Tears the size of pearls streamed down Briony's cheeks as she sobbed uncontrollably.

Worried she might collapse from overwhelming grief, the nurse murmured a few words of comfort before gently leading her out.

The moment Briony left the ICU, Gwendolyn White hurried over to support her.

"Bryn, you've seen the baby. Let's go back to your room, okay?"

But Briony brushed Gwendolyn's hand aside and, with slow, deliberate steps, walked straight toward Stewart.

Each movement was heavy and labored-her stomach still throbbed from the surgery, and the hospital gown hung limply on her gaunt frame, swallowing her up.

Stewart stood a few yards away, watching as Briony approached. Strangely,

despite the shrinking distance, he felt as if she was drifting further and further from him.

James made a move to follow, but Gwendolyn quickly caught his arm.

"Leave her," she whispered. "Bryn has something she needs to say to Stewart.” James raked a frustrated hand through his hair, clenching his jaw.

Briony stopped in front of Stewart. Her face was drained of color, her eyes red- rimmed and utterly devoid of light. She stared at him as if she were looking straight through him-at something cold and lifeless.

"Stewart," she rasped, her voice hoarse, "I didn't even get to see my son one last time. Are you satisfied now?"

Stewart's expression faltered.

He frowned. "I only brought him home so he could be laid to rest as soon as possible. I never meant to hurt you."

"And what?" Briony's lips curled into a bitter smile. “Am I supposed to thank you? Thank you—the heir to the Wentworth family-for acknowledging my child, for

ving him to be buried in your precious family crypt? Should I get down on my knees and bow my head in gratitude?"

"He was my son, too. Do you think

son?" Briony's gaze was icy, her words bleeding with pain. "Do you really believe that burying him somehow erases the fact that he died

Stewart was stunned.

to be

and slapped Stewart hard across the face-the sound cracked through

it weren't for you and Rosita, none of

struck

one's for my

A third

this one's

stood there, head bowed, fists clenched at his sides-enduring each blow

in ragged bursts. If she'd had a knife

him-hated him so fiercely she wished he'd vanish from the

from me. Fine. But you have no right to take my daughter, too. After tonight, there's nothing left between us. My daughter and I are

glance, Briony turned

if she were wading through fog. Her legs felt as if they were

"Bryn!"

"Briony!"

and caught Briony just as she crumpled

and in an instant, crimson blood soaked through her hospital

"Get a doctor-now!"

arms and

on the polished floor in his

...

had barely stepped off

missed calls-all from Carl and

stomach dropped. Something was

Stella's hand, led her to

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