Chapter 1

My husband, Andrew Lewis, takes my stepsister on a shopping trip. They don't come home until well after midnight. It isn't long before she announces she is pregnant.

He starts treating her like she is made of glass, hovering over her at every prenatal appointment. His hand clasped protectively around hers during every ultrasound.

When I plead with my own father, he just waves a dismissive hand. Sweetheart, this is how the world works, he sighs, as if explaining something to a toddler. Powerful men have mistresses. It's the cost of entry into a life like this.

Then, his voice drops to a whisper. Frankly, you should be grateful it's your sister. Blood stays blood. Bring her home, rub her feet, and smile pretty. We don't air dirty laundry in this family.

I am not naive. I see the way he looks at her. This is more than just some sordid affair.

But we have three years together, and I am pregnant with his child, too. I can't just surrender my marriage.

The breaking point comes when he slaps me.

Jessica is going through so much, he yells. Can you just back the fuck off for once in your life

The words echo in the hollow space where my heart used to be. Fine. I will grant their wish.

I am done with Andrew. As for his baby, the one growing inside me, I am done with that, too.

The doctor, Lesley Smith, said with professional hesitation and genuine pity, The fetus is three months old. Are you absolutely certain about this It might be a painless procedure physically, but the emotional aftermath is huge.

My face was ashen, but my voice came out with a strength that surprised even me. The pain I feel now is nothing compared to the suffering I'm saving my child from later.

Lesley tried one last time in a maternal and pleading tone. Vivian, you're only twenty-eight. Your body is still recovering, and I remember how cautious you were when you first conceived.

If this is just a spat with your husband, please sleep on it. Don't do something permanent in a moment of anger.

A spat

My mind drifted back to yesterday.

It was our third wedding anniversary. But instead of celebrating us, my husband's childhood friend, Jessica Grant, sashayed into our party in a show-stopping gown, stealing every ounce of his attention with a single glance.

I remembered the way she knew exactly which buttons to push until I snapped and slapped her last night.

But what I remembered most was the stinging recoil of my own head snapping back. My husband, Andrew Lewis, had slapped me for her.

To me, that was no simple spat. That was the end.

Thank you, Dr. Smith. Please, just start, I said.

I felt nothing during the procedure. But I couldn't stop the silent tears that slid from the corners of my eyes and soaked into my hair.

I could almost feel his arms around me when he let out a low murmur against my hair months ago.

Vivian, if it's a boy, he and I will be your knights. If it's a girl, I'll protect my two princesses with my life.

I had smiled then. Deal. But if you break that promise, I'm taking the baby and vanishing.

He kissed my cheek, sealing the vow. Never.

The promise echoed in the sterile room, mocking me. I was the only one who remembered it.

The cold whir of the vacuum aspirator filled the silence. Inside, my soul felt like it was being shredded.

I was sorry, baby. I failed you.

My life sounded like a bad soap opera script. I was the biological daughter of the wealthy Grant family, swapped at birth by a vindictive nanny. I spent my childhood in poverty.

When my family finally found me at twelve, my place had already been taken.

Jessica was the golden child, the imposter who lived my life of luxury. I was the intruder.

My father, Oliver Grant, adored her. She and Andrew Lewis were inseparable childhood sweethearts.

Even with me back in the picture, my father treated me like a ghost in my own house.

When the Grant and Lewis families merged their empires through marriage, my father wanted Jessica to marry Andrew. But Andrew's parents, traditional and superstitious, preferred me, the biological heir.

Andrew proposed to me.

Jessica staged a dramatic exit, running away in a fit of rage.

I had offered him an out. If you don't want this, don't force yourself.

But Andrew had looked me in the eye, conviction burning in his gaze. I'm marrying you, Vivian. I'll take care of you. We're going to make this work, for a lifetime.

That was the moment I fell.

For three years, I was the perfect wife. I loved him with everything I had, and he repaid me with tenderness and affection.

I knew he was looking for Jessica on the side, but I swallowed my pride. I told myself it didn't matter. What we had was real. It was enough.

Then Jessica came back.

And on our anniversary, Andrew slapped me, scooped her up into his arms, and walked out.

Watching his back as he carried her away, I finally found the truth.

I couldn't keep him. I was, and had always been, alone.