isla!" James's voice went sharp with panic. Through my darkening vision, I saw him drop to his knees beside her. Saw her body jerking. Convulsing. A seizure. His face went white. "Oh God. Isla. Isla, stay with me." He scooped her into his arms. Her head lolled back, body still twitching. He looked back at me, and for one second, our eyes met. I saw the torment there. "I'll come back for you," he said, voice breaking. "I promise. I have to get her to the hospital. I'll come back." While he was running with Isla's limp body in his arms, her head turned and for a brief second, she opened her eyes and stared at me, as her lips curved into a smile. Then he was gone. I tried to call after him, tried to tell him about the blood, but my voice wouldn't work anymore. I was alone. The cramping got worse. A sharp, tearing pain that made breathing impossible. I looked down. Blood pooled on the floor beneath me. Dark. Too much. My baby. I tried to move. Tried to reach for something, anything. But my body wouldn't respond. The room tilted and my legs gave out. I slid to the floor in slow motion. The blood warm beneath me. Then everything went black. - I opened my eyes and gasped. I was on the floor. Blood everywhere. My blood. Soaking through my dress, pooled beneath me, dark and thick. How long had I been unconscious? I tried to stand, but my legs wouldn't hold me. I collapsed back down. My baby. I had to get to the hospital. I had to try. I started crawling, my knees scraping against the floor, but I didn't care. If there was even the smallest chance my baby was still alive, I'd crawl through broken glass to reach it. My phone. I needed my phone. I found it in the living room, shattered. James had destroyed it. I had no way to call for help. Tears streamed down my face. Pain radiated from my abdomen, my knees, but worst of all, from somewhere deep in my chest that had nothing to do with physical injury. I kept crawling. I had to get to my car. Had to drive myself to the road, flag down a cab and get to the hospital. It took forever to find my keys. I grabbed them with shaking hands. Getting into the car was agony. Every movement sent fresh waves of pain through me. My dress was soaked through. More blood on the seat. I didn't care. I started the engine, my hands trembling so badly I could barely grip the wheel. Just get to the main road. Just get help. My vision kept blurring. I blinked hard, trying to clear it. My mouth was dry as sand, lips cracked, throat burning with thirst. The driveway seemed endless. Finally, the main road. I could see it. Just a little further. My vision dimmed at the edges and everything was going dark. No. Not yet. Please. I didn't see the post until I hit it. The airbag exploded into my face. There was pain, and then darkness. - I became aware of white lights, chemical smell, and beeping machines. I opened my eyes slowly. Everything hurt. My forehead throbbed. My arms felt heavy. Someone was holding my hand. I turned my head. James sat beside the bed, gripping my fingers like they were the only thing keeping him anchored. His eyes were red and wet. "You're awake." His voice cracked with relief. "Thank God, you're awake." I looked to my right. Patience stood there. One of the nurses I'd worked with for years. Her eyes were red too. "My baby." The words scraped out of my throat. "How is my baby?" Patience's face crumpled. She took my other hand, squeezed it gently. "I'm so sorry, Tamsin." Her voice was barely a whisper. "Your baby didn't make it." The words landed. I felt them hit. Then I felt nothing. "The crash?" I asked. My voice sounded flat. "I lost it in the crash?" "The pregnancy was already compromised from the bleeding." Patience's professional mask was slipping. I could see her grief underneath. "If you'd gotten to the hospital sooner, we might have been able to save it. But the accident..." She trailed off. I nodded. "I see." "But you can try again," She added too quickly. Like she needed to fill the silence with something hopeful. "Your womb is intact. There's no reason you can't conceive again when you're..." "Thank you, Patience." I cut her off gently. "I appreciate it." I closed my eyes. Heard her moving around the room, checking monitors, and adjusting things I couldn't see. Then the door clicked shut. I opened my eyes again and looked at James. He was still holding my hand like he had the right to. He wiped his face with his free hand. "I'm so sorry, Tammy. I was coming back for you when..." "James." He stopped. Looked at me with those red, desperate eyes. "It's enough," I said quietly. "Let's get a divorce." Chapter 006 TAMSIN James sat beside my hospital bed, staring at me in stunned silence, as though he had not been the cause of the blood that stained my dress, the bruises on my skin, and the unbearable emptiness inside my body. His presence filled the room, familiar and unwelcome all at once, and I