Chapter 1
Seven years of marriage, and I'd long lost count of the women my husband, Richard Lane, had slept with.
I turned a blind eye to all of it.
It was because he always paid me off.
An affair with an influencer? He'd give me a downtown penthouse.
A yacht party with a young model? He'd give me a matching yacht.
He bought my silence, my breakdowns, my questions, and my tears with money.
But then, when I was eight months pregnant, my world shattered. My baby's heart stopped, and I had to deliver a stillborn.
Weak and trembling, I was helped out of the hospital room by the maid.
That was when I saw Richard, in the room next door, carefully tending to a woman who had just given birth.
Our eyes met. For a split second, panic flickered in his gaze, but his face quickly hardened back to that icy look.
He walked over and handed me a blank check.
"Write in any amount you want," he said.
I tore the check to pieces.
I looked at him and smiled.
"Richard," I said, "this time, I don't want your money."
I raised my shaking hand and pointed past him, toward the faint cry coming from the room behind him.
"I want that child."
*****
"Charlotte, are you out of your mind?" Richard's eyes were wide, completely stunned.
I repeated, "I want that child."
After the induction, I was so weak that every word felt like it was draining the last of my strength.
"What the hell are you doing?" he hissed, lowering his voice. "That's not your child."
"Your baby is gone. There's nothing left."
Yeah, my baby had gone.
"Isn't your child also my child?" I asked softly.
"Do you really want the Lane family's eldest grandson to be branded a bastard from birth?"
Richard choked on his words.
Richard and I had grown up together, our families bound by generations of friendship.
The Lane family and the Sanders family were both top-tier, image-obsessed dynasties, where rules and reputation were everything.
Richard could fool around all he wanted, but he'd never let anything stain the family name.
Evelyn Carson, lying in the hospital bed, finally came to her senses.
She struggled to sit up. Her voice was shrill with panic. "Richard! You can't give my baby to her. This is my only..."
That baby was her only weapon to claw her way up the social ladder.
For someone with her ordinary family background, hoping to rise in status by having a child was nothing but a pipe dream.
Watching Richard's conflicted face, I couldn't help but feel a bitter sense of irony.
Summoning the last bit of strength I had, I pushed him aside and stepped into the room.
Evelyn shrank back, tightening her grip on the swaddled baby in her arms.
"Well, if it isn't the other woman. I'm Richard's wife, Charlotte Sanders," I said.
I forced a stiff smile, speaking each word slowly and deliberately as I delivered the brutal truth.
"From today on, I'm this child's mother."
I paused, savoring the way her face instantly went pale.
Then I added, "Remember, it was your child who was lost to the procedure. Do you understand?"
I whispered those words so softly, but the pain was so sharp I could barely breathe.
Evelyn let out a piercing scream, her composure shattered.
She snatched the pillow from the bedside and flung it at me.
"You're lying. This is my baby. Mine!"
Richard followed me in, looking troubled.
"Richard, you can't let her take our baby!" Evelyn cried out.
Richard glanced at me, clearly torn.
"Charlotte..." he began.
I leaned in and whispered in his ear, "Clive has his eye on that plot of land out west, and as it happens, my brother is the one holding the deed."
Richard's body went rigid.
That land out west was the Lane family's most important plan for the next ten years and the key for Richard to prove himself to his grandfather, Clive Lane.
He whipped around to face me, his eyes burning with anger, resentment, and a flicker of fear.
He took a deep breath and turned to Evelyn. "Listen. Let Charlotte raise the child. It's the only way to make it legitimate."
I turned to my maid and gave her a firm order.
I said, "Go, bring that child to my room."
I stepped out of the room and called my assistant.
"Handle the hospital staff. I don't want anyone but us knowing about this. On the birth certificate, the only name listed as mother should be Charlotte Sanders."
Soon, the sounds of a fierce argument, things being thrown, and Evelyn's heart-wrenching cries echoed from the next room.
I looked down at the little boy in the bassinet.
He was sound asleep, his tiny mouth opening and closing.
A cold smile tugged at my lips.
*****
Richard would come by my room every day, but even when he was there, his mind was always next door.
His phone kept lighting up with texts from Evelyn.
It read: [Richard, I miss the baby so much. Can you please ask him to give the baby back to me?
[I don't want anything else. I only want my baby.
[Richard, I'm bleeding so much. The doctor said I'm having a postpartum hemorrhage. Am I going to die?]
Evelyn knew exactly how to play Richard.
Instead of coming at me, she kept harping on how much she hurt and missed her baby.
She was making me out to be the cold-hearted villain.
Every time he checked her texts, his frown got deeper, and he'd bolt out with some lame excuse.
Early one morning, Richard was nowhere to be found, and the baby had been taken away by the nurse and maid for a check-up.
Evelyn was standing at my bedside like a ghost, her eyes full of venom.
She said, "Charlotte, don't think you've won.
"That unlucky baby of yours? I was the one who made Richard get rid of it for you.
"That night, Richard was drunk and kept calling me.
"I acted all sweet on the phone, telling him your baby would be nothing but trouble for me down the line.
"I told him to spend more time with me, not always hovering around you.
"And after he hung up, he actually went back to you. The rest, well, you know.
"You couldn't even keep your own baby. That's your problem, not mine.
"You're just raising my kid for me, so don't get too happy about it."
With that, she turned and walked away.
Every word she said was like a red-hot iron, branding itself into my heart.
So that was the truth.
I closed my eyes, my hand shaking so badly under the covers that blood backed up into the IV line, staining a section of the clear tube red.
I bit down hard on my lip until the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth.
I didn't cry or make a scene. I quietly pulled the IV needle out of my hand.
Blood beaded on the back of my hand and dripped onto the crisp white sheets, blooming like a tragic rose.
Just then, the door to my room swung open.
Richard walked in.
He froze when he saw the blood on my hand, then hurried over and grabbed my wrist.
"Why did you pull out the IV? Are you insane?" he snapped.