Chapter 1

On the drive to the hospital for Lois Thomas to give birth, her phone rang.

A man's voice came through the car's speakers.

"I'm back. Divorce him. Please?"

Lois didn't answer. She reached over and cut the call, like it was nothing.

I thought that was a clean, flat no.

Then that same night, straight out of the delivery room, she had her lawyer bring over a divorce agreement.

Looking at the restraint in her eyes, I signed it calmly and asked, "Do you want me out of the apartment tonight?"

I don't think she'd heard the frantic pleading she'd braced for. On that cool, unbothered face of hers, something like surprise flickered, rare as it was.

She was quiet for a beat. "No need. The apartment gets transferred into your name tomorrow."

I said nothing. I nodded and walked out.

What Lois didn't know is that this move, yielding to gain ground, works every single time in my line of gold-digging.

01

I looked at her cold, clean features and said quietly, "It's late. You just gave birth. Get some rest. I'll sleep in the guest room."

Then I stood to go.

As I passed the bed, she grabbed my wrist hard.

She lay there, brows pressed low, lips tight, looking confused and angry at once.

She asked, "Victor, why aren't you making a scene?"

"If I did, would you not divorce me?"

She stiffened. Finally she said, low, "I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you."

I turned my head, just enough for the red rims of my eyes to show, and said softly, "Sure. I believe you."

The living room light stayed on all night.

The next day, when we went to the county registry office to make it official, the compensation section of the agreement had grown by a few more pages.

Once the paperwork was done, Lois did something she'd never done before. She caught my hand and said, "Let's get a meal together."

Any other time, I'd have been over the moon.

Lois was cold by habit; she'd never once reached for me first.

But now I stepped back half a pace, head lowered. "Ms. Thomas, that wouldn't be right."

Her frown deepened, like she wasn't used to me keeping my distance.

"Victor," she said, edgy now, "we're just divorced, not enemies. We can still be friends."

I paused. I let it pass.

Three years ago, after all, she'd told me I wasn't even fit to stand in front of her.

Taking my silence for agreement, she opened the car door for me herself.

She'd never done anything like that before.

I dropped my eyes. "Your pregnancy nausea's been bad. You can't take the smell of a restaurant."

She went still, as if only now remembering she'd just had the baby. Again, low: "I'm sorry."

I nodded and said, politely, "Then I won't trouble you, Ms. Thomas. I'll be going."

Her lips pressed thinner. A little anger seemed to gather in her.

But looking at my eyes, still swollen and red, she forced it down.

"Get in. I'll drive you home."

This time I didn't refuse. Yielding once or twice is strategy; do it too many times and it just looks like putting on airs.

The whole way, she kept starting to speak and stopping.

I knew what she wanted to say.

So I said it first. "I'll take the child. I won't put you in a hard spot."

I thought that was thoughtful of me. Her reaction was nothing like I'd imagined.

Her face darkened, and anger flickered in those black eyes.

"Victor Pruitt, is it really so unbearable to you, letting me raise our child?"

That caught me off guard.

Normally Lois was a block of ice, quiet, rarely showing anything.

Except in bed, she never lost control.

This was the first time she'd shown me anger.

I didn't argue. I curled my fingers and pinched lightly at the hem of my shirt, and asked back, "We can't very well let the child carry the name of a bastard his whole life."

Her jaw clenched, thin lips nearly a flat line.

Everyone in our circle knew it, after all. The one thing Lois hated most was an illegitimate child.