recovery room ha

. Davis," one had said with a sigh.

ere a bitte

ed, Alyssa opened her eyes. The chair ne

n the bedside tabl

ice. Grandfather needs me. I

e disappointment was a familiar ache in her chest. Finally, she had

later. It wasn't the o

a hunger strike, refusing food and medicine until Branson fulfilled his "duty" again.

d gone to Cha

s, deliberate act. The sounds from the bedroom that night had been

irst, she had pressed a pillow over her head, trying to suffocate the sounds, h

hard knot in her stomach. She became a detached observer, counting.

ice. A t

ed to have only for her was a lie. Her heart, which had

l was tonight. On

oses, her favorite. A private chef was preparing a multi-course me

ith emotion. "You are my world. My everythi

he screen. The tender expression on his face vani

d promised, his voice str

f the room. He

irm it. She had calmly instructed the chef to leave, then

times. She felt nothing. A profound, terrifying emptiness.

ranson emerged from the guest wing, where Chandler was stayi

bes. Her face was flushed, her lips swollen. There were red mark

ow. Alyssa' s eyes stung, b

id. His expression shifted instantly fr

r, his voice a low, dangerous gr

on crumpled into one of hurt and vulnerability. It was a masterful p

of silent suffering, and

a, baby, I'm so sorry," he murmured, his voice laced with what sou

y numb. His arms, which had once bee

eyes shining with unshed tears. "I can't give you children, Alyssa. But

mised me?" she asked now,

o. But this... this is differ