From Wife to Blood Bag

Chapter 5

The sterile smell of antiseptic lingered in the hospital corridor.

"Xavier, is the baby okay?" Natalie's eyes were swollen, her delicate fingers clutching at Xavier Thorpe's sleeve.

He pulled her into his arms, his thumb gently wiping away the tears on her cheeks.

"The doctor said the baby's healthy. Yesterday's accident didn't affect anything."

"Thank God..." Natalie exhaled, tilting her face up towards him. "You've been so tense since we got here. I thought—"

Xavier's gaze flickered, his mind flashing back to the cold look I had given him in the fire—an expression he'd never seen on me before.

His phone buzzed, the screen lighting up before going dark again.

He checked his inbox for the third time. Still nothing.

Even when he was away on business for weeks, I always sent him messages without fail. Now, I was playing hard to get.

"Mr. Thorpe, the Chairman has returned and is waiting for you in Conference Room One," his assistant hurried over to inform him.

Straightening his tie, Xavier suddenly spoke.

"Go to the Hermès boutique. Pick out a few pieces from their latest collection."

"Shall I deliver them to Miss Natalie—"

"Send them to the Sinclair family estate," Xavier interrupted, his voice leaving no room for discussion.

Where else would that stubborn woman go but back to her parents' home?

Seven days later, 2 AM.

Xavier pushed open the villa's front door.

Moonlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a soft glow on a figure curled up on the sofa.

"Sophia, I told you not to wait—" His words caught in his throat.

Natalie blinked up at him sleepily, wrapped in his suit jacket.

"Xavier..." She bit her lip. "Your wife still hasn't come back. I've sent so many apology texts, but she hasn't responded. Maybe I should just—"

"Don't overthink it." Xavier rubbed his temples, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "This is your home now."

On the balcony, the ember of his cigarette glowed in the dark.

Xavier stared at the name at the bottom of his contacts, his finger hovering over the call button. He hesitated for a long moment before finally stubbing out the cigarette and sending a single text:

[Father's birthday banquet is tomorrow. Don't try anything.]

The night wind scattered the ashes—but not the strange, restless irritation gnawing at his chest.