“I didn’t get the impression from Mr. Dawson that his team’s owner factored in his decision to come here. At all,” my father replies evenly.

“Then what did? This entire engagement is making my family look like a laughingstock. That is completely unacceptable. I would like some answers.” Frustration leaks from Lionel’s voice.

“I don’t have any for you. As far as I know, Vivienne has every intention of marrying Charles in the spring. However, who Vivienne marries is her decision, and I certainly don’t know anything about the nuances of professional football contracts.”

Lionel lets out a loud huff. “I understand.” His voice has calmed. “It’s not just my family’s reputation. Charles is quite invested in this relationship.”

“I know nothing Vivienne has done was meant to hurt Charles or your family in any way,” my father responds.

My heart sinks as I rest a hand on my stomach. My father and Lionel shift to discussing more neutral topics, and I tune them out entirely. Jace is considering quitting football, and he doesn’t know I’m pregnant. Charles is upset with me, and my father’s oldest friendship is being affected.

I wait until my father and Lionel leave his study, and then I stand and tiptoe down the spiral staircase. I cross his study, opening the door slightly. The hallway is empty, and I make my way back to my room without encountering anyone.

I change into pajamas and climb into bed as soon as I’m inside the sanctuary of my room, grateful for the opportunity to be oblivious for the next six hours. Despite my troubling thoughts, I feel myself start to fall asleep immediately.

Subconsciously, I feel the dread before I really wake up. I slowly sink through layers of awareness, until I gradually notice my surroundings. I’m in my bed. My room is dark and quiet. But something is wrong. I roll over, and alarm ricochets through me. I fumble for the light and sit up in bed. Before I pull the covers back, I take a deep breath. All I see is red. I start shaking.

I feel for the phone that sits next to my bed, unable to look away from the blood. I pick it up and say the extension code robotically when I’m prompted to.

“Hello?” my father’s sleepy voice answers.

“Papa, I need you to put Mother on.”

“Vivienne?” Confusion and concern replace any drowsiness in my father’s voice. I’ve never called my parents’ room in the middle of the night. Not once.

“I need you to put Mother on,” I repeat. There’s fumbling on the other end of the line, and then my mother’s voice comes through.

“Vivienne?” Her voice is panicked.

“I need you,” I admit. “There’s blood…” I let my voice trail off, unable to say anymore.

“I’ll be right there.”

The next few hours pass in a blur. My mother appears, then Anne, then one of the maids who has been with us the longest. My bed is stripped, I’m helped into the shower and then examined by my personal doctor. She confirms what I realized as soon as I woke up.