Kristoff followed behind his parents as they made their way down the hospital corridor, their polished shoes echoing against the marble floor. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and expensive flowers from the bouquets lining the nurses’ station.
His mother, Mary Dalton walked ahead with effortless elegance, her chin lifted like she owned the entire floor, while his father chatted proudly beside her about the Dalton heir.
They stopped in front of a sleek mahogany door.
Room 301.
Kristoff’s steps slowed.
His stomach tightened.
Wasn’t this the room where Isobel had been staying before she was wheeled to the delivery room?
A crease formed between his brows as he pushed the door open.
But the moment he stepped inside, confusion hit him.
The room was spotless. Quiet. Empty.
No trace of Isobel remained.
No books on the bedside table. No folded cardigan draped over the chair. No sign that the woman who had carried his child for nine months had ever existed there at all.
Only the soft beeping of hospital machines and the tiny cries of a newborn filled the silence.
"Mom," Kristoff said slowly, his voice edged with suspicion. "This was Isobel’s room. Where is she?"
Beside him, Charlotte looped an arm around his waist, though the subtle tension in her posture didn’t escape him.
Mary Dalton barely glanced up. Dressed impeccably in cream Chanel suit and diamonds, she looked entirely unbothered as she handed the newborn to a nanny in a crisp white uniform.
"Oh, that woman?" she said casually. "I had her transferred to another room. The suites were needed, and besides..." Her lips curved faintly with disdain. "A room like this was already far above her station."
The nanny carefully placed the baby into the transparent acrylic bassinet beside the bed. Mary’s sharp eyes softened instantly as she gazed at her grandson.
"Yes, she gave birth safely," Mary said dismissively, smoothing an invisible crease from her designer sleeve. "And for that, she was paid more money than she would probably earn in years. Why should she matter now?"
Her eyes flicked toward the bassinet before settling sharply on her son.
"That girl was nothing more than a contract, Kristoff. A temporary arrangement." Her voice lowered, colder this time. "You would do well to remember that."
Kristoff’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"I already said I’m not thinking about her."
But even to his own ears, the words lacked conviction. Because he just thought about her when he entered the room.
Mary noticed.
She always noticed.
"You’d better not be," she replied smoothly. "Charlotte has stood beside you through everything. The last thing you should do is make her feel threatened by a woman beneath her."
At that, Charlotte looked up at him with soft, shimmering eyes, every inch the devoted fiancée. Fragile. Elegant. Understanding.
The sight stirred something protective inside him.
Without hesitation, Kristoff slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her against his chest.
"Charlotte is the woman I love," he said firmly, as though saying it aloud would erase every lingering thought in his mind. "She’s the only one who matters to me. I would never do anything to hurt her."
Charlotte’s lips curved slowly into a radiant smile, but behind the sweetness in her eyes was the faint glimmer of triumph.
Kristoff lowered his head and pressed a tender kiss against her forehead, drawing a pleased look from his mother.
"Do you want to stay tonight?" he asked softly. "Spend time with the baby?"
Charlotte nearly recoiled at the suggestion.
Every time she looked at the child, all she could see was proof that another woman had shared Kristoff’s bed for over a year.
But she masked the bitterness flawlessly.
"Honey, I have a shoot later," she said apologetically, brushing invisible lint from his suit jacket. "I actually need to leave soon. But tomorrow my schedule’s clear. I’ll spend the whole day here then, okay?"
Kristoff nodded immediately, indulgence warming his features.
"Of course. Your work comes first."
"I’ll walk you out."
Charlotte shook her head lightly. "No need. Stay here with Uncle, Auntie, and the baby."
Still, Kristoff escorted her to the doorway.
...
Outside, Charlotte’s assistant was already waiting near the elevator.
Before leaving, Charlotte tiptoed onto her stilettos and kissed Kristoff softly on the lips. Then, with a playful push against his chest, she sent him back into the room.
The elevator doors slid shut behind them with a metallic hiss.
The moment they were alone, the sweetness vanished from Charlotte’s face.
Her eyes turned cold.
"Did you check on that woman?" she asked sharply.
Her assistant hesitated before nodding.
"Yes, Ma’am. She was transferred to the smallest private room on the far end of the ward. It barely has space to move around." She swallowed nervously. "There isn’t even a window."
A slow, cruel smile curved Charlotte’s lips.
"Good."
The sharp click of her stilettos echoed through the corridor as they walked.
"That woman deserves to suffer for sleeping with my man."
Her assistant blinked in surprise.
"But... Miss Charlotte, she gave birth to Mr. Kristoff’s son."
Charlotte stopped walking.
Then she turned, her gaze icy enough to freeze blood.
"He is not my son," she hissed. "I can tolerate the child if I must. But that woman?" Her manicured nails curled into her purse strap. "She spent more than a year beside Kristoff. She touched what belongs to me."
The elevator doors opened.
Charlotte stepped inside gracefully, but the venom in her voice only deepened.
"She needs to learn her place. Make sure her stay in this hospital becomes unbearable." Her lips curled coldly. "And once she leaves... see to it that no company will ever hire her again."
Her assistant stood frozen.
Three months working for Charlotte, and she had believed the actress was kind-hearted, elegant, almost angelic.
But the woman standing before her now was someone else entirely.
Beautiful on the outside.
Ruthless underneath.
And for the first time, the assistant wondered if everyone had been deceived by Charlotte all along.