**“SHE CAN EAT IN THE KITCHEN. THIS TABLE IS FOR FAMILY,” MY BILLIONAIRE HUSBAND'S MISTRESS SAID, TAKING AWAY MY DINNER PLATE. I WAS SEVEN MONTHS PREGNANT. MY HUSBAND DIDN'T STOP HER. BUT WHEN HIS 28-YEAR-OLD SISTER STOOD UP AND CARRIED HER PLATE AFTER ME, HIS FACE WENT WHITE.**

Marcus raised both hands in a placating gesture, his face devoid of emotion. “Miss Nicole, please lower your voice. I am not here to cause an incident. Mr. Hayes requested that I escort Mrs. Hayes back to the Barrington residence safely.”

“Mrs. Hayes is not going to Barrington,” Rachel said firmly, stepping up beside Nicole.

Marcus ignored Rachel completely, fixing his gaze on me over Nicole’s shoulder.

“Mrs. Hayes,” Marcus said, his tone flat and formal. “Mr. Hayes instructed me to inform you that your personal credit cards, vehicle access codes, and domestic accounts associated with the Hayes Family Trust have been temporarily placed on administrative hold pending the resolution of your legal status. He believes you are being unduly influenced by third parties and wishes to speak with you directly in a controlled environment.”

He was cutting off my money.

Less than twenty-four hours after refusing his seventy-million-dollar buyout, Alex was pulling the financial noose tight, trying to starve me into surrender.

A cold, electric rage swept through my chest, chasing away every lingering ounce of sadness.

I stepped around Nicole, looking Marcus dead in his deadpan eyes.

“Tell Alexander,” I said, each word dripping with venomous clarity, “that he can cancel every card in the city of Chicago. He can lock down the accounts. He can burn the Barrington house to the ground for all I care.”

I raised the sonogram pictures, holding them inches from Marcus’s face.

“Tell him that while he’s busy counting his money and checking his security codes, he just forfeited his right to see this.”

Marcus blinked, his eyes dropping to the tiny image of the unborn child.

“Have a good afternoon, Marcus,” I said. “Now move out of my way before I have the Chicago Police Department escort you out of this hospital in handcuffs.”

Marcus stared at me for three long seconds. For the first time in the four years I had known him, the cold professional mask slipped, revealing a flicker of genuine unease.

He slowly stepped to the side, lowering his head.

“Good day, Mrs. Hayes.”

**“SHE CAN EAT IN THE KITCHEN. THIS TABLE IS FOR FAMILY,” MY BILLIONAIRE HUSBAND’S MISTRESS SAID, TAKING AWAY MY DINNER PLATE. I WAS SEVEN MONTHS PREGNANT. MY HUSBAND DIDN’T STOP HER. BUT WHEN HIS 28-YEAR-OLD SISTER STOOD UP AND CARRIED HER PLATE AFTER ME, HIS FACE WENT WHITE.**

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“SHE CAN EAT IN THE KITCHEN. THIS TABLE IS FOR FAMILY,” MY BILLIONAIRE HUSBAND’S MISTRESS SAID, TAKING AWAY MY DINNER PLATE. I WAS SEVEN MONTHS PREGNANT. MY HUSBAND DIDN’T STOP HER. BUT WHEN HIS 28-YEAR-OLD SISTER STOOD UP AND CARRIED HER PLATE AFTER ME, HIS FACE WENT WHITE.

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