Chapter 2He Called Me Damaged Goods

In all the years we had known each other, I had never once spoken of walking away.

A flash of genuine panic flickered across Damon’s face. But before it could take root, Taryn chimed in, leaning over the edge of the mattress.

"Wait, you’re ending the marriage just like that?" She let out a sharp laugh. "Damon, don't say I didn't warn you. When a woman drops the D-word that fast, it usually means she’s already lined up her next option. Think about it. She was obsessed with you. Why else would she walk away so easily?"

The panic in Damon’s eyes instantly hardened into something venomous.

Before I could breathe, his hand clamped around my throat, shoving me violently backward until my spine slammed into the closet door.

"Tell me!" he hissed, his face inches from mine, nostrils flared. "Who is he? Who the hell are you sleeping with behind my back?"

I clawed at his fingers, gasping for air. "I... never... betrayed you."

"Liar!" he roared. "If you didn't have someone else, you wouldn't dare leave me!"

With a vicious snarl, he threw me aside.

My body struck the hardwood floor hard. I curled into a ball, coughing violently, dragging ragged breaths into my bruised chest. When I finally found the strength to look up, tears blurred my vision, but my heart had gone completely cold.

"You're the one who cheated," I whispered, the words trembling with absolute disgust. "I want out, and you think that makes me guilty? Damon, you're not the only one who can't stand filth. I can't stomach it either."

"Filth."

The word was a landmine for Damon. It dug straight into the rotting wound of his childhood.

I braced myself for him to strike me again. But he didn't move.

He stood frozen, his eyes glued to the floor between my legs.

Frowning, I followed his gaze. A dark, warm pool of crimson was soaking through the hem of my shorts, staining the pale oak beneath me.

Panic fluttered through my chest. Had I torn something when I hit the floor?

Because of the scalding baths he had subjected me to night after night, the nerve endings across my lower abdomen and thighs were severely deadened. I couldn't feel where the pain was coming from. I couldn't feel anything except a heavy, frightening warmth.

Terrified, I looked up at him. "Damon..."

Something in him snapped back to reality. The fury vanished, replaced by sudden dread. He lunged forward, scooped me into his arms, and sprinted out the door toward the car.

At the emergency room, the doctors rushed me into triage. When the physician finally came out to deliver the results, the words felt surreal:

I was six weeks pregnant.

Against all odds, the bleeding had slowed. With emergency progesterone and immediate bed rest, they had miraculously saved the fetus.

When Damon returned to my room, he pulled up a chair in absolute silence. He reached out, his hand hesitating before resting against my stomach.

"Summer," he murmured, staring at his shoes. "Now that there's a baby... let's just turn the page. I won't hold your past against you anymore. We'll call it even."

I didn't answer. I lay motionless on the stiff hospital bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling the faint, tender throb beneath my skin.

A child. It was a terrifying, delicate anchor. For a fraction of a second, the primal instinct of motherhood made me hesitate about walking away.

But then I remembered the boiling water. I remembered his fingers wrapped around my throat. I remembered the red stain on our matrimonial bed.

The nausea came back tenfold.

While I was still drowning in my thoughts, Taryn—who had followed us to the hospital and hovered in the corner the whole time—spoke up softly.

"Six weeks?" She tilted her head, tapping a polished nail against her lip. "Wait. Weren't you in Chicago on business six weeks ago, Damon? The entire week?"

She looked at me, her eyes wide with feigned innocence. "Is that baby really yours?"

Before either of us could react, she waved her hands frantically. "Oh, Summer, don't get the wrong idea! I'm just doing the math. I'm definitely not saying you cheated or anything."

I slowly turned my head toward Damon.

Sure enough, his brows were knotted together, his gaze turning rigid and calculating as he swallowed every drop of her poison.

He pulled his hand back from my stomach as if he had just touched a corpse.

"Get rid of it, Summer," he said, his voice flat. "I’m not raising another man’s bastard."