Chapter 1
My stepdaughter had a massive allergic reaction and went into shock on Valentine's Day.
Trembling, I dialed my husband, Clyde Gilbert. "Clyde, it's our daughter. She's dying. Get to the ER right now!"
Clyde's voice was ice-cold, laced with disgust. "Elaina Lynch, give it a rest. Stop using your ex's brat to get my attention. I'm out with Evelyn, so don't ruin my night with your drama."
In his twisted mind, the little girl lying in that hospital bed was my daughter from my first marriage.
He had no idea the child struggling to breathe was own his flesh and blood, the very girl he called his pride and joy.
Half an hour later, his secretary, Evelyn Moore, sent me a screenshot of her latest Instagram post.
It showed the two of them enjoying a romantic candlelit dinner. Clyde looked almost tender as he stroked Evelyn's tiny bump.
The caption read: [Our little prince just kicked. Daddy says he's the best Valentine's gift ever.]
The joke was on them. Clyde had forgotten who he was dealing with. In this marriage, I was the billionaire heiress.
I called my assistant. "Tell finance to freeze every card Clyde has access to."
If he wanted to play daddy with his mistress, he could pay for it himself. From that moment on, Clyde wouldn't get a single dime from the Gilbert family.
Clyde had mistaken me for a brainless trophy wife who relied on him. He had forgotten one crucial detail: in Jaronville's business world, the Lynch family called the shots.
*****
I couldn't stop pacing the hallway outside the ER. The sharp click of my heels against the tile felt deafening in the empty corridor.
A doctor burst through the double doors, his face tight with stress.
"Naomi's family?" he asked. "She can't breathe. Her throat is closing up fast, and we have to cut an airway right now. I need a direct family member to sign the consent forms."
I darted forward and reached for the paperwork. "I'm her mother. Let me sign."
He shielded the clipboard, glancing down at her chart. "Ms. Lynch, it says here you're the stepmother.
"This is a high-risk procedure. The hospital requires the biological father or a blood relative to authorize it, just in case the worst happens."
My hands were shaking so badly that I almost dropped my phone. I dialed Clyde again.
He rejected the first call the second it rang.
He killed the second call just as fast.
On the third try, he finally answered.
Soft jazz drifted through the speaker, mixed with a woman's sweet giggling.
"Clyde, where are you?" I gasped. "Get to the hospital right now. Naomi is in the ER. She's fading fast. She needs surgery, and they won't start until you get here and sign the forms!"
Clyde sighed heavily, his voice thick with annoyance.
"Elaina, give it a rest," he snapped. "It's Valentine's Day. Is this your new game? Making up death threats about a kid just for attention?"
I lost my mind and screamed at the top of my lungs. "This isn't a game. Naomi had a peanut butter cup and went into shock. The hospital won't take my signature because I'm not her birth mother. You have to come!"
Silence hung on the line for a beat before Clyde let out a sharp, mocking laugh.
He sneered, "You're desperate, Elaina. Using a fake allergy to bait me?
"Naomi isn't the one with the peanut allergy. That's your kid, Riley. The baggage from your ex."
I froze.
This man was Naomi's father. It was insane that he couldn't even remember his own kid's fatal allergy.
As her stepmother, I treated that little girl like gold. I made sure our house was peanut-free for years to keep her safe.
"Clyde, Naomi is the one dying in there. Your own flesh and blood!" I screamed.
Evelyn's whiny voice chirped in the background. "Clyde, our baby just kicked. I think the yelling scared him."
Clyde whispered something sweet to her, his voice totally changing. But when he talked to me again, he was nothing but vicious.
He barked, "Enough, Elaina. Stop bothering me about your brat. You think I'm ditching my night for her? Not happening.
"Evelyn's carrying my son. If your jinx of a daughter brings any bad luck to my boy, we're going to have a major problem."
The line went dead.
I dialed his number again, but the call went straight to voicemail. He had turned his phone off.
Desperation took over. I grabbed the doctor's scrubs to beg for help.
"Doctor, please," I pleaded. "Just save her. I'll take the fall for whatever happens. Please!"
A heavy sigh escaped him before he spun on his heels. He dashed back into the ER and ordered his team to prepare for intubation.
The heavy doors shut as a sharp alarm blared from the monitors inside.
My knees gave out. The cold tile floor caught my fall as all the strength drained from my bones.
Through the small glass window, I watched the nurse deliver one shock with the defibrillator paddles. She waited a second, and then she delivered another.
The electric current jolted Naomi's frail body off the mattress. Gravity pulled her back down in a lifeless slump.
This was the same sweet kid who always acted shy when calling me Mom. She made it a tradition to draw our family for my birthday.
Right now, her glassy eyes stared at nothing. Her body lay still and quiet while the medical team worked to save her.
The heart monitor emitted a long, steady beep as the green line flatlined.
Walking out of the room, the doctor pulled off his surgical mask and gave me a grim look. "I am so sorry, but we did everything possible. If her father had just shown up thirty minutes ago to sign the consent forms..."
That was the moment I learned a terrible lesson. Soul-crushing grief did not come with tears. It only left a person as an empty shell.
Naomi's small face had already turned a bruised shade of purple, even though her skin still felt warm.
A nurse approached me with red, swollen eyes to hand over a small piece of paper.
The crumpled drawing featured four stick figures done in crayon: Clyde, Riley, Naomi, and me.
In the picture, Clyde was handing her a peanut butter cup, and Naomi had a giant smile on her face.
The nurse fought back a sob. "She refused to let go of this in the ambulance. She kept repeating that her daddy gave her that peanut butter candy and she had to finish every bite."
That crude sketch shattered my heart into a million pieces.
The tears finally spilled over when I pressed the wrinkled paper against my chest.
My phone buzzed.
Evelyn had sent a batch of Instagram screenshots.
The pictures flaunted a candlelit dinner, expensive wine, and a giant bouquet of red roses.
One photo in particular felt like a knife to my gut.
Clyde wore a sickening, sweet smile on his face as he rested his hand on Evelyn's baby bump.
The caption below it twisted the knife even deeper.
It read: [Our little prince just kicked. Daddy says he's the best Valentine's gift ever.]
Evelyn had tacked on a direct message: Evelyn had added a direct message: [Elaina, Mr. Gilbert said if your brat dies, my son can take her place.]
I glared at the glowing screen and let out a dark, bitter chuckle at the sick idea.
Clyde had gotten what he wanted. His daughter did make room for his new son.
Pulling up my contacts, I dialed the chief secretary of Lynch Group.
"Nelson," I ordered. "Get the finance and legal teams on a conference call..."
Once the call ended, I walked straight to the morgue.
Standing beside the metal table, I took Naomi's ice-cold hand and brushed a gentle kiss against her forehead.
"Naomi, don't be afraid," I whispered into the quiet room. "Your father left you to die. I'll make them pay for this.
"Wait for me there. I swear I'll tear their lives apart until they crawl to you and beg you to forgive them."
The chill in the morgue bit into my skin. I pulled up a chair and sat with her through the night.
My phone stayed black all night long.
Clyde was lost in his mistress, spending the dark hours dreaming of his unborn son.
He had no idea his own daughter died waiting for him.