Vivienne's POV
The hospital waiting room smells like death and disinfectant.
I watch through the glass as doctors swarm around that pathetic omega—Sable—pumping her stomach, running tests, checking the baby. Thorne paces like a caged animal, barking orders at anyone in a white coat.
He's never looked at me like that. Never moved that fast to protect me.
Eight years. I've given him eight years of my life. Built his empire alongside him. Shared his bed. Loved him when he was too broken to love anyone.
And now some nobody omega is getting the one thing I always wanted: his attention.
"Ms. Calloway?" A nurse approaches. "Mr. Corvinus asked if you'd wait in the private lounge. This could take hours."
"I'm not going anywhere." I cross my arms. "That's my boyfriend's child in there."
The nurse's eyes flicker with pity. She knows. Everyone knows I'm the mistress now, not the partner.
Thorne bursts through the emergency room doors, and I jump up. "Is she—"
"Alive. Both of them." He runs a hand through his hair. It's the first time I've seen him disheveled in years. "The poison didn't reach her bloodstream. She's okay."
Relief floods me. Then immediate shame. Why am I relieved? I should want that omega gone.
Except... I don't actually want her dead. I just want her gone. There's a difference.
"That's good," I manage. "Really good."
Thorne finally looks at me. Really looks. "You came."
"Of course I came. You called saying your wife was poisoned—" The word 'wife' tastes like ash. "I was worried."
"Thank you." He pulls me into a hug. Brief. Distracted. Already pulling away. "I need to stay with her tonight. Make sure there are no complications."
"I understand." I don't. "Call me tomorrow?"
"Yeah. Tomorrow." But he's already turning back toward the emergency room. Back toward her.
I drive home in silence, gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white.
This wasn't supposed to happen. The omega was supposed to be a footnote—a temporary inconvenience we'd handle together. Get the heir, satisfy the Council, move on.
But Thorne is changing. I can see it. The way he says her name. The fear in his eyes when he thought she might die.
He's starting to care.
No. Worse than that.
The mate bond is breaking through the suppression spell.
I'm three glasses of wine deep when my phone rings. Unknown number.
"Hello?"
"Vivienne Calloway?" Male voice. Smooth. Dangerous. "We have a mutual problem."
"Who is this?"
"Someone who wants the omega gone as badly as you do." A pause. "My name is Malachi Corvinus."
My blood runs cold. Thorne's psychotic cousin. The one who tried to kill us all a few months ago.
"I'm hanging up—"
"The baby lived," Malachi interrupts. "Celeste's poison didn't work. So now we need a new plan."
"We don't need anything. You're insane."
"I'm practical." His voice drops lower. "The omega is pregnant with Thorne's heir. That makes her valuable to the Pack Council. Untouchable, really. But what if she wasn't pregnant anymore?"
Horror crawls up my spine. "You want to kill an unborn child?"
"I want to eliminate Thorne's anchor. The baby is what's making him protective. Without it, she's just another omega he can discard." Malachi sounds almost bored. "I'm offering you a partnership. Help me get rid of the pregnancy, and I'll make sure the omega runs far, far away. Thorne will be free. You win."
"I would never—" But my voice lacks conviction.
Would I? Would I really help murder an innocent baby just to get Thorne back?
"Think about it," Malachi says. "I'll call you in three days. If you're smart, you'll say yes."
He hangs up.
I sit in my empty apartment, staring at my phone. Hating myself. Hating that omega. Hating that I'm even considering this.
But I am considering it.
Because without that baby, Sable is nothing. Without that baby, maybe Thorne remembers he chose me first.
My phone buzzes. Text from Thorne: Staying at hospital tonight. Sable's stable but scared. Need to be here for her.
Need to be there. For her.
Never once in eight years has he "needed" to be there for me.
I throw my phone across the room. It shatters against the wall.
Then I pick up the pieces, find Malachi's number in the call log, and stare at it.
Three days. He gave me three days to decide.
The next morning, I show up at Thorne's office like nothing happened. Professional. Put together. The perfect partner.
"Vivienne." He looks surprised. "I thought you were taking the day off."
"Too much work to do." I set coffee on his desk—the expensive kind he likes. "How's the omega?"
"Her name is Sable." Gentle correction. That stings. "She's recovering. Still shaken."
"Of course." I sit across from him. "Thorne, we need to talk about security. If Malachi can send assassins to your home—"
"Already handled. Tripled the guards. Hired a witch to put up wards." He's not looking at me, typing on his laptop. "She'll be safe."
She. Always she now. Not "the omega." Not "the vessel."
