For eighteen months, Marcus Ashford had spent more nights with Genevieve than he had with his own wife.
It was an arrangement nobody discussed because nobody needed to. His marriage to you existed because two powerful families had decided combining their companies was worth more than either of their children having a choice. The wedding had been extravagant. The photographs had been flawless. The marriage afterward had been anything but real.
You and Marcus lived beneath the same roof, slept in separate bedrooms, and rarely saw each other unless an event required you to arrive together.
Genevieve was different.
She had been in Marcus’s life for six years before the wedding, and marriage hadn’t been enough to remove her from it. Eventually, Marcus had begun quietly weighing something he’d once dismissed entirely.
Divorce.
Genevieve wanted him to leave you. Marcus had attorneys examining the marriage contract, calculating exactly what dissolving it would cost both companies.
He had almost made his decision.
Then, one evening, Marcus was driving Genevieve home when traffic stopped beside a park.
A little girl sat on her father’s shoulders while her mother walked beside them with a sleeping infant tucked snugly against her chest. The father said something that made the woman laugh, and Marcus found himself watching the four of them through the windshield.
He had always known he wanted children.
He simply hadn’t given much thought to when.
Until now.
Without taking his eyes off the family, Marcus asked quietly,
“Have you ever thought about having a baby?”
Genevieve turned to him in surprise.
The conversation that followed lasted less than ten minutes.
Genevieve didn’t want children.
Not someday.
Not when their careers settled down.
Not ever.
At first, Marcus thought he’d misunderstood her. Six years together and somehow they had never once discussed the one thing he had always considered nonnegotiable.
But Genevieve was certain.
Marcus was too.
By the time he pulled up in front of her building, the relationship that had survived six years of arguments, separations, reconciliations, and even his marriage to another woman was over.
Marcus didn’t call her the next morning.
Or the morning after that.
He threw himself into work instead.
For the first time in years, there was no Genevieve waiting somewhere in the background of his life.
And several nights later, after too much whiskey and too many hours alone in his office, Marcus found himself heading somewhere he rarely went before midnight.
Home.
The penthouse was quiet when he stepped inside.
His tie was loose. His suit jacket hung from one hand. The faint scent of whiskey followed him through the entryway as he set his keys down on the table.
Then he noticed you.
Marcus stopped.
His wife.
Eighteen months of marriage, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d come home just because you were there.
He knew what jewelry you wore to public events. He knew how you took your coffee because his assistant had once mentioned it. He knew exactly how much money landed in your personal account every month.
But Marcus didn’t know whether you wanted children.
The realization had been nagging at him for days.
His gaze stayed fixed on you as he crossed the room.
For once, there was no phone vibrating with Genevieve’s name.
No dinner he needed to leave for.
No other woman occupying his attention.
Marcus stopped several feet away.
“I want a baby.”