Jeremy's POV
The hospital corridors smelled like antiseptic and regret. I'd bribed, lied, and disguised myself just to get this close to her — my wife, my Audrey. The guards at the door didn't even look twice when I passed in a white coat and mask. I kept my head low, pretending to check a clipboard, but my heart was a storm inside my chest.
Then I saw her.
Through the glass panel, she was sitting on the hospital bed, her hair falling over her face like a veil. And beside her—him. Simon. His arm around her shoulders, her face buried in his chest.
That should've been me.
I stood frozen, my throat tightening, my breath catching. I wanted to run in, to hold her, to tell her I was sorry, that I didn't know… that I never meant to lose her or our child.
Our child.
My knees almost buckled. She'd been carrying my baby, and I never even knew. The thought burned through me, raw and merciless.
I pushed the door open before I could think twice. "Audrey," I said, my voice breaking through the stillness of the room.
She looked up — startled, pale, eyes red from crying. Simon moved instantly, standing in front of her like a shield.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked coldly.
I ignored him. "Why didn't you tell me?" My voice came out louder than I intended. "You were pregnant with my child, Audrey. Why didn't you—why didn't you say something?"
Her lips trembled, and for a second, I saw the pain flicker in her eyes — not anger, not hate, just exhaustion, and I said nothing. I wanted to shout, to argue, but the words caught in my throat. Because maybe she was right.
Simon took a step forward. "You need to leave," he said, his voice low but dangerous.
I clenched my fists, looking at him with pure rage. "You think I'll walk away now? That was our baby—mine and hers. You don't get to comfort her for something you'll never understand!"
He didn't move. "You lost the right to comfort her the moment you chose your pride over her."
That hit harder than I expected.
I turned back to Audrey, my chest tightening. She looked away, unable to meet my gaze.
And that silence — her silence — shattered me more than any slap could.
I swallowed hard, my voice trembling. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "For everything."
"Follow me," Simon grabbed my hand and led me out of the room. I followed him because if I had stayed, I might've fallen apart completely. Outside the room, the weight of what I'd lost crushed me.
Audrey.
My child.
Everything I thought I could get back… gone.
--
I stepped out of the hospital like a man waking into a different country — everything raw, everything too bright. I needed air, needed to get away from the look on Audrey's face. Then he was there in front of me, blocking my path like he owned the walkway.
"This was all Adel," he said without preamble, voice low and cold. "You did this."
The words hit like a punch. I blinked once, stupidly. "What are you talking about?" I managed.
Simon's jaw set. "You think you're happy now that the child's gone, don't you? You think she'll come to you now? You're delusional if you think that, Simon. Audrey is not yours." My eyes were hard as stone. "She's mine, by right and by everything that matters. Stay away from her."
He laughed then, a bitter sound that surprised me with its own fury. "You're pathetic," he spat. "You think she will fall for your lies again? You don't know her. You don't know anything."
I didn't flinch. If anything, his stare got colder. "Listen," he said. "Adel's lies started this. If she's the kind of woman who plants herself in places she shouldn't be, who coaxes a man into thinking one thing while she does another — tell her to hide. Tell her to disappear. Because if I catch her, she'll be sorry."
He turned and walked away, each step a deliberate dismissal, leaving me standing there with my blood roaring in my ears.
Adel. The name smoldered like a coal in my mouth. I listened to the echo of Simon's threat and felt something I hadn't let myself feel yet: a cold, methodical fury. Not the helpless grief — the kind that plans, that hunts. If he was right, if she'd done this — if she'd had a hand in what happened to my child — she wouldn't walk away untouched. Not by me.
I fished my phone out and called Jason before I'd even realized I was dialing. "Get Adel's movements. Now. Where is she?" My voice was clipped. There was no room for argument, no space for delay.
"Sir—" Jason began, but I cut him off.
"Find her. Don't let anyone warn her. I want her found." The command felt foreign and inevitable in my mouth.
I didn't wait for an answer. I started walking toward the parking lot, toward a plan I couldn't yet name. Rage makes you stupid in elegant ways — it gives you certainty where there should be none. I wanted answers. I wanted someone to hold accountable. I wanted the world to fold back the way it used to, before everything I cared about unraveled.
Simon's warning had done something else, too: it made my grief sharp and immediate, sharpened to a blade of purpose. I would find Adel. I would find out the truth. And whatever came next, I would not be a spectator.