No Second Baby No You Only Divorce (Scarlett and Vincent) novel Chapter 564

The elevator ride down to the parking garage felt endless. When the doors finally slid open, Damian stepped out and walked straight toward where his car was parked.

But he'd barely made it a few steps when a voice cut through the darkness behind him. "Mr. Stewart."

Damian's voice. Low. Controlled. Vincent stopped mid-stride.

When he turned, Damian emerged from the shadows, stepping slowly into the dim fluorescent light of the parking garage. His face, half-lit now, carried an edge—something sharp and unmistakably aggressive.

Vincent watched him approach, his own expression unreadable. No warmth. No anger. Just... nothing. "Mr. Langley."

Damian's lips curved into something that was almost a smile—but not quite. It had a mocking edge to it, a challenge hiding underneath. He closed the distance between them slowly, deliberately, stopping about three feet away.

They stood there, staring each other down. Neither spoke.

But in that silence, something crackled between them. A whole conversation happening without a single word.

Finally, Damian let out a low laugh. "Must feel good, huh? Winning her over."

Vincent didn't flinch. If he caught the implication, he didn't show it. Instead, he matched Damian's energy with a slow smile of his own. "Yeah. It does. And not just her heart, either."

Damian's hands, hanging loose at his sides, curled into fists.

The smile on his face vanished.

He worked his jaw for a second, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter—and somehow more dangerous. "Hope you can hold onto her."

Vincent's grin widened, sharp and smug. "I'll take that as a blessing."

Damian stepped forward until they were almost chest to chest. They were roughly the same height, both men built solid, neither willing to back down an inch.

The tension between them was thick enough to cut.

Damian raised an eyebrow, his mouth twisting into a cold smirk. "Vincent, if you can keep that attitude up forever, more power to you. But eventually? She's going to be mine. I'll say it plain—I'm coming for her. If you divorce her, I'll be her second husband. If you don't, I'll be the other man. Her lover. Either way, I'll make sure I'm everywhere in her life. I'll seep into her like poison. Slow. Steady. Until she can't get rid of me."

He let out a laugh then—low, dark, almost devilish. It was a declaration of war, plain and simple.

Then he turned and walked away, carrying himself like a man who'd already won.

Vincent stood there for a long time after Damian disappeared from view.

When he finally got in his car, he didn't start the engine right away. Instead, he pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and rested his arm on the open window.

Smoke curled up into the cold garage air, and through it, his face stayed perfectly still—no expression at all.

Back in that hospital room, when Scarlett has acted so strange—has that been because of Damian?

The engine roared to life, and as the car sped out of the garage, cold air rushed in. She loved me once. Really loved me. There's no way she'd fall for someone else that fast.

Clara came running over, her little feet pattering against the floor until she reached the bedside. She looked up at Scarlett with wide, red-rimmed eyes. "Auntie, what happened to you?"

Seeing Clara there, Scarlett's face lit up despite everything. She couldn't get out of bed, but she reached out both arms toward the little girl. "Clara, sweetie, what are you doing here? Come here, let me look at you. Are you cold?"

Clara climbed up carefully onto the bed and settled next to Scarlett, leaning her small head against her shoulder. "I'm not cold, Auntie."

Scarlett took Clara's little hands in hers and frowned. "They're freezing. And you're telling me you're not cold?"

Her voice came out scolding, but soft—the kind of scolding that came from love.

Clara, quick as always, shot back in the same tone, imitating her. "Well, you're in the hospital and you didn't tell me or Mommy. So there."

Scarlett blinked, caught off guard, then looked up toward the foot of the bed.

Violet had already finished arranging the flowers and fruit she'd brought. She was adjusting the head of Scarlett's bed now, her movements efficient and unhurried.

When she straightened up, her eyes met Scarlett's directly. No games. No small talk. Just a straightforward look and an even more straightforward question. "You're in the hospital. Why didn't you tell me?"

Scarlett was still holding Clara's hands, warming them between her own. She shrugged lightly, trying to brush it off. "It's nothing serious. I didn't think it was worth mentioning."

Violet studied her for a moment, and when she spoke again, there was a note of reproach in her voice—the kind that came from genuine concern. "If the housekeeper hadn't mentioned that some man showed up at the house asking questions, I wouldn't have thought to check on you. And if I hadn't thought to check, I wouldn't have believed that the reason you haven't been home in two days is because you're lying in a hospital bed."