Chapter 634 Samuel, You Think You Can Have Me for Nothing?
Taylor stared at him like he'd lost his mind. "Samuel, you're the one who couldn't wait to sleep with Zenobia, aren't you?"
Samuel's jaw tightened. "I saw Julian drop you off."
"So what?" She folded her arms. "Samuel, let me say this one more time—we're divorced. Do you understand what that means? No legal ties. None."
"At least leave each other a little dignity," she added.
He glared at her, searching her face for some denial, some reassurance she hadn't been with Julian. But all he got was her thinly veiled impatience. She wouldn't even bother lying to him.
A bitter smile tugged at his lips. "I get it, Taylor. I was never that into you anyway. I just didn't think you'd fall into someone else's arms this fast. Guess you really didn't feel a thing for me."
She wanted to tell him to book an appointment with a psychiatrist.
His gaze dropped to her hand. "You're not wearing your wedding ring."
"I took it off two years ago. You never noticed because you were too busy taking Zenobia out on dates. And in case you're wondering, I threw it into the river. If you want it back, you can hire a fishing crew."
Without another glance, Taylor stepped into the elevator.
Life was too short, and Samuel was already a chapter she'd closed.
The hospital lobby buzzed with people, but Samuel stood frozen, as if the world had gone silent. The stillness pressed in on him, suffocating. He needed something—anything—to fill the void gnawing at his chest.
When he walked into the VIP ward, Zenobia looked startled. He grabbed her wrist without a word and pulled her toward the exit.
Seeing the storm in his eyes, she quickly murmured instructions to the private nurse and followed him. Not until they were in the car did his expression ease.
"What's wrong, Samuel?" she asked softly, brushing her fingers against his cheek.
He pulled a cigarette from the pack, rolled it between his lips, but didn't light it. His eyes locked on hers. "Let's go to a hotel."
She blinked, momentarily thrown. She wasn't naïve—she knew exactly what that meant. But she also knew Samuel had always held something back from her.
"Why not go home instead? Hotels are expensive, and they're not exactly sanitary. Women can catch things."
"Five-star hotels don't have that problem," he said flatly.
She bit back the urge to argue.
Deep down, she knew he'd never have taken Taylor to a hotel during their courtship. In his mind, she was the kind of woman you could enjoy but never truly respect. But she wasn't here just for a fling—she wanted the title of Mrs. Collins.
Ten minutes later, Samuel pulled up in front of a luxury hotel and gestured for her to get out. There was no tenderness, no urgency—just a transaction.
Check-in was awkward. In the suite, they fell into bed with practiced ease, but it wasn't the way she'd imagined.
Samuel was more skilled than when he was younger, but there was no intimacy, no spark—just the mechanical completion of an act. He barely spoke, and when it was over, he rolled away and headed for the shower.
Zenobia lay there, sweating, still warm from the encounter, but unable to hold his attention.
Was it her body? Had motherhood ruined her figure?
When he emerged, droplets of water sliding down his well-kept frame, she wrapped herself in a sheet, picked up a towel, and tried to dry him off, hoping to reignite something.
He brushed her off, pulling on his trousers. "I've got an important meeting. No time. Next time."
Her smile faltered. She wanted to smash something over his head, but she couldn't afford to. Not yet. She still didn't have the one thing she wanted most—his last name.
So she softened her voice, eyes glistening. "Did I do something wrong? If I did, I can change."
He understood the implication, and for a moment, temptation flickered. But it passed quickly. Her compliance felt hollow, like their earlier sex—nothing that stirred him enough for a second round.
"Next time," he said again.
Humiliated, she swallowed it down. She had no room for pride; she had a child and nothing else. Samuel was her only lifeline. Even after being used, she had to smile and play the doting partner.
They checked out less than ninety minutes after arriving. The receptionist's curious glance burned her skin.
In the car, she reapplied her lipstick, then turned to him. "Let me come to the office with you."
"Don't you need to be with Thalassa?" he asked, eyes on the road.
"I—" she began.
"Don't start," he cut in.
Her temper flared. "You regret it, don't you? You regret sleeping with me because now you're afraid there's no going back to Taylor. But Samuel, don't forget—Taylor has men around her too. That guy from last time? He's no worse than you. You think she'd ever come back?"
Samuel pulled over, his expression dark. "Get out. The hospital's just across the street."
"You bastard. You never value what you have."
"You're insane."
Her eyes shimmered with tears, the perfect picture of wounded beauty. And, as always, he softened. He shouldn't have compared her to Taylor. He shouldn't have raised his voice. She'd been caring for Thalassa—she deserved some kindness.
"What do you want?" he asked gently. "I'll take you shopping later. You've been looking after Thalassa for so long—you probably haven't bought anything for yourself in ages."
Her smile returned. He might not be promising marriage, but he was still willing to spend on her. That was something.
She leaned into him, her voice sweet. "I don't want anything but you. I felt so good earlier… it's been so long since I've felt like a woman."
She tilted her face up and kissed him. This time, he didn't pull away. Their mouths clung together, hungry, as if they could fuse into one. But Samuel knew the truth—sex and love were not the same.
When Zenobia got out at the hospital, Samuel didn't linger on what had happened. His thoughts drifted back to Taylor. She had become an obsession, a knot of love and hate he couldn't untangle.
Zenobia returned to the VIP ward to find it empty.
Thalassa had suffered a heart episode and was in emergency care. A nurse assured her that Dr. Taylor Montague herself was handling it and would be Thalassa's primary physician from now on.
Zenobia used Thalassa as leverage, but she was still her daughter. And Samuel adored the girl.
Her heart pounded as she stumbled toward the ER, the marks on her neck plain for anyone to see. A young nurse shot her a look of disgust—what kind of mother went to a hotel when her child could collapse at any moment?
She waited outside the ER, then texted Samuel to come as soon as he could. Without him, she had nothing.
An hour later, the doors swung open.
Taylor emerged first, still in green scrubs, her face half-hidden by a surgical mask. Only her eyes were visible—eyes that held both the compassion of a doctor and the cool detachment of someone who'd seen too much.
Her gaze flicked over Zenobia, unreadable.
Before the surgery, she'd noticed something on the intake form—Zenobia was still legally married. Her husband's name was Leo Marek. Which meant that for the past two years, Samuel had been playing the fool, bankrolling another man's wife and child.
She also noticed the fresh mark on Zenobia's neck. It didn't take much to guess where she'd been.
Taylor didn't care. "You were lucky this time. A nurse was right there when it happened—otherwise, Thalassa might not have made it. Zenobia, you can have a personal life, but you should put more of your energy into your child. Some mistakes can't be undone."
Zenobia's eyes narrowed. "You're jealous because Samuel's with me now?"
A nurse approached with a clipboard. "Dr. Montague, sign here and here."
Taylor signed without looking up. "Sleeping with a man in broad daylight doesn't exactly earn you any badges of honor… Mrs. Marek."
Zenobia's face went paper white.
Taylor knew.
Footsteps echoed from the elevator. Then Samuel's voice rang out, urgent. "How's Thalassa?"
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