A Wedding Night Gone Terribly Wrong novel Chapter 34

She had been in a coma for three days.

The moment she woke up, her first instruction to Quentin was to keep the birth a secret.

Her body was weak, and the babies were terrifyingly small, barely weighing 3.8 pounds each. They had to buy a private incubator and nurse them for over two months just to get them to the size of a normal newborn.

She forcefully pushed their official birth dates back by three months, changing it from late June to late September.

She went through all that effort for one reason: to protect them from Holden.

Quentin knew her fears perfectly well. He knew she was terrified of the babies being snatched away, that she despised that toxic, elite circle, and that she never wanted to see Holden Lockwood again for the rest of her life.

He also saw how frail and difficult the twins were to care for during their first year. She was tethered to them, unable to go anywhere.

Because of this, he must have convinced himself that he was their only refuge—that she and the children absolutely depended on his protection.

He truly believed she could never leave him.

So, when she announced her decision to split everything, he was completely blindsided by her resolve.

He let out a miserable plea. "No! Please, you can't leave me."

"My mind is made up. Don't bother begging," her voice was ice.

“Thud.”

Quentin dropped to his knees.

"I was wrong, Winifred. I'll change, I swear. Please?"

"No. We are dividing everything. This house is fully paid off at eight hundred thousand dollars, the car is forty thousand—you will buy me out for half. As for the clinic... Grandpa asked you to take care of me and Celeste on his deathbed, and you know exactly what you've done. We'll divide the clinic equally. We each take one floor, and from now on, we go our separate ways."

"No... I won't agree to this!" He crawled toward her on his knees and threw his arms around her legs. "Don't leave me. I was wrong."

"Don't touch me!"

The image of Iris Morgan flaunting her victory earlier that day flashed in her mind. Quentin buying her a phone, comforting her, coaxing her—those words were like blades twisted in Winifred's heart.

Eleanor scolded her sharply, "You have eggs, milk, and pastries. This is a perfectly good breakfast. Stop acting so spoiled!"

She had gone grocery shopping with a neighbor's nanny yesterday and bought the snacks herself. Since no one cooked this morning, she generously offered them up. And this brat was complaining?

Eleanor glared at her granddaughter. This little freeloader lived in her house, ate her food, and was supported by her son, yet she had the nerve to be picky? She despised girls with princess syndromes.

"Waaah!" Demi scrambled out of her chair and ran.

She had never been treated this unfairly. Winifred always catered to her, spoke to her gently, and gave her whatever she wanted.

"Demi, you haven't eaten yet! Come back!" Sharon quickly set down the egg she was peeling for her son and chased after her.

"Leave me alone! I want Aunt Winifred!"

Demi wrenched herself out of her mother's grasp. Bursting with dramatic misery, she wailed as she ran upstairs and threw herself against the third-floor bedroom door.

She pounded on it while sobbing, "Aunt Winifred! Aunt Winifred... waah... they're being mean to me!"