"To be fair, you don't want this marriage, but you can't escape it because of your father. He wants you to be married to prove you're fit to be CEO." She glanced up at him briefly before looking away. "I can help you. I'll make you look good in front of him and the board."
Dave didn't react, but she could tell he was listening.
"We both have something to gain," she continued, her voice calm and measured now. "You need a wife for a few months. I need to get out of this mess. We can both win if we play it right. I'll act like the perfect wife in public, but I won't interfere in your life. After three or four months, we get a divorce, and you can even blame it all on me. Tell everyone I'm the one with bad habits, call it irreconcilable differences, say I'm a spoiled brat, whatever you want. After that, you go your way, and I go mine."
She clasped her hands together and looked at him expectantly. "Don't you think I'm smart?"
Dave tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he smiled.
"No," he said, his voice calm, almost amused. "I don't think so."
Sam frowned. "What?"
"I think you are very—" he paused, as if carefully choosing his words. Then, with a quiet finality, he added, "And I don't say this lightly. I think you are really stupid."
Her eyes flashed with fury. "How dare you!"
Dave stood abruptly, planting both fists on the table as he leaned toward her. "How dare me?" he scoffed through clenched teeth. "I didn't think you could surprise me, but you just did. And not in a good way."
Samantha swallowed hard as the temperature in the room seemed to drop. A cold, suffocating presence radiated from him.
He looked dangerous.
Very dangerous.
"What the hell, Claire!" Dave jerked back from the woman clinging to him, his eyes burning with anger.
Claire, the intruder, coiled her arms tighter around his waist and rested her head lazily on his chest, her eyes locked on Samantha, whose mouth hung open in stunned disbelief.
"You must be the gold-digging bitch trying to steal my man."
Samantha's jaw dropped wider. "Huh?"
"Claire, shut the hell up!" Dave snapped.
"Sam? What the hell is going on, and who is this bitch?" Natalie asked, her hands already curling into fists, ready to fight as she stared Claire down.
Samantha bit her lip. A bitter taste rose in her throat as she glanced at the man she called her husband, who was struggling to pry Claire's hands from his waist. Then, she looked at Claire, a woman who looked like she had stepped right out of a magazine.
Samantha's hands curled into fists, released them, inhaled, exhaled, and flashed a smile.
"Dave," she said softly.
"Yes?" His voice was suddenly agitated as he finally broke free from Claire's hold and stood in front of Samantha, his eyes pleading. "Yes? Sammy?"
"You seem to have company." Her smile faltered slightly. "I'll take Natalie to my room."
His face fell.
"We'll stay out of your way. I'm sure you two would like... privacy."
She turned and descended the stairs, grabbing a shell-shocked Natalie by the arm.
"At least you know your place," Claire sneered as they passed.
"You bitch!" Natalie shot back.
"Claire, shut it!" Dave's eyes narrowed dangerously.
Samantha paused. Still smiling, she turned around.
"What? Have you got something to say?" Claire rolled her eyes.
"Yes." Samantha's tone was calm. "As a private guest of my husband's, please notify him before you visit next time. So he can prepare... appropriately."
Claire blinked. Her smugness faltered.
Samantha turned again, leading Natalie up the stairs.
"Guest?" she called softly from the top.
Claire looked around, confused. "Me?"
"Yes." Samantha nodded. "You."
"You bitch!"
"You will stop calling Samantha names," Dave snapped. "What the hell are you even doing here?"
"Dave! Are you seriously taking her side?"
"Just shut up, Claire!"
Samantha coughed lightly.
They both looked up.
"As I was saying, guest, married couples live here. So, do try to behave yourself. I wouldn't want your presence tarnishing my husband's image. Understood... guest?"
Claire's eyes blazed, but Samantha had already turned.
She shut the bedroom door loudly.
[|]
Inside the room, Natalie paced, groaning and throwing her hands in frustration.
"Shit. Shit. I should call Catherine! She would've slapped that smug look off that bitch's face!" She grabbed her hair in anger. "Who the hell does she even think she is? Did she call you a gold digger? Why do people assume you're broke just because you're a millionaire marrying a billionaire? Shit, I should have yanked her hair and-"
But she froze.
Samantha had slid to the floor, tears rolling silently down her cheeks, her arms wrapped tightly around her body.