Sable.
"And what about us?" I can't help asking. "Where do I fit in all this?"
Now he looks up. "What do you mean?"
"You're spending every free moment with her. Protecting her. Caring for her." My voice cracks. "That used to be us. Partners. Remember?"
"We're still partners." But he sounds uncertain. "This is just... complicated right now."
"Complicated because she's your true mate." I say it. Finally say it out loud. "The spell isn't working anymore, is it?"
Thorne's face goes carefully blank. "The spell is fine."
"Liar." I lean forward. "I can see it, Thorne. You're falling for her. The bond is pulling you together despite the magic."
"That's not—"
"Then prove it." I stand up, walk around his desk. Sit on the edge in front of him. "Come home with me tonight. Forget about her for one evening. Be with me like you used to."
He hesitates. Just for a second. But it's enough.
"I can't. I promised Sable I'd have dinner with her. She's been alone too much."
Promised. He promised her.
"Right." I slide off the desk, grab my purse. "Of course."
"Vivienne, don't be like this—"
"Like what? Hurt that my boyfriend of eight years is choosing his contract wife over me?" I laugh bitterly. "How should I be, Thorne?"
"I'm not choosing—"
"Yes, you are. You just don't want to admit it yet." I head for the door. "When you figure out what you actually want, call me. Until then, I'm done being second choice."
I leave before he can respond. Before he can see me cry.
In the elevator, I pull out my phone. Stare at Malachi's number.
Three days, he said.
But I don't need three days.
I need that baby gone. And I need Thorne to remember that I'm the one who stood by him when he had nothing.
I dial.
Malachi answers on the first ring. "That was fast."
"What do I have to do?" My voice is steady. Cold. Not my voice at all.
"Simple. Get me into Thorne's penthouse. I'll handle the rest."
"You'll hurt her, won't you? The omega."
"Only enough to end the pregnancy. She'll live. Probably." He pauses. "Unless you want her dead too?"
"No!" Too fast. Too desperate. "Just... just the baby. That's all."
"Squeamish. I can work with that." I hear him typing. "There's a charity gala at the Corvinus building next week. Thorne will be occupied for hours. That's when we strike."
"He'll know it was me."
"He'll suspect everyone. But he won't have proof." Malachi's voice turns persuasive. "Think about it, Vivienne. No baby means no heir. No heir means the Council forces him to try again. And next time, you can make sure it's with someone controllable. Or better yet—convince him to adopt. Anything but binding himself to that omega forever."
He's right. God help me, he's right.
"One week," I hear myself say. "I'll get you inside."
"Excellent. I'll send details tomorrow." He pauses. "Oh, and Vivienne? Don't get cold feet. Because if you back out now, I'll tell Thorne this whole conversation happened. Imagine how he'd look at you then."
Blackmail. Of course.
I hang up, stare at my reflection in the elevator's mirrored walls.
I don't recognize the woman staring back.
But it's too late to turn back now.
That night, I'm home alone when my phone buzzes. Text from an unknown number.
Just a photo. No words.
I open it.
It's Thorne and Sable. Sitting at his penthouse dining table. He's actually smiling—really smiling—at something she said. And she's laughing, hand on her barely-there baby bump.
They look... happy.
Below the photo, a message appears: This could be you. Or it could be her. Choose wisely. The gala is in 6 days. - M
I delete the photo. But I can't delete the image from my mind.
Thorne, smiling at her the way he used to smile at me.
My phone rings. Thorne.
"Vivienne? Are you okay? You left so upset—"
"I'm fine." Lie. "Just tired."
"Listen, about earlier. You're right. I've been neglecting us. How about lunch tomorrow? Just you and me. Like old times."
He's trying. He's actually trying to fix this.
And I'm planning to murder his unborn child.
"Tomorrow sounds perfect," I say, voice steady. "I love you, Thorne."
"I..." Hesitation. "I care about you too, Viv."
Not 'I love you.' Just 'care about you.'
When did that change?
After we hang up, I pour another glass of wine. Stare at Malachi's number in my call log.
Six days until the gala.
Six days until I either save my relationship or destroy it forever.
The phone buzzes again. Another photo from Malachi.
This time it's Sable, alone in a bathroom. She's holding a positive pregnancy test, tears streaming down her face.
But she's smiling.
She loves that baby already.
And I'm going to take it from her.
I down the wine in one gulp.
Then I text Malachi back: I'm in. Send me the plan.
His response is immediate: Good girl. See you at the gala. Wear something red. Blood doesn't show on red.