CHAPTER 16: CHAPTER 16 BITTER MEDICINE

Serena’s POV

The dinner dragged on forever. Every bite stuck in my throat as I forced polite smiles, pretending to be the happy daughter-in-law Evelyn wanted to see.

Ryan played his part perfectly—the attentive husband, occasionally touching my hand or shoulder like we were still madly in love. What a joke.

When dessert finally arrived, I thought salvation was near. Just a little longer and I’d be free from this charade.

Then Evelyn dropped her bombshell.

"It’s getting quite late. You two should stay the night," she announced, not a question but a statement. "Your old room is prepared—just as you left it."

My mind raced for excuses. Work deadline? Early meeting? Sick pet?

Before I could open my mouth, Ryan squeezed my hand under the table. "Thank you, Grandmother. That would be lovely."

I shot him a murderous glare. The audacity! He had no right to answer for me.

"Wonderful!" Evelyn beamed, clapping her hands together. "I’ve missed having you both here."

The guilt hit me again. She genuinely cared for me—maybe the only one in this family who ever did. I couldn’t bring myself to disappoint her, not tonight.

"I have some work to finish," I said, standing abruptly. "Is it alright if I use the study for a while?"

Evelyn waved her hand dismissively. "Of course, dear. Though I don’t know why Ryan keeps you working so hard. A woman needs rest if she wants to conceive."

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from saying something I’d regret. Ryan, noticing my tension, smoothly changed the subject.

In the study, I threw myself into revising designs for the upcoming showcase.

Work always centered me, pulled me back from emotional precipices. Time melted away as I refined the pieces that would appear under Lady Lazuli’s brand.

I’d been so absorbed that I hadn’t noticed Ryan leaning against the doorframe, silently watching me.

He never came to check on me. In fact, he usually didn’t care whether I was up late—or up at all.

"It’s past midnight," he said quietly. "Grandmother’s gone to bed."

I didn’t look up. "I’m not finished."

"I’m not here to rush you."

That made me pause, fingers stilling over my sketchpad. The Ryan I knew wouldn’t have bothered with any of this. He wouldn’t send someone, let alone come himself.

"I’ll be in the room when you’re ready," he added, then turned and walked away without another word.

I stared after him, unsettled.

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Was he expecting me to sleep in the same bed as him?

When I finally dragged myself upstairs an hour later, exhaustion weighing my limbs, I found our old bedroom exactly as I remembered.

The king-sized bed where I’d spent so many lonely nights. The elegant furnishings that never felt like mine.

A soft knock interrupted my thoughts. A maid entered, carrying a steaming cup on a silver tray.

"Mrs. Blackwood asked me to bring this for you," she explained, placing it on the nightstand. "It’s her special fertility blend. She says you should drink it while it’s hot."

My stomach turned as I recognized the familiar herbal smell.

For three years, I’d choked down similar concoctions—ginseng, royal jelly, weird herbs I couldn’t pronounce—all promising to "enhance fertility" and "strengthen the womb."

"Thank you," I managed, waiting for her to leave before glaring at the offensive cup.

The bathroom door opened, and Ryan emerged, hair damp from the shower, wearing only pajama bottoms. He stopped when he saw the steaming cup.

"What’s that?"

"Your grandmother’s baby-making potion," I said bitterly. "Apparently I’m still defective and need fixing."

His brow furrowed as he approached, picking up the cup to examine its contents. "She’s been making you drink this?"

"For three years," I laughed without humor. "Every month like clockwork. This and about a dozen other ’miracle remedies.’ Sometimes it was pills. Sometimes it was teas so bitter I’d gag. Once it was some kind of fish oil that made me throw up for two days."

Ryan’s expression changed, something like realization dawning.

"You didn’t know?" I asked, seeing his shock. "Of course you didn’t. You were too busy with your precious company—and Ivy—to notice what was happening in your own home."

I grabbed the cup from his hands. "You know what’s truly ironic? We barely even slept together! Three, maybe four times in three years. Yet somehow it was still my fault we didn’t have children."

His face paled. "Serena—"

"Maybe you should try it," I snapped, shoving the cup toward him. "Since your grandmother is so convinced one of us has fertility issues."

Ryan stared at the cup, then back at me.

"I want you out," I declared suddenly. "Go sleep in the study attached to this bedroom. I’m done pretending."

"Grandmother will—"

"I don’t give a damn what she’ll think anymore," I cut him off. "Either you leave, or I’m walking out right now and calling a cab."

To my surprise, Ryan didn’t argue. He simply nodded, took the cup with him, and headed toward the adjoining study.

"And take that disgusting brew with you!" I called after him.

Once alone, I collapsed onto the bed, anger and old humiliations washing over me. How many nights had I endured those treatments? How many times had I silently suffered while Ryan remained completely oblivious to my struggles?

The memory of it all made my blood boil.

Let him deal with his grandmother’s disappointment for once. I was done carrying that burden alone.

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Ryan’s POV

I closed the study door behind me, staring down at the steaming cup in my hand. Had Serena really been drinking these concoctions for three years? At my grandmother’s insistence?

The guilt hit unexpectedly. While I had been keeping Serena at arm’s length, she’d been subjected to endless fertility remedies for a pregnancy that couldn’t possibly happen when we barely shared a bed.

Curiosity got the better of me. I took a cautious sip and immediately grimaced at the bitter, earthy taste. How had she managed to drink these regularly without complaint? The mixture was revolting—like licking a tree root covered in dirt.

I forced down another swallow, newfound respect growing for the woman in the next room. She’d endured this silently while I’d offered nothing but coldness in return.

During our marriage, I’d touched her so rarely, yet Grandmother had apparently been pressuring her constantly about producing heirs. The realization left a bitter taste in my mouth that had nothing to do with the tonic.

Setting the now-empty cup aside, I prepared for bed, stripping down to my boxers in the stifling heat of the small study.

Sleep refused to come. I tossed and turned on the narrow cot as the minutes dragged by—one hour, then another.

My body felt strangely warm, restless. The room seemed too hot despite the air conditioning.

I sat up, wiping sweat from my forehead. What was happening? My heart raced, and a strange, almost desperate energy coursed through my veins.

The fertility brew. Of course.

I’d never considered what was actually in Grandmother’s "special blend." Clearly, it contained strong aphrodisiacs alongside whatever fertility supplements she believed in.

Poor Serena. Month after month, drinking this while I ignored her.

(This was, in fact, the only time the fertility tonic contained an aphrodisiac—apparently, Grandmother considered their joint arrival a rare opportunity worth seizing.)

I paced the small room, trying to walk off the uncomfortable heat building in my body. It wasn’t working. My skin felt too tight, my thoughts increasingly unfocused.

A cold shower. That’s what I needed.

I opened the study door, intending to use the bathroom attached to the main bedroom. In the dim light, I could see Serena’s sleeping form on the bed, the thin sheet draped over her curves, highlighting rather than concealing.

I froze, unable to look away.

Had she always been this beautiful?

The moonlight through the window cast a silver glow across her exposed shoulder, her hair spilling across the pillow like dark silk.

Her chest rose and fell with each breath, the thin fabric of her nightgown leaving little to imagination.

My body responded instantly, desire flooding through me with an intensity that stole my rational thought.

Before I could stop myself, I was moving toward the bed, drawn by a need more powerful than any I’d felt before.

The tonic had ignited something primal—something raw and uncontrollable.

My hand moved before I could stop it, fingers hovering just inches above her sleeping form.

And then—she stirred.