Chapter 4

Gloria Carpenter POV:

We spent three weeks in that sterile white room, suspended in a limbo of healing and heartbreak. In all that time, not a single message came from Kade or Carlisle. No flowers, no calls, no inquiries about our well-being. It was as if the Carpenter sisters had been surgically excised from the Conrad family memory. The void of their indifference was a constant, aching presence, a wound that refused to close.

The day we were discharged, we were in the hospital' s administrative wing finalizing the paperwork when I saw him. Carlisle. He was rushing down the corridor, his face etched with concern, a bouquet of expensive flowers in his hand. He didn' t even glance in our direction, his eyes fixed on a door at the end of the hall.

The sign above the door read: Maternity Ward.

A cold knot formed in my stomach. Without a word, Charlene and I followed him, keeping to the shadows of the hallway. We watched as he slipped into a private room. The door was left slightly ajar.

Inside, Florence was propped up in bed, looking radiant. And next to her, Kade was gently rocking a small bassinet. A baby. Her baby.

"I' m so scared, you guys," Florence whimpered, clutching Kade' s hand. "Giving birth was the hardest thing I' ve ever done. I just feel so weak."

Carlisle rushed to her side, placing the flowers on her nightstand and stroking her hair. "Shh, Flo. We' re here. We' ll take care of everything. You just rest."

The three of them formed a perfect, sickening tableau of domestic bliss. A happy family.

My hand instinctively went to my own flat, empty belly. Beside me, Charlene did the same. The phantom pain of our shared loss was so intense it was almost physical.

I grabbed Charlene' s arm, my nails digging into her flesh. "Let' s go," I choked out, pulling her away before the scream I was swallowing could escape.

Back in the safety of our rented apartment, I sent a single text message to Kade: Conrad Tower. My lawyer' s office. Tomorrow at 10 a.m. Be there to sign the papers. If you are not, I will file for a mandatory dissolution and cite spousal abandonment and criminal negligence during a medical emergency.

His call came less than a minute later. I let it go to voicemail. He called again. And again. A flood of angry, demanding texts followed. I turned my phone off. The power dynamic had shifted. I was done begging for his attention.

The next morning, Charlene and I made one last stop before the meeting. We went to the city' s central security council and filed an official report about the hit-and-run, detailing the attack, our injuries, and, most importantly, our husbands' refusal to help.

The officer taking our statement looked grave. "This is a serious accusation. Why did you wait three weeks to report it?"

A bitter laugh escaped me. "Because the men who were supposed to protect us told us we were being dramatic and to handle it ourselves. We were in the hospital, officer. Alone." I pushed a file across the desk. "I' ve already requested the phone records from that night. You' ll find our distress calls, and you' ll find their dismissals."

His eyes softened with sympathy. He stamped the report. "We will launch a full investigation."

As we left, my phone buzzed. Another video from Florence. It was a close-up of the baby, sleeping peacefully. The caption read: He looks just like his daddy, don' t you think? The message had been sent to a group chat that included half of Gotham' s elite. The replies were a flood of congratulations, with people debating whether the baby had Kade' s eyes or Carlisle' s chin.

They were publicly claiming her child, while the world remained ignorant that Kade' s true son was dead.

The rage was a clean, cold flame inside me.

When I turned my phone back on that night, there were thirty-seven missed calls from Kade. I called him back.

"Where the hell have you been?" he roared before I could even speak. "I went to the house. It' s empty. You cleared out your things. What the hell is going on, Gloria? What game are you playing?"

"There' s no game, Kade."

"Then what is this? And what have you done to Charlene? She won' t answer any of Carlisle' s calls. You' ve poisoned her against him!"

Beside me on the sofa, Charlene, who had been listening on speaker, snatched the phone from my hand. Her voice was pure ice.

"Listen to me, you arrogant prick," she snarled. "My sister didn' t poison me. You and your brother did, with your pathetic, obsessive worship of that manipulative snake you call a stepsister. Marrying you was the single greatest mistake of my life, but it' s one I' m about to correct. We are divorcing you because you are not men. You are pathetic, codependent little boys. And we are done with you."

She hung up and immediately blocked both their numbers.

The next morning, there was a tentative knock at our door. It was Florence, holding her newborn, her face a mask of practiced vulnerability.

"Gloria, Charlene, I am so, so sorry," she began, tears welling in her eyes as she sank to her knees in a dramatic display of remorse. "This is all my fault. The boys... they just worry about me so much. I told them to call you back that night, I swear I did, but they were just so focused on me."

She was playing the victim. Trying to manipulate us one last time.

I stared down at her, my expression unmoved. "Are you here to give me your permission to divorce my husband, Florence?"

Her fake tears stopped. Her eyes narrowed. "I just want us all to be a family again."

"Stop," I said, my voice low and dangerous. "Stop playing the victim. We both know what you are."

Just then, the elevator down the hall dinged. As the doors opened, Florence let out a theatrical gasp, clutched her chest, and deliberately stumbled backwards, collapsing onto the floor in a heap.

Kade came storming out of the elevator. He saw Florence on the ground and me standing over her. His face contorted with rage.

"What did you do to her?" he bellowed, shoving me so hard I lost my balance and crashed against the wall. Charlene caught me before I hit the ground.

He ignored me completely, rushing to Florence' s side. "Flo, are you okay? Did she hurt you? Is the baby okay?"

After assuring himself they were both unharmed, he turned back to me, his eyes blazing with a murderous light.

His gaze dropped from my face to my stomach. To my flat, non-pregnant stomach. The fury in his eyes slowly morphed into confusion, then dawning horror.

"Gloria..." he whispered, his voice trembling for the first time. "Where' s the baby? Where is our son?"