Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
From on his bedside table, beside the framed picture of him and Kendra on their honeymoon in Paris, her staring up at him adoringly from in front of the Eiffel Tower, his phone rang.
It was the ringtone for the front desk in the building’s lobby.
He answered it, his tone flat, “What is it?”
“Mr. Maddox, you have a package delivery for Mrs. Maddox,” Piers, the building concierge and front desk manager said, his tone clipped, professional, just like Gideon paid him to be.
“Packages?”
“Yes, sir, for Mrs. Maddox,” Piers answered.
Kendra. The current Mrs. Maddox.
He mentally laughed at that, no humor in sight.
Isabella hadn’t been wrong; Kendra had failed at the most important task he’d given her, the one that meant the continuation or the termination of their marriage—if he so wished it.
And Isabella had also been right in that Kendra hadn’t even read the full prenup before she’d signed it, utterly trusting in the man she was marrying, believing he was a fair, good man, that he would never put anything in a legal document that would hurt her.
“I trust you, Gideon…and I love you, so I can never imagine needing to use the prenup….”
Fuck, the woman had no sense of self-preservation.
You did warn her to read it, she just didn’t. That isn’t your fault.
No, but he could have fucking told her about the clause regarding the producing of an heir within three years.
But he hadn’t, and now he was staring down a mess of his own making.
I should have worked harder at getting her pregnant; no Tuesday, Thursday, Sunday “appointments.” Maybe if he’d put as much effort into impregnating his wife as he did in building and ruling over the Maddox empire, he’d actually have an heir to pass it to when he died.
He was man enough to know his priorities were skewed, and that he’d placed blame on a woman who didn’t know she was performing on a deadline—and had been hamstrung by his demand to only have sex on certain days rather than all the fucking time.
And he still refused to admit to himself why he’d ever done that in the first place.
It wasn’t like the sex was bad—it was out of this world, the absolute best sex he’d ever had in his life. And that might have been the problem; the sex was too good…and it was with a woman he’d never expected.
Sitting up in bed, he kicked off the tangled Egyptian cotton sheets, and stood.
“Send them up,” Gideon commanded Piers before disconnecting the call.
He pulled on cotton trousers, a cotton shirt, and headed toward the front door, leaving it cracked open so Piers could just leave the packages on the foyer table as per usual.
That done, he headed into the kitchen and stopped, his gaze landing on the iPad where it was still sitting, waiting for Kendra to go back to the chicken recipe she was making for dinner.
How long ago had that been? No more than a few days, right? So why did it feel like lifetimes had passed? Why did it feel like the very air in the kitchen had gone stale, devoid of life, hollow from abandonment.
Kendra had left before she could finish making dinner, before he could take a fucking breath and think without the noise of Isabella and Adolfo in his head. She’d gone without a second glance, without a goodbye, without a way for him to reach out to her.
To reach her.
To see if she was okay, if she was safe, if she was ever coming back.
Why does that matter? She had three years to get pregnant, and she couldn’t even do that, right?
The cold, petrified organ in his chest shuddered, making his breath catch.
No, Kendra wasn’t totally to blame, but…the thought of her never coming back, never filling his home with warmth and life again….
You don’t need those things, you only need your empire and your brothers—if it doesn’t serve you, cut it out.
The beast inside him snarled, a wordless admonition.
It didn’t like that he could be so willing to cut off one of his limbs…because Kendra—fuck—she was so much a part of him, signing the divorce papers would feel like reaching into his own belly and pulling out his own guts.
“… she never should have been your wife in the first place…. What the hell did you ever see in the fat, ugly, barren, nobody?”
Isabella knew just the right button to push to flush every logical thought from his mind in that moment, in his office, facing down the bitch of a viper who was all too eager to sink her fangs into him and his power and money.
He hated that he allowed her to get under his skin, to prick at the soft tissues he swore didn’t exist.
A knock on the door, then a soft shuffling sound, told him that Piers had arrived with the packages. The sound of the door shutting behind the concierge drew Gideon out of the kitchen.
He was suddenly very curious about what his wife had bought.