wondered how a man could look so much like home and still feel like a stranger. “I’m sorry,” he finally found his voice, it was low and rough, the kind of voice that once convinced me he meant every word he spoke. “Tammy, I swear to you, I didn’t know you were telling the truth. I was blinded by my mom's words. If I had known you were truly pregnant, if I had even suspected it, none of this would have happened. I would never have left you. Never.” I did not look at him. I kept my gaze fixed on the ceiling, on the faint crack that ran through one of the tiles above my bed, thin and crooked, like something broken that had been ignored for too long. “I don’t want a divorce,” he continued, his hand closing around mine as though he feared I might disappear if he let go. “I don’t understand how you can even think of living without me when I cannot live without you. You are my wife. My life. How am I supposed to exist without you, Tammy?” The words were passionate, dramatic, and tragically familiar. Once, they would have undone me completely. “My mind is made up,” I said quietly. He shook his head, a faint note of frustration creeping into his expression. “You are just reacting to the loss of our baby. You are grieving, saying things you do not mean because you are in pain.” I almost smiled at that. “You do not mean what you just said,” he insisted. “I know you better than anyone else. I know your heart. We cannot survive apart. You cannot survive without me.” I closed my eyes then, not because I was overwhelmed, but because I knew that if I opened them, I would do something crazy and that was bad for my condition. “Please leave,” I said. Instead of releasing my hand, he tightened his grip, his other hand covering mine as if he could hold me in place by sheer will alone. “I am not leaving. I will stay with you through your entire hospital stay. I will take you home. I will take care of you. I will not leave your side, Tammy. I promise.” The door opened before I could respond. A nurse stood hesitantly in the doorway. “Mr. Whitmore, Miss Parker is asking for you. She says she is in pain and insists on seeing you.” James stilled. I felt it, the exact moment his promise expired. “I will be right back,” he said, already standing. “Just a few minutes.” I watched him leave in a rush, his concern swift and urgent, moving in a direction that had never truly included me. “James,” I murmured to the empty room, my voice steady despite everything. “Do not make promises you cannot keep.” The door opened again almost immediately. For a brief, foolish moment, I thought he had returned. It was Poppy. She stopped short when she saw me, her hand flying to her mouth as her eyes filled with tears. “Oh my God, Tammy.” She crossed the room quickly and took my hand, her fingers trembling. “I tried calling you. Over and over. When you did not answer, I called James. He told me you were here.” Her voice broke. “What happened to you?” “My baby,” I said, the words scraping painfully out of my throat. “I've lost my baby.” Her face crumpled, and without hesitation she climbed carefully onto the bed beside me and wrapped her arms around me. That was when everything I had been holding back finally broke loose. I cried until my chest ached and my throat burned, until the question that had been circling inside me tore free. “Why am I so unlucky? What did I do wrong? What happened to my life?” She cried with me, holding me tightly, whispering that none of it was my fault. When the storm passed and we pulled apart, she wiped her face and looked at me closely. “The last time we talked, you were so excited. You were planning that dinner. You were going to surprise James. What happened?” So I told her. I told her everything. By the time I finished, her hands were clenched into fists. “I cannot believe this. James? James loved you. I was sure of it.” “So was I.” “I want to leave this hospital,” I said after a moment. "Can I move in with you for a while?" She protested at first, insisting I wasn't strong enough to leave, but when she saw my face, she nodded. “You can stay with me. As long as you need.” She helped me dress and supported me as we slowly made our way down the corridor toward discharge. That was when we passed Isla’s room. The door was open. “I just want Tamsin to take care of me,” Isla said tearfully. “The doctors say it is high risk, but I trust her. She loves you so much, James. I know without a doubt that she will make sure nothing happens to our baby.” I stopped walking, and just stood there, staring at them. “She is a doctor, regardless of her field,” Isla continued. “She knows hospitals. She will notice complications early. I will feel safe with her. Then, after the baby is born, I can leave your lives completely and disappear for good.” James stood beside her bed, visibly uncomfortable. "But Isla..." “If anything happens to our baby,” Isla added softly, cutting