Betrayed by the Father Reborn in His Rival's Arms novel Chapter 495

Then she opened her eyes.

The bedroom was dim, lit only by a single thread of moonlight slipping through the gap in the curtains.

Everything was perfectly quiet.

It took Madeline several seconds to distinguish the dream from reality.

Then she realized there was an arm slung heavy across her waist.

It was solid and warm, the prominent wrist bone resting against her side, the palm resting protectively over her stomach.

Even through the thin fabric of her nightgown, his palm felt searing and strong.

Her back was pressed flush against a broad chest. The steady rhythm of his breathing ghosted over her hair, soft and slow.

Quentin.

After they had decided on the divorce, she had told him to sleep in the other bed. But he had slipped back in the moment she fell asleep.

Madeline turned her head slightly, studying his face in the faint sliver of moonlight.

Even in his sleep, his brow was slightly furrowed, as if there were burdens he couldn't let go of, even in his dreams.

His eyelashes were long, casting a small shadow over his cheekbones, and the sharp slope of his nose looked stunning in the dim light.

His breathing was deep and even, his chest rising and falling against her back.

With every breath, she could feel the steady beat of his heart—thump, thump—vibrating through her spine, like the distant, rhythmic beating of a drum.

She thought of the boy's eyes in her dream, with their deep, obsidian irises identical to Quentin's.

She thought of the little girl's canine teeth showing when she smiled.

She thought of their sweet, milky voices calling her 'Mommy'.

She thought of the softness of holding them, that comforting scent of warm milk and sunshine.

Suddenly, she had an overwhelming urge to wake Quentin up.

She wanted to tell him about the beautiful dream.

To tell him she had dreamed of their children.

A little boy and a little girl.

Looking just like him, and just like her.

Playing on the grassy slope behind The Monroe-Prescott Estate, where the wildflowers were blooming more beautifully than anything she had ever seen in waking life.

She dreamed he became a father, and she became a mother.

She turned her head, parting her lips to speak. The words were right on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed them back down.

She couldn't tell him.

Quentin was a man who took everything to heart.

He gave her an entire estate, signed an agreement to walk away from his fortune, and bet his entire empire on her.

He had promised to make The York Family regret everything within thirty days, and he never made empty threats.

If she told him right now that she had dreamed of them having children, he would treat it as absolute truth—not just a dream.

He would take it as an expectation, a promise, a future he had to secure at all costs.