"Baby." Natalie rushed over and wrapped her arms around her.
Both women lay on the floor, one crying while the other comforted her.
"I'm okay," Samantha whispered through broken breaths. "Just the pregnancy hormones."
"No, you're not," Natalie said quietly. "You're in love with a man who doesn't love you back."
"I'm not in love with Dave," Samantha said quickly.
"You were when you thought he was Chris."
"I had feelings for Chris. That's different. And Chris doesn't even exist!"
"You really believe that?"
"If I say I'm fine, then I'm fine!" Samantha snapped. "Let it go!"
Natalie held up her hands. "Okay. I'll let it go... for now. But what are we doing about the snake downstairs?"
"Nothing," Samantha said with a shrug. "I told Dave I'd stay out of his life. I meant it."
"You what?!" Natalie exploded.
A knock interrupted them.
"Sammy?" Dave's voice was soft behind the door. "Can we talk?"
The women exchanged glances.
Natalie nudged Samantha.
"There's nothing to talk about. You have your own private life, and I respect that!"
He groaned. "I want to talk to you face-to-face. Please open the door."
"There's nothing to say. Go be with your guest."
"She left, and we are not together... aargh..." Dave groaned, frustration thick in his voice. Samantha could almost see him throwing his hands in exasperation. "I'm not talking to you through the door!"
"I don't care!"
"I'll excuse you guys," Natalie chimed in.
Samantha shot her a glare, but Natalie wasn't fazed.
"I also want to check out your husband's wine collection."
Before Samantha could stop her, Natalie opened the door. Samantha immediately slammed it shut.
"Natalie!"
"This is none of my business," Natalie whispered. "But as your friend, the best advice I can give you is to face this head-on. You don't want to live with uncertainty. Do you?"
Samantha said nothing, but Natalie saw the flicker in her eyes. She didn't give Samantha a chance to change her mind. This time, when she opened the door, Sam didn't stop her.
Dave gave Natalie a grateful nod.
"I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing this for my friend," Natalie said to him as she walked away. Then she stopped and turned back. "Oh, and I just sent you something. Check your phone."
"Huh?"
"Check your phone, Sam. You will thank me later," Natalie said, walking out.
Beep. Beep.
Samantha's gaze flickered to the bed where her phone vibrated with a new message, then back to Dave.
"You wanted to talk. Talk," she said with a shrug, feigning nonchalance. It worked.
Dave stared at her in silence for a long moment, then swallowed hard.
"Why weren't you jealous?"
Her eyes widened, eyebrows rising in shock. "What?"
"You saw another woman kiss me, and you didn't care."
He stepped inside. She instinctively backed up.
"You acted like it meant nothing."
He closed the door with his leg.
Samantha backed away further until she hit the edge of the bed. Stumbling, she sits on the bed.
"What do you think you're doing?" she asked, her voice laced with anger... but also something else. Fear.
Dave threw his hands in the air. "Asking a question, goddamn it!"
He stepped closer. She flinched.
His face darkened. "Shit. Do you think I'd hurt you? I'm not the freaking devil!"
"If you have to keep saying that," she shot back, "maybe you are."
That stopped him. He looked like she'd slapped him.
"We weren't like this in Las Vegas," he murmured.
"What does that have to do-"
"You really have no feelings for me, do you?" There was a finality in his voice now.
"Yes!"
Dave's expression softened. "Okay," he said, barely a whisper.
Then he turned to leave.
"Wait... what does 'okay' mean?" she asked quickly.
Without turning around, he answered, "I'll take your offer. Let's live separate lives. You can abort whenever you want. You don't have to wait three months."
Samantha shot to her feet, disbelief washing over her. "Seriously?"
"Yes." He turned, voice cold now. "Why would I want to raise a child with someone who hates me?"
He reached for the door just before stepping out.
"For the record," he added, "Claire's my ex. We broke up last year. She wants me back."
He looked over his shoulder.
"She might be right."
The door shut.
Samantha's eyes widened. Her gaze darted around the room, confused. Her lips wobbled.
And then, she fell to her knees. Crying.
Her heart was breaking, but she didn't even know why.
Her phone beeps again. Sniffling, she reached for the phone. Her eyes widened in shock at the message from Katherine.
Katherine: Ian is back. He wants to get back with you. I told him you're married and pregnant, but he didn't care.