Chapter Twelve — Unholy Sin
Hazel didn't cry when she broke up with Samuel.
She didn't flinch, didn't tremble, didn't fall apart.
She simply sat across from him on their frayed couch, eyes soft but certain.
"I can't keep lying," she said.
Samuel's eyes glossed over. "Is there someone else?"
Hazel swallowed. "Yes."
The word cracked something in the room. But she didn't take it back.
"I love you, Samuel," she said quietly. "But not in the way you deserve."
He stood up. Pacing. Laughing a bitter, broken kind of laugh. "So, this is it? After everything?"
She looked down at her hands. "I don't want to hurt you anymore."
"That's a little late, don't you think?"
He stormed out.
The door slammed. Her hands shook.
But she didn't regret it.
Because for the first time, she had chosen herself.
The next morning, Hazel stepped out of Henry's private elevator and into his office with a new kind of fire in her blood.
Ava Monroe was already there, perched on the edge of his desk like she belonged in his world more than Hazel ever could.
But Hazel didn't shrink this time.
She walked right up to her, looked her in the eye, and said, "He's not yours."
Ava laughed, slow and syrupy. "He never was. He's just passing time with you."
Hazel tilted her head. "Must be hard, being replaced."
"I'm pregnant," Ava said.
Hazel froze. "What?"
Ava leaned in. "I'm having a baby, and Henry's going to want to be part of it."
Hazel stared, fury rising like a tide. "Does he know?"
"Not yet." Her smile was poison. "But he will."
Hazel didn't speak. She didn't need to.
Because something in Ava's eyes trembled.
Later that day, Henry got a text.
> Hazel: She told me she's pregnant.
> Henry: It's not mine.
> Hazel: You're sure?
> Henry: 100%. She's playing games, Hazel. I haven't touched her in years.
> Hazel: She said you don't know yet.
> Henry: Then let her tell me. I'll show you the truth.
What Henry didn't expect was what happened three nights later.
It was almost midnight when he poured himself a glass of whiskey and turned on the jazz that lulled him to sleep.
He didn't see the drop of white powder Ava stirred into his drink.
Didn't see her slip out of the shadows behind him.
He only remembered sipping.
Then darkness.
Then nothing.
The next morning, sunlight pierced the penthouse in golden shards.
Henry stirred in bed, eyes gritty, mouth dry.
And beside him—
Skin.
Satin.
Movement.
He turned his head—
Ava.
Naked, hair tousled to perfection, eyes fluttering open as if waking from a shared dream.
"What the fuck?" he rasped, sitting upright. "What the hell is this?"
"You don't remember?" she asked, voice coated in feigned innocence.
He looked down. His shirt was unbuttoned halfway. Pants still on—but belt loose.
"You drugged me."
"Don't be dramatic."
He stormed out of the bed. "You came here, drugged me, and—what? Took photos? Trying to force something that isn't real?"
"I'm pregnant, Henry."
"I don't care if you're the Virgin Mary. This isn't how you get me back."
"You didn't say that last night."
He stopped.
Stared at her.
And smiled.
It wasn't kind.
It was lethal.
"You're done, Ava."
Ten minutes later, she was escorted out of the building by security. Crying. Screaming. Threatening.
But Henry didn't flinch.
He walked straight to the wall panel near the kitchen, opened the hidden drawer, and pulled out a silver remote.
One press.
The TV screen lit up.
Footage from every angle—bedroom, hallway, bar. The drink. The powder. The undressing. All of it.
He sent a copy to his lawyer. Another to himself.
Then he texted Hazel.
> Henry: Come over. I have something to show you.
Hazel arrived with eyes full of worry.
He let her in, said nothing, handed her the remote, and pressed play.
She watched the entire thing in silence.
Her breath caught when she saw Ava crawl into bed beside him. Half-naked. Her hand brushing his stomach.
Hazel's hands trembled.
But she kept watching.
Then came the stillness.
No movement from Henry.
Nothing between them but fabric and lies.
When the video ended, Hazel sat down slowly.
"Why… didn't you tell me you had cameras?"
He sighed. "I hate needing to prove my innocence. But I've had women like her before."
Hazel's throat tightened. "I hated seeing her touch you."
"She didn't touch me."
"I know." She looked up at him. "I believe you."
He knelt in front of her. "You left Samuel."
"I did."
"And now?"
Hazel looked at him. Everything raw, open, real. "Now I'm terrified."
"Of what?"
"Of losing something I haven't even figured out how to keep."
Henry's hand reached for hers. "Then stay."
She hesitated.
Then whispered, "Okay."
He kissed her knuckles, each one like a vow.
That night, they lay in bed, legs tangled, no lies left between them.
And outside the building, Ava sat in her car, watching the light in Henry's penthouse window.
Burning.
Waiting.
Willing it to go dark.