The weekend had passed smoothly for everyone—laughter filled the hospital halls, new hopes bloomed, and Cammy's recovery marked a quiet triumph.
But in a lavish mansion far from the warmth of celebration, storm clouds gathered.
Duncan Veston slammed the crystal glass down on the counter, the scotch inside rippling with rage.
"For the last damn time, Annie—no, we are not getting married next week. I've told you already. After the baby is born!"
Annie Tucker, standing in her silk robe with her hands protectively over her 32-week bump, flinched at the sharpness in his voice.
"I'm not asking for a runway wedding, Duncan," she snapped. "Just a contract signing day. Some sense of commitment. We can have the ceremony and reception later on. You promised—"
"I am committed! You're carrying my child, aren't you?" Duncan shot back. "What more do you want—blood?"