There were two boxes, one that looked like a cigar case, and one that was flat and rectangular like the boxes his fine art purchases came in. The other package was a designer gift bag.
What the hell did she buy?
Had she ordered something and forgotten they were coming today?
It’s probably Christmas presents…most likely something for him. His wife loved to spoil him and his family at the Holidays.
And what the fuck do you ever buy for her other than jewelry from a catalog?
While Kendra’s gifts were always thoughtful, Gideon couldn’t be bothered with gift-buying, which was why his PA had access to his credit cards and no spending limit.
His brothers got expensive booze and gadgets, Cora and the kids got whatever shit moms and kids needed, and his wife got sparkly shit.
Not that she ever wore any of it.
Curious about what was in the packages, not the least bit guilty about wanting to look, and desperately in need of something to take his mind off the suffocating, gnawing ache in his chest, he carried the packages into the sitting room where, after a long day, he’d often go to unwind….
With Kendra.
Cursing, he placed the packages on the coffee table, sat on the couch, and stared at the first of the packages, the gold and black gift bag from Neiman Marcus, a brand Kendra loved because they were about comfort and class, which she appreciated.
The second package was a heavy, ornate, rectangular wooden box with a small clasp in the front.
It was definitely a cigar box, but why the fuck would Kendra buy cigars?
Picking up the gift bag, he noticed it was light, barely heavy enough to be anything but a pair of socks.
Reaching inside, his hand brushed against something soft, and he grabbed it, pulling it out of the bag. It was a tiny scrap of fabric, folded delicately. Dropping the bag on the coffee table, he brought the fabric up, and let it drop open to reveal a onesie.
At first, the words made no sense—like a foreign language had been force-downloaded into an already wrung out brain.
Then…they registered.
Merry Christmas, Daddy….
Daddy….
That couldn’t mean—
His heart pounding, his ears ringing, he grabbed the cigar box and tore it open, uncaring of the damage to the obviously expensive, hand-crafted box.
Inside was a row of hand-rolled cigars, wrapped in a deep red paper, with a gold label carefully adhered to each one.
His hands shaking, he pulled a single cigar from the box, his gaze eating up the words handwritten on the label.
Baby Maddox Coming – 2026
He couldn’t breathe—the air was stuck, glued to his throat, cemented inside his mouth. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get enough oxygen.
The world spun, black and gray dots dancing wildly in his vision.
Dizzy yet refusing to stop, he dropped the cigar, and tore into the final package.
Ripping it open, he immediately saw the backside of an 8 x 10 frame.
What the hell?
Pulling it from the box, he flipped it over, and the suspicions that had been ramming against his mind, shredding his thoughts, and filling his heart and lungs to bursting were finally confirmed.
It was a framed sheet of paper…a printout of a report from Kendra’s OB/GYN.
Right there, in black and white.
Pregnant.
He fell back onto the couch, his body trembling, the aftermath of a catastrophic shift in his world.
Kendra was pregnant.
His wife was pregnant.
His burning eyes snapped to the framed portrait over the fireplace; a picture of him and Kendra on their wedding day.
She was dressed in a simple white dress that hugged her curves, her hair expertly styled, her makeup flawless—but it was her eyes, her smile that really made her breathtakingly beautiful that day.
Love.
It shone from her like the light of a newborn star.
That woman was meant for love, to live and breathe it, to gift it to others, to fill their lives with it until they were love itself.
She was meant to be a mother.
And now she was.
She was pregnant. With his child. And he had no idea where she was.
Suddenly, that beast, just barely restrained by years of fierce denial, reared up, snapping it’s jaws, snarling through razor-sharp teeth.
Their woman was pregnant, somewhere out there alone, hurting, and without them to keep her and their baby safe.
And it was his fault.
That beast snarled again, jerking against the chain straining to keep it tethered in the dark and cold of his soul.
Standing, his chest heaving, his body vibrating with predatory, primordial instinct—
Hunt!
Possess!
Protect!
Again, the beast struggled, the chain pulled tight, the links groaning with the strain—his heart racing, his blood surging, Gideon did something he’d never done before.
He didn’t stop it.
The beast bellowed.
The chain links screamed.
The leash snapped.
And Gideon grinned.