him off, “it will be your fault.” James exhaled slowly. “Fine,” he gave in. “I will make Tammy take a year off from work to care for your baby, happy now?” My nails dug into my palms. Poppy tightened her arm around my waist. I could tell she was struggling to control her anger at this point. Isla wrapped her arms around James' body, her face radiating joy as she hugged his waist and thanked him for agreeing. Then, to my surprise, she looked toward the door and her eyes met mine. She smiled. And in that moment, I understood that every single action of hers was calculated and planned. She came prepared for battle. She was winning. And James, whether he meant to or not, was letting her. Chapter 007 TAMSIN I stood in the hallway outside Isla's room, my hand gripping Poppy's for balance, and watched through the open doorway as my husband made a phone call that would seal yet another piece of my life away from me. James had his phone pressed to his ear, his voice professional and steady, the same tone he used when closing business deals or negotiating contracts. He was speaking to the hospital director, my boss, a man whose name carried weight in medical circles but whose influence paled in comparison to the Whitmore family fortune. "I need you to approve a year's leave for my wife," James said into the phone, his attention entirely focused on the conversation. "She has been through a terrible accident and needs time to recover properly. I trust you understand how important her wellbeing is to me, and I know the hospital values her as much as I do." There was a pause as the director responded, and I could already imagine the man's eager agreement, his assurances that of course Mrs. Whitmore could take as much time as she needed, that the hospital would support her in every possible way. James nodded, satisfied. "Thank you. I appreciate your understanding." He ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket, and for a moment I simply stood there, staring at the back of his head, marveling at how easily he could rearrange my entire professional life without even consulting me. Poppy's hand tightened around mine, her fingers trembling with barely restrained fury. I turned away before James could notice me, tugging Poppy gently down the corridor toward the discharge desk. Her face had gone red, her jaw clenched so tightly I worried she might crack a tooth, and when we finally reached the waiting area and she helped me into a chair, she leaned close and whispered fiercely. "You are not taking that leave. You are not letting him control your career like this." I looked at her, this woman who had been my closest friend for years, who knew me better than almost anyone, and I felt a wave of exhaustion so profound it nearly pulled me under. "The Whitmore family are shareholders in this hospital," I said quietly. "Major shareholders. The first time I met James, it was here. His entire family uses this hospital. They have influence everywhere, Poppy. The director would never say no to a Whitmore, not when their money keeps half the departments running." Poppy's anger did not fade, but I saw understanding settle into her expression, a grim acknowledgment of the reality I had been living with for years. "Help me to my office," I said. She did, supporting most of my weight as we walked slowly through the familiar corridors, past nurses who looked at me with sympathy and confusion, past doctors who nodded politely but said nothing. When we finally reached my office, I sank into the chair behind my desk and pulled out a sheet of paper. Poppy watched as I wrote, my hand steady despite everything, the words forming quickly and without hesitation. When I finished, I folded the paper carefully and slipped it into an envelope. "What is that?" Poppy asked. "Something necessary," I said. I stood, slower this time, and together we made our way to the director's office. He was sitting behind his desk when we entered, his expression bright and welcoming, the smile of a man who believed he had just done me an enormous favor. "Doctor Whitmore," he said warmly. "I have approved your leave. One full year. You can rest and recover from your injuries without worrying about work. We will keep your position open, of course." "That will not be necessary," I said, and I placed the envelope on his desk. He looked at it curiously, then back at me. "What is this?" "My resignation." The smile disappeared. He stared at me as though I had spoken in a language he did not understand, and when the silence stretched too long, he opened the envelope with fumbling fingers and read the letter inside. "Doctor Whitmore, please," he said, looking up with something close to distress. "There is no need for this. Take the year off. You will be paid throughout your leave. You are one of our best oncologists. We were planning to promote you next quarter." "I want to resign," I said