I'm going to get killed.
Not figuratively. Not playfully.
Literally murdered—by my cold, furious husband.
Killian's grip on the steering wheel is a death sentence in itself.
Knuckles bone-white. Jaw clenched so tight I swear I hear it crack.
His eyes stay forward, dead ahead on the road, but I can feel the storm radiating off him in waves.
I want to apologize.
Hell, I almost do.
But my pride is a stubborn bitch.
So I stay silent. Eyes on the windshield.
And we both pretend we're not locked in the most passive-aggressive game of chicken ever played in a luxury car.
I snuck out.
Even after he explicitly said: "You don't go anywhere without a guard, Noelle."
But I had to.
Because my son—my baby—needed me.
His condition is getting worse. The coughs, the fevers, the weakness that never seems to go away.
And I'm running out of time.
Running out of money.
Running out of excuses.
The hospital wants payment or discharge.
And I couldn't let them throw him out like some forgotten thing.
So yeah, I disobeyed.
I slipped out without a guard.
Went straight to the clinic. Kissed his little forehead. Held his tiny hand.
And now I'm paying the price.
Killian slams his fist against the console. The sound is sharp—violent.
I flinch.
He still doesn't look at me.
"You could've been kidnapped," he says finally, voice like razors.
I bite my lip. "I wasn't."
"You could've been killed."
"I wasn't."
He turns his head then. Slowly. Eyes cold and dangerous.
"You don't get to play Russian roulette with your life, Noelle. Not anymore. Not while you wear my name."
I meet his stare, swallowing down the ache in my throat.
"I didn't have a choice."
"There's always a choice," he growls.
"Not when it comes to my child."
The words slip out before I can stop them.
His entire body stills.
Fuck.
I said it.
The air shifts.
He turns his full attention on me now, and it's terrifying. His rage is no longer simmering—it's focused.
"What did you just say?"
I look away, suddenly breathless. "Forget it."
"No."
His voice is sharper now, full of warning. "Noelle. Say it again."
I clench my jaw. "You heard me."
He slams the brakes, the car jerking to a stop on the side of the road. My heart jumps into my throat.
Killian unbuckles and turns fully in his seat, eyes locked onto me like he's peeling away every lie I've ever told.
"You have a child?"
I don't answer.
He leans in slowly. "Is it his?"
I close my eyes.
Silence is an answer.
And he knows it.
"Fucking hell," he hisses, leaning back like I've slapped him.
I brace myself.
"I—" I start, voice shaking, "I was going to tell you. I just—he's young. He's sick. And he's innocent. He has nothing to do with this war between you and your brother."
"You hid a child from me," he says, low and dangerous.
"I had to protect him!"
"And you think sneaking out alone, to some public hospital, with no guard, while every enemy I have is watching me—was protecting him?"
I blink fast, but the tears come anyway.
"I didn't know what else to do."
Killian curses under his breath, then slams the palm of his hand against the steering wheel again.
"He's mine now," he says.
"What?" I whisper.
"That boy. That child. He's under my protection now. No more hiding. No more secrets. No more trips alone."
"I didn't ask for—"
"You married me, Noelle. That includes everything that belongs to you." His voice drops lower. "Including the child you made with that piece of shit brother of mine."
My stomach turns.
He continues, quieter. "Does he know?"
"Who? Marcus?" I scoff. "No. And he never will."
Killian doesn't move for a long time.
Then he starts the car again. Pulls onto the road like nothing happened.
But his grip on the wheel is tighter. His jaw is harder. His silence is heavier.
I glance at him. "Are you mad?"
"Mad?" he echoes with a humorless smile. "No. Mad is too small a word."
I look away again, my voice brittle. "You think I'm a liar."
"No," he says after a long moment. "I think you're a mother."
That surprises me more than anything.
And maybe for the first time since I married him…
I think I might actually trust him.
A little.
Maybe.
But I'd be a fool to let my guard down.
Because devils don't fall in love.
They only collect the broken things they want to keep.