The Side Effects of Marriage

Chapter 27

It didn't take long for Vihaan to find out just what Amara had planned.

Apparently, it was some kind of twisted extortion, forcing him to play his own hand earlier than he'd expected–which was to say, he'd never wanted to play it at all.

Jacob Underwood's son was a statutory rapist, having slept with a 15-year-old girl, Carly Sciortino. Even worse, he'd paid her to keep quiet and forced her to do so with an NDA, and the kicker was, he had gotten her pregnant. Someone–Vihaan had a strong suspicion who–had bribed the girl with such an exorbitant sum that she'd broken her NDA, and thus, Jacob Underwood's chances at being reelected were, well, they were looking pretty slim.

After all, he was the one who'd help cover up his son's crimes. Who knew what other crimes of his own he might be hiding?

After hushing the girl with fifty thousand dollars to be paid to her when she turned twenty-one, the girl had been ushered into a centre for troubled youth, which Underwood himself had been conveniently a major donor for. It had all been the perfect crime.

It would have been, if Vihaan hadn't found the NDA that Underwood had kept in his safe, and if Amara hadn't stolen that NDA from him, and blasted it to the press.

The press, aka, Layla Song, who had broken the story in a searing op-ed.

He had one last secret to hold over her. He didn't want to do this, but–

God, he wanted the end result.

Amara was right.

He wanted her.

And once she found out that her husband's relationship with the pregnant teenager wasn't what she'd thought, well... things might just take a better turn for the pair.

And he couldn't let that happen.

Ot when security cameras had told him the enormous secret hanging over their heads, like a sword over a king's crown–or rather, an iron, hovering over a man's chest in the dead of night.

They might have been friends in another life, him and Hayden.

But this was this life, and there was no use dreaming about any other.

#

The texts came.

After months of radio silence from Carly Sciortino, Hayden finally received a text from her.

Of course, he didn't check it. Not when his wife was in the middle of a brutal C-section after a distressingly long period of labour.

Not when he could be losing all three of them.

Not when he was gloved and gowned and suddenly saw the real, bloody, crying, wailing proof that he was a father.

His firstborn child.

His son.

"He's a little early. We'll have to clean him up and we'll see if they need to be incubated," the nurse told him, but when his heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his fingertips and his fingers trembled, his whole body aching to hold his child. He could barely register her words.

This–everything–the whole nine months, the past year of hellish pain and anger and frustration melted when his son's eyes opened and he looked up at Hayden, his dark eyes glassy and filled with something like awe, as though beholding his father was a miracle.

Hayden reached for his son, who was now swaddled in a blue and white striped blanket, and held him to his chest. He could feel the warmth of his child as he pressed him to his chest, feeling his tiny breaths puff through the thin material of his t-shirt as he sank into a chair next to Layla, who was so exhausted that the sounds of her breathing filled the room.

"Hi, baby," he said softly. "Welcome to the world."

He didn't check his phone. It would've told him that across the city, in a much different setting, the same miracle of life had taken place three months prior, and that Carly Sciortino, perpetual damsel, required his help.

That she was straightening out her life, and didn't know anyone else to turn to.

Except for Amara Tang.

#

"Amara," Vihaan said as he walked into the tiny room, which resembled an underground bunker more than it did any sort of habitable space. However, it contained a mattress, a chair, and a toilet, which was apparently good enough for Amara Tang to live in. Who was he to judge? Growing up, he'd been in foster homes that were worse or on par with this.

"Amara!" he called again, finding no answer.

The door clicked shut behind him. He didn't let himself flinch when a trapdoor opened in front of him and a petite Asian woman climbed out of it. "What do you want, Vihaan?"

"Well, I see what you want, which is apparently just dramatics," he muttered. "Did you buy that trapdoor from a Houdini impersonator?"

"I just really enjoy theatrics, Vihaan. Surely you know that by now. Or are you still bitter because you never got a starring role in your high school production of Grease?" she taunted, leaning a hip against at the chair before straddling it, so that the back was against her torso.

"I just prefer to do things more simply. More directly. Which is why you can't be allowed to live for what you've done to me."

"I thought you were planning to betray Jake anyways, Vihaan. Why are you acting like his resignation is a great los to you?" Amara's voice was languid. Her gaze was anything but, darting around the room like a trapped rabbit. "Unless, of course, it's not Jacob you care about. It's his son... and that girl."

Bingo. He couldn't say that, though.

"What girl?" he said. He'd showed his hand too soon and was struggling to regain higher ground, to dive behind a barricade or put up a defence. He couldn't, though.

Not against Layla's sister, who had the same uncanny way of prying every secret from him with her eyes alone. Of getting to the bottom of every mystery.

"Don't play dumb, Vihaan, it doesn't suit you. We all know where you got your degrees from."

"Degrees mean nothing if you don't use them."

"Stop changing the subject." Amara's eyes were cold as she surveyed him. "If you came here to kill me, I'm awfully sorry for you."

No, he wasn't here for that. He preferred to work in far less tangible, far less visceral ways–involving far less viscera and blood. "I feel sorry for you, too, Tang."

"You know the girl I'm talking about. Carly Sciortino. Pregnant. Just gave birth to a bouncing baby girl. She's not exactly newsworthy... Except for the fact that her existence has sunny an entire senator's career."

"He sunk his own career."

"He did what was necessary for his self-preservation, which is what you said at the time. Why have your words changed?" Amara tilted her head to one side.

Because he'd blown up his own life, and he was no longer interested in self-preservation. He wanted to bring–no, drag–others down with him.

"Because we're friends, I thought I'd do you the courtesy of warning you about what I'm about to do," he said. "Be on the lookout for something, Amara dear."

Amara bristled at the endearment. "You're as vague and cryptic as ever, I see."

"Someone has to be around here." With that, he took out his gun, fired a shot at the trapdoor in between them, and walked out.

Amara groaned. "And you say I'm dramatic!"