Stone Heart

"Madam isn't well, sir. She's in considerable pain," Winston spoke into the phone, his voice carefully measured despite his concern. The response from the other end was immediate and cold.

"That's what doctors are for. Call an ambulance if needed." The call disconnected abruptly, leaving Winston staring at the phone, his complexion ashen.

Martha shifted on the leather sofa, one hand pressed against her abdomen as another wave of pain washed over her. She looked up hopefully. "What did Conor say? Is he coming?"

Winston's expression transformed instantly into a reassuring smile. "Mr. Henson said he'll meet us at the hospital right away, Madam."

Relief flooded Martha's face. "Thank goodness. Let's go then."

The thought of seeing Conor after his three-day absence made the pain almost worthwhile. Perhaps this baby—their baby—would be the bridge that finally connected them. Two years of marriage built on scandal rather than love had left Martha grasping at any opportunity for connection.

Conor's words on their wedding day still echoed in her mind: "Once this media circus dies down, we're getting divorced." She had nodded then, outwardly accepting while inwardly determined to win his heart before that day came.

But her hopes had gradually withered as Conor withdrew further from their shared life, despite working in the same building and technically sharing a home. The Henson mansion felt emptier with each passing week.

Two months ago, Conor had finally approached her about finalizing their divorce—only to discover her pregnancy test results on the bathroom counter. His face had darkened as he'd said, "We'll postpone the divorce until after the birth. But don't delude yourself, Martha. The title of Mrs. Henson isn't yours to keep. It belongs to someone else."

Since then, their marriage had become a hollow formality. Conor rarely came home, and when he did, he maintained a careful distance. The only reason Martha still carried his name was the child growing inside her.

She'd convinced herself his absence was due to the demands of running Henson Enterprises, the multibillion-dollar corporation where she worked as a department manager. What she didn't know was that her five-year secret infatuation with Conor had been painfully transparent to everyone but herself.

Their story had begun at Nancy's birthday celebration—a night of too many cocktails that ended with Martha waking beside Conor, mortified yet secretly treasuring what she believed would be their only intimate moment. When photographers captured them leaving together and speculation erupted, Conor had stunned everyone by announcing they'd been secretly dating and planning to marry.

For Martha, it had seemed like a dream come true. For Conor, it was damage control.

As Winston helped her into the car, Martha's phone chimed with a notification. The headline made her blood run cold.

'Conor Henson Reunites with Former Flame: Media Shy CEO Spotted with Willow Thornton'

The accompanying photo showed Conor holding a beautiful woman's hand, looking at her with an expression Martha had never seen directed at herself—genuine affection.

"This can't be real," she whispered, tears blurring her vision. There had never been any reports of Conor dating before their marriage. He'd always been intensely private, avoiding photographers and keeping his personal life locked away.

Surely Winston wouldn't have lied about Conor meeting them at the hospital if he was actually with this woman? The media must be manufacturing drama for clicks.

Despite her rationalizations, anxiety gnawed at her. Breaking her own rule—Conor had explicitly forbidden her from calling him directly—she dialed his number with trembling fingers.

The phone rang four times before someone answered, but it wasn't Conor.

"Hello?" A woman's voice, melodious and confident, sent a chill through Martha.

"I need to speak with Conor," Martha managed, her voice surprisingly steady despite the vice grip tightening around her heart.

"He's unavailable at the moment. Can I take a message?" The casual intimacy in the woman's tone made Martha feel like an intruder.

"Who am I speaking with?" Martha asked, though she already knew the answer.

"Willow. I'm Conor's fiancée." The woman paused. "And you are?"

"Whatever he's saved me as in his contacts," Martha replied, fighting to keep her voice from breaking. The pain in her abdomen seemed distant now compared to the agony in her chest.

She heard movement on the other end as Willow presumably checked the phone screen.

"Oh, Martha. Is it urgent? I can tell him you called when he returns."

The realization crashed over her like a wave. All those nights Conor was "working late" or "at business meetings," he had been with Willow—the woman he truly wanted. While Martha had been battling morning sickness and pregnancy complications alone, Conor had been building a life with someone else.

"Just tell him I called." Martha ended the call before her composure shattered completely.

Meanwhile, in the presidential suite of the Grand Metropolitan Hotel, Conor Henson returned from the conference room where he'd been finalizing a major acquisition. He'd left his phone behind, adhering to his own strict rule about devices during negotiations.

"What are you doing with my phone?" His voice was sharp as he entered the bedroom and found Willow lounging on his bed, his phone in her hand. "And how did you get in here? I told you to wait in the lounge."

Willow's pout was practiced and perfect. "Is it a crime to want to see you? We would be married by now if Martha hadn't come along."

Conor's jaw tightened. His relationship with Willow had been carefully hidden from public view for years. They'd planned to meet at his business partner's sister's birthday celebration, but Willow had canceled at the last minute due to a family emergency.

That night, through circumstances he still couldn't fully explain, Conor had ended up in bed with Martha Phillips. What should have been a discreet, regrettable mistake exploded into a media scandal when they were photographed together. To protect his reputation and the company's stock price, he'd made the calculated decision to marry Martha temporarily, promising Willow they would be together once the publicity died down.

Everything had been proceeding according to plan until he discovered Martha was pregnant—a complication that forced him to delay the divorce he'd promised Willow.

"We've discussed this," he said coldly. "Public appearances together are risky until the divorce is finalized. My brothers are looking for any excuse to challenge my position." As the youngest of three sons, Conor had fought hard to secure his role as CEO of Henson Enterprises, and he wouldn't jeopardize it now.

"Did anyone call?" he asked, scrolling through his recent calls. Martha's name caught his attention immediately.

"Your wife," Willow replied, stretching languidly across his bed. "She wants you to call her back."

Conor's expression darkened. "What exactly did you tell her?"

"Nothing important. I just said you weren't available." Willow's casual tone didn't match the calculated look in her eyes.

"You answered my phone without permission." His voice had turned to ice. "Don't do it again."

Willow sat up, her designer dress sliding to reveal more skin. "I thought it might be important."

Conor's gaze remained cold as he replied, "Nothing about Martha is ever important."