Chapter 1
I held the pregnancy report in my hands and served a bowl of hot soup at Richard Blackwell's family dinner.
All I got in return was a 200 thousand dollar check and one sentence. "Get out."
The scalding soup spilled over my hands, but it burned less than the coldness in his eyes.
When I fell into the ocean, I thought everything was over. But I never expected to run into him again five years later, with my child by my side.
He got down on his knees and begged for forgiveness.
But some wounds had soaked in saltwater for too long. They had already scarred over, and no matter how I tried to peel them back, they only bled again.
*****
The scalding soup splashed across the back of my hand, and I didn't flinch.
Not because I didn't want to. My body had frozen solid.
The Blackwell family dinner was in full swing. Crystal chandeliers blazed overhead, and the table was loaded with a lavish spread that could feed a small army.
I stood behind Richard, holding a bowl of soup I'd spent three hours making, looking every bit the part of a servant.
I said, "Richard, have some soup."
My voice trembled as I held the bowl out to him.
He didn't even look up. One flick of his wrist sent the bowl crashing to the floor. Porcelain shattered across the marble, and the hot broth splattered his tailored dress pants and soaked the back of my hand.
The pain crawled from my fingertips up through my arm, but I didn't dare move.
Richard finally raised his eyes. His gaze was ice cold as it swept over me, then dropped to the mess on the floor. He didn't bother hiding the contempt in his voice.
He pulled a checkbook from the inside pocket of his suit jacket, and the scratch of pen against paper cut through the silent room.
He tore out the check and tossed it with a careless flick. The slip of paper printed with 200 thousand dollars drifted down and landed at my feet.
"Claire Evans." Every word from his mouth was a blade. "Cut the act. Take the money and get out of the Blackwell family. Stop being such an eyesore."
I stared at the check, my fingers clenched tight around the pregnancy report hidden in my pocket.
I'd picked it up from the hospital just that morning. I'd held onto one last shred of hope that maybe, with a baby on the way, he'd treat me a little better.
I was a fool to think that.
Richard's mother, Kirsty Blackwell, let out a cold scoff from the side.
She lifted her coffee cup, took a slow sip, and spoke in that sharp, mocking tone of hers. "Girls from nowhere families are all the same. Greedy to the bone.
"You schemed your way into this marriage, and now you actually think the Blackwell family is your ticket to the top? You can't even carry a bowl of soup without spilling it. Completely useless."
Everyone at the table kept their heads down. No one said a word, but no one had actually missed what she said.
Their silence cut deeper than Kirsty's insults ever could.
I crouched down to pick up the check, and the burn on the back of my hand scraped against a broken shard of porcelain. The pain shot through me so fast I sucked in a sharp breath.
But no one reached for me, and no one asked if I was okay.
After dinner, I followed Richard back to our marital home.
The house was massive and extravagantly decorated, but it felt hollow. There was no warmth in it, and nothing about it felt like home.
I took a deep breath, walked up to him, and said every word with deliberate calm. "Richard, I want a divorce."
He was loosening his tie when he heard me. His hands froze for a second before he turned around and looked at me like I had told the funniest joke he had ever heard.
He closed the distance between us in a few long strides, grabbed my chin, and squeezed so hard it felt like he was trying to crush it.
"A divorce?" He let out a low, mocking laugh, and the stench of whiskey on his breath hit my face. "So how much is it this time? A penthouse downtown, or a thirty-million-dollar goodbye package?"
I stared into his eyes. There was not a trace of reluctance in them. All I saw was the smug certainty that I was after his money.
The last spark of hope inside me burned out for good.
I reached up, snatched the check from his hand, tore it to shreds, and threw every piece in his face.
I turned and rushed into the bedroom, pulled out a small suitcase, and packed only a few changes of clothes.
I took the pregnancy test report, crumpled it slightly, and tucked it into the very bottom of the suitcase.
What would telling him change? He would only humiliate me again and accuse me of using the baby to blackmail him.
The night wind cut through me as I hailed a rideshare and gave the driver directions toward the Bay Bridge.
It didn't matter where I went, as long as it was far from him and far from the Blackwell family.
Halfway across the bridge, two black sedans boxed us in and forced the car to a stop.
A bodyguard yanked the door open, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Ms. Evans, Mr. Blackwell sent us to bring you back."
"I'm not going back!" I fought to get out of the car.
In the struggle, the driver panicked and jerked the steering wheel hard.
A deafening crash tore through the night, and the door crumpled on impact. The guardrail split wide open.
The briny smell of seawater rushed in, and I felt my body go weightless. I tumbled over the edge with my suitcase, plunging into the darkness below.
Ice-cold water flooded my throat, and suffocation closed in around me.
The pregnancy test slipped out of my pocket and drifted away, slowly sinking toward the bottom.
Before I lost consciousness, I saw one of the bodyguards pull out his phone and snap a photo of the water's surface.
On the other side of the city, Richard lounged on the sofa with a cigarette pinched between his fingers. The ember had burned all the way down to his skin, but he didn't seem to notice.
His phone rang.
It was the bodyguard. "Mr. Blackwell, Ms. Evans jumped into the ocean. We couldn't find her."
Richard lowered his gaze and let out a cold scoff, his voice thick with irritation. "She's putting on a show. Let her be."
He hung up, and the cigarette butt dropped onto the carpet, burning a small black mark into the fabric.