Chapter 1

Five years ago, when I was hemorrhaging during a difficult delivery, my husband, Samuel Sherman, was outside the delivery room, collapsed against the wall, pressing his forehead against the floor tiles over and over until blood ran down from his eyebrows.

The nurses said he begged for four straight hours until his voice was gone, repeating only one sentence: "Save my wife. Please, save her."

Later, the baby was born safely, and I was pulled back from the brink of death.

For five years, I gave that child every piece of my heart.

I handed over my family's business to Samuel to manage because I was convinced that a man who would beat his own forehead bloody for my sake outside that delivery room was someone worth trusting with my life.

That all changed this morning when I took Zack Grant in for his study-abroad physical and the nurse handed me the lab report.

Mine: Type O. Zack: Type AB.

I stared at those two lines for a full thirty seconds. I was Type O. A Type O mother couldn't have a Type AB child, no matter what the father's blood type was.

That was basic biology. We learned it in high school.

I sent Zack home with the driver and drove back to the villa myself.

Samuel wasn't home today; he was at a meeting at the office.

I walked into his study and pulled open the bottom drawer, the one that was always locked. I had a spare key from when I changed the locks two years ago. Samuel had no idea I kept it.

Inside the drawer was an old phone. Black, with a crack running across the screen.

I plugged it in and turned it on. No lock screen password.

There was only one contact in the messages, saved as one word: "Yvonne."

I started scrolling from the very first message.

On September 17th, five years ago, Yvonne texted: [Samuel, the baby's here. Seven pounds eight ounces, a boy.] The message was sent twelve hours before Zack was born.

Samuel replied: [Wait for me. I'll bring him over tonight.]

My hand tightened around the phone case as I kept scrolling.

Yvonne texted: [What about Natalie's baby?]

Samuel replied: [Don't worry about it. I'll handle it.]

The word "handle" sent chills down my spine. I kept scrolling, all the way to the last message from that night.

Samuel texted: [It's done, Yvonne. From now on, our son will be the heir of the Grant family.]

There was a long voice message below. I tapped it, turning the volume down as low as it would go.

Yvonne's voice was soft and weak, still recovering from childbirth. "Samuel, are you sure that baby girl won't cause any trouble?"

Samuel replied, "Dead people don't talk. Just focus on getting better."

"But what if Natalie finds out someday?"

Samuel let out a laugh, his tone full of contempt I'd never heard before. "What could she possibly find out? She passed out before she saw if she had a boy or a girl. When she wakes up, all she'll see is our son.

"She'll spend her whole life thinking he's her own."

Yvonne hesitated. "Sometimes I feel guilty about her."

Samuel replied, "Guilty? For what? She was born lucky, into the Grant family. I spent four hours outside that delivery room, head to the floor, bleeding, begging for her life. Isn't that enough to repay her?

"One day, the whole Grant family will belong to our son. What else could you possibly want?"

I put the phone back in the drawer and locked it up again.

When I stood up, my legs were numb. Not the kind of numbness from fear. It was like every bit of feeling had been drained out of me, like I was an empty shell, still walking around.

My daughter. I didn't know what she looked like. I had no idea where she ended up.

"Dead people don't talk." Those were Samuel's exact words.

The front door opened, and the driver came in with Zack.

Zack ran over, wrapped his arms around my legs, and looked up at me. "Mommy."

I looked down at him. His face was delicate, almost too pretty for a boy. Those eyes and brows were Samuel's, down to the last detail. For five years, I never questioned it. Boys took after their fathers. That was only natural.

"Mommy, why aren't you saying anything?" Zack asked.

I crouched down and ran my fingers through his hair. "I am a little tired. Go find Amy and grab a snack, okay?"

Zack bounced away, carefree as ever.

I turned to the balcony and stood there, gripping the railing for what felt like forever.

Samuel probably thought I was an idiot. Stupid enough to raise his love child as my own for five years. Stupid enough to hand the whole Grant business over to a husband who married into the family.

Stupid enough to still be moved by his four hours of begging outside the delivery room, thumping his forehead against his knees until blood ran down his face.

I fished out my phone and found a number in my contacts. After a moment, I put it away.

No rush. First, I needed to confirm one thing. Was there a one-in-a-million chance my daughter, the baby girl Samuel had "handled," was still alive?