Chapter 6 - The Lie|
The air in the room instantly turned cold.
Michael’s gray eyes narrowed, his fingers tightening around the silver handle of his walking stick. "What did she say to you?"
"She told me my dramatic labor situation wasn't your responsibility tonight," Catherine said softly, not looking down at the baby, but keeping her gaze locked on his face. "And then she told me to stop bothering you."
Michael didn't flinch, but his left hand twitched—a tiny, involuntary movement that only someone who had lived with him for eleven years would ever notice.
"Amber was out of line," Michael said smoothly, taking a step toward the bed. "She was under extreme pressure dealing with the dock situation. I will handle her personally today."
He reached out a hand, his large, calloused fingers extending toward the baby’s face. "Let me see my daughter."
Catherine didn't pull back, but her body went rigid, every muscle locked in silent resistance.
"Her name is Claire," Catherine said, her voice dropping into an icy register. "And she isn't yours."
Michael froze, his hand hovering two inches above the flannel blanket. A dangerous, dark quiet descended over the room.
"What did you just say?" Michael whispered.
"You weren't here," Catherine replied, looking him straight in the eye. "You didn't help her take her first breath. You didn't hold her when she cried. You chose Amber, you chose the docks, and you chose your family's business. You don't get to walk in here seven hours later and claim her."
Michael let out a low, humorless laugh, stepping closer until his broad frame blocked out the morning light from the window.
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"Catherine, don't do this here," he warned, his tone shifting into the dark, terrifying register he used when negotiating with rival families. "You are my wife. This is my daughter. You will pack your things, and my men will take you both home to Chestnut Hill this afternoon."
"No," Catherine said.