simply. He looked genuinely sad, and I felt a pang of something that might have been regret under different circumstances. He had always treated me fairly, had respected my work and my dedication, but none of that mattered now. "The best thing you can do for me," I continued, "is write an employer review and give it to me before I leave." He hesitated, then nodded slowly and turned to his computer. It took him only a few minutes to compose the letter, and when he handed it to me, I thanked him quietly and walked out of his office for the last time. Outside, Poppy linked her arm through mine. "With that review, you can find work anywhere when you are ready." "I know," I said. We drove to the house I had shared with James, the place I had once believed would be my home forever. Poppy parked in the driveway and helped me inside, and the moment we crossed the threshold, she stopped. There was blood on the floor. Not just a little. A trail of it, dark and dried, leading from the bedroom to the garage, the path I had crawled when I was bleeding and alone and desperate to save my baby. Poppy's face went pale, then red, then pale again. Tears filled her eyes. We walked to the bedroom together, and there was more blood there, pooled beside the bed, staining the floor in a way that no cleaner would ever fully erase. "Yes," I said softly, my voice breaking despite my best efforts. "There goes my poor baby who was not fortunate enough to see the world." Poppy pulled me into her arms and we stood there for a long time, crying together in the wreckage of what my life had been. When we finally pulled apart, she helped me carry my belongings, and we left that house behind. The next two weeks passed in a haze. I stayed in Poppy's guest room and did not leave except to use the bathroom. James came every day, standing outside with flowers in his hands, kneeling on the pavement, tears streaming down his face as he called my name through the door. "Tammy, please," he would say. "I never knew you were pregnant. If I had known, I would have taken you to the hospital first. The house is empty without you. I cannot live without you. Please come home." I never answered. After two weeks, I got out of bed, showered, dressed in clothes that felt strange on my body, and drove to our family lawyer's office. I sat across from him and explained what I needed, and he drafted the documents without asking questions he already knew the answers to. When I left his office, I had divorce papers in my hand. I drove to James's office building, took the elevator to his floor, and walked past his assistant without acknowledging her protests. James looked up when I entered, and his face transformed with relief and joy. "Tammy," he said, standing quickly and crossing the room to embrace me. "You are here. God, I have missed you. Life has been empty without you." I stood stiffly in his arms until he released me. "I came for something important," I said, and I held out the divorce papers. He stared at them as though they were written in a foreign language. Then his expression changed, something dark and furious rising to the surface, and he snatched the papers from my hand and tore them in half. "I would rather die," he said, his voice shaking with anger, "than ever let the love of my life go." "In that case," I said calmly, "I will see you in court." His laugh was harsh and humorless. "I would like to see the lawyer bold enough to stand against me." I turned to leave. He caught my arm at the door, his grip firm but not painful, and when he spoke again, his voice had softened into something that might have been gentleness if I did not know better. "You have thrown enough tantrums," he said. "I have allowed it because I understand you are grieving. But it is time to stop. Come home. I have missed my wife." I looked at him, this man I had loved so completely it had rewritten every part of who I was. "Like I said," I repeated. "I will see you in court." I pulled my arm free and walked toward the elevator. His voice followed me down the hallway, cold and final. "Remember this, Tammy. No one divorces a Whitmore." I stepped into the elevator and let the doors close between us. Chapter 008 TAMSIN I returned to the family lawyer's office the next morning, the divorce papers carefully folded in my bag, and sat across from the same man who had drafted them not too long ago. "I want to take my husband to court," I said without preamble. "James Whitmore. I need you to represent me in the divorce proceedings." The lawyer set down his pen and looked at me with an expression I could not quite read, something caught between sympathy and discomfort. He folded his hands on the desk between us and leaned forward slightly. "Mrs. Whitmore," he said carefully, "if your husband does not want the divorce, there is nothing I can do for you. I cannot represent you in this matter." I stared at him. "What do