Marrying my secret admirer after my husband's fake death novel Chapter 11

Edith felt like a pariah as she was escorted out of the Vance estate.

The car pulled away, and she glanced back over her shoulder. Three years ago, the house had looked much the same–festive, filled with laughter and bright decorations–on the day she married into the family. Now, she was leaving in silence and disgrace.

They hadn’t gone far before the car slowed to a halt. Edith looked up to see Beckett standing in the driveway, an expression of guilt flickering across his face.

He approached the car, hesitating at the window. “How’s your arm?” he asked after a moment. “Should we get it looked at?”

Edith stared straight ahead, refusing to even acknowledge him with a glance. “It’s none of your business.”

Beckett took a breath, exhaling slowly as if to steady himself. “At least let me treat the wound.”

Ignoring her silence, he came around and slid into the backseat, pulling out a bandage he’d brought. He gently pressed it to her still–bleeding arm.

“You know, you really shouldn’t have pushed Salome, no matter what happened,” he muttered, his tone laced with self–reproach. He clearly regretted losing his temper with Edith, but couldn’t help shifting the focus to her supposed mistake.

Edith shot him a sidelong glance, too tired to argue. It didn’t matter anymore–the car had already passed the gates of the Vance estate. She knew, with a searing clarity, that this was goodbye for good. She wouldn’t be coming back.

When she didn’t respond, Beckett pressed on. “I’ll go back with you. Otherwise, Mom–and everyone else–will think the Vances are… irresponsible.”

He caught himself mid–sentence, quickly correcting, “…will think the family can’t handle things properly.”

Edith’s heart twisted. The Vances weren’t just “irresponsible” in her eyes; not a single person in that house seemed remotely human.

As the driver prepared to head out again, Edith interrupted, “You don’t need to come with me, Beckett. Salome needs you more than I do right now. She’s not out of the woods yet–you should stay with her.”

No need to give her another chance to throw a fit, she thought bitterly.

Beckett lingered torn. Held missed Edith terribly these past weeks–even when he lay beside Salome, it was Edith who haunted his thoughts.

“There’s a doctor with her. She’ll be fine,” he insisted, just as his phone rang.

Inside, the doctor had just finished giving instructions. Beckett’s mother was glaring at the housekeeper in the kitchen to make sure the restorative soup was simmering properly. Upstairs, only Beckett and Salome remained.

Salome nestled against him, her tone low and inviting. “Bennett, I asked the doctor and she said it’s fine for us to… you know… It won’t hurt the baby.”

Before they’d found out about the pregnancy, they’d spent most nights together, not holding back. Since the news, though, he’d kept his distance, and Salome had grown restless.

She clung to him now, her desire plain. Beckett hesitated. “Are you sure it’s safe? Maybe we shouldn’t risk it…”

Salome pouted, her voice trembling on the edge of tears. “But I want you… The doctor said what matters most is that I stay happy.”

That was all it took to convince Beckett. After all, he was her husband now–it was his duty.

He bent to kiss her, gently lowering her onto the bed.

Afterwards, as Beckett dozed beside her, Salome slyly snapped a photo of them tangled together and sent it off to Edith–without a word.