you mean you cannot represent me? You drafted the papers." "Drafting papers is one thing. Taking James Whitmore to court is another entirely." He shook his head slowly. "Going against the Whitmores would be suicide for my career. I am sorry, but I cannot risk it." I left his office feeling something cold settle in my chest. The second lawyer I visited that morning said nearly the same thing, his refusal polite but firm, his eyes apologetic but unyielding. The third lawyer did not even let me finish explaining before he stood and showed me to the door, his discomfort so obvious it would have been almost comical under different circumstances. By the time I returned to Poppy's house, I was trembling with a fury so sharp it felt like it might cut through my skin. I sat on the edge of the guest bed and stared at the wall, my hands clenched into fists, my mind racing through options that did not exist and solutions that crumbled before I could fully form them. My phone rang. Poppy's name flashed across the screen. "How did it go?" she asked when I answered. I told her. All of it. The refusals, the fear in their eyes, the way they had practically tripped over themselves to distance their practices from anything that might bring them into conflict with the Whitmore family. Poppy was silent for a long moment, and when she finally spoke, her voice was tight with anger. "This is ridiculous. James cannot just control everything." "Apparently he can," I said flatly. "Wait." Her tone shifted, became thoughtful. "There is one place you could try. LP and Associates. They are the biggest law firm in the country. They have some of the best divorce attorneys I have ever heard of." I straightened slightly. "Do you think they would take the case?" "Their fees are high," Poppy warned. "Very high. But they are ruthless, and they hardly ever lose. I do not know if any lawyer there would be willing to go against the Whitmores, but it is worth a shot." She gave me the address, apologizing that she could not come with me because she had to return to work. I thanked her and ended the call, already reaching for my coat. The building that housed LP and Associates was tall and modern, all glass and steel, the kind of structure that seemed designed to intimidate anyone who walked through its doors. I stood outside for a moment, gathering my resolve, then stepped into the lobby. The receptionist directed me to the intake clerk on the third floor, a young man with sharp eyes and an efficient manner who listened to my explanation without interrupting. When I mentioned my intention to divorce James Whitmore, his fingers paused over his keyboard. "Whitmore," he repeated, looking up at me with something close to alarm. "As in the Whitmore family?" "Yes." He exhaled slowly. "They are very powerful. There is only one attorney in this firm who stands a chance against them." He hesitated. "But it depends on his mood. He takes cases according to his own judgment, not according to policy." I felt my pulse quicken. "Who is he?" "Let me take your file to him," the clerk said, standing. "I will get back to you." He disappeared down a corridor, leaving me waiting, my heart pounding so loudly I was certain everyone in the building could hear it. I paced back and forth, my hands clasped tightly together, trying to breathe evenly and failing. Ten minutes passed. Each one felt like an hour. Finally, the clerk returned, and there was something that might have been surprise in his expression. "Congratulations," he said. "He is interested in your case. You can go up to his office now." Relief swept through me so powerfully I nearly swayed. "Thank you." I followed him to the elevator, then down another corridor on the top floor, past offices with glass walls and expensive furniture, until we stopped in front of a door with a simple nameplate at the top. LP. I looked at it, then back at the clerk. "This firm..." "Yes," he said. "He is the boss here. This firm belongs mostly to him." I nodded, my throat suddenly dry. The clerk left, and I stood alone in the hallway for a moment, staring at the door. Then I raised my hand and knocked. "Come in," a voice called from inside. I pushed the door open and stepped into the office. The man stood by the window, his back to me, hands in his pockets, looking out over the city below. He was tall, broad-shouldered, his posture relaxed in a way that suggested absolute confidence. Something about him seemed familiar. My eyes dropped to the nameplate on his desk. Attorney Price. My heart skipped a beat. "Price?" I said aloud, the word barely a whisper. Could it be? I looked up, and in that moment, the man turned, his hands still in his pockets, his gaze meeting mine across the room. I took a step back, shock stealing the air from my lungs. "Leonardo Price?" He smiled, slow and warm and achingly familiar. "Hello, Tam," he said. "It is nice to see you again."