Chapter 1

On a night of heavy rain, Darren Marshall kicked me out of his car. He did it for Madeline Summers—the one he could never forget.

I had just taken a pregnancy test. Two lines. Positive.

Five years later, the internet exploded. Darren, CEO of Marshall Holdings, had crashed during a late-night street race. The news said he'd never have kids.

Meanwhile, I was barely getting by in a forgotten corner of the city, holding the hand of a little boy who looked just like him.

Then came that exclusive gala. I was working as a temp, down on my knees scrubbing wine off the floor. When I looked up, I met Darren's eyes—cold, sharp, mocking.

Just as he thought I was down and out, ready to put me down, a toddler's voice came from behind me. "Mommy, I'm hungry."

Darren stared at the little kid. It was like staring at himself as a toddler. He was completely stunned.

*****

Winter in Riverside City was bone-chilling.

I huddled in my tiny apartment, a little more than 200 square feet, applying a cooling patch onto my son Andrew Lane's forehead. He was burning up with fever.

The TV was broadcasting shocking news about one of the city's rich and famous.

The anchor said, "Darren Marshall, CEO of Marshall Holdings, was in a serious car crash last night. The woman with him, Madeline Summers, only suffered minor injuries, but Mr. Marshall ended up with multiple fractures. Sources tell us the crash may have left him permanently unable to have children..."

Darren's face flashed across the screen. Cold. Polished. Even on a stretcher, he had that look. The one that kept people at a distance.

I froze. My chest tightened.

Was this karma?

Maybe it was.

Five years ago, I was Darren's girl. His little canary, kept in a gilded cage. People who knew us said he spoiled me rotten. But I knew the truth. I was never his choice. I was just a placeholder.

The day Madeline, the woman he could never let go of, returned to the country, he mercilessly cut off all contact between us.

Darren looked at me coldly and said, "Blair, know your place. Take this. 1.5 million dollars. Then disappear. Stay away from Madeline. Forever."

That night, the rain was pouring down. I was thrown out of his car, drenched to the bone, and the pregnancy test in my bag was swollen from the rain.

I wanted to tell him that we could finally be a family.

But all he cared about was her. The one he could never forget.

I didn't take the money. I just ran, pregnant and alone, like I'd done something wrong. I ended up hiding out in this little southern city.

"Mommy, I don't feel good," on the bed, Andrew whimpered.

His little face was flushed with fever. It pulled me back to the moment.

I quickly reached out and touched his forehead. He was still burning up.

Andrew was born early, so he'd never been strong. Now with the flu going around, he was down sick again.

I looked at his little face. It was almost a perfect copy of Darren's. And it hurt so much.

If Andrew hadn't come into my life, maybe I'd be living a whole different life by now. But every time he called me "Mommy" in that soft, milky voice, all the pain I went through suddenly felt worth it.

Reality always hits harder than dreams.

I spent every last cent I had just trying to get Andrew the care he needed.

My phone suddenly buzzed. It was a message from the temp work chat.

It read: [The Imperial Hotel needs a few waitstaff for an exclusive corporate gala tomorrow night. Must know basic etiquette. 40 dollars an hour, cash at the end of the night. Anyone free?]

Forty dollars an hour.

For me, this was a lifeline.

I looked at Andrew, hesitated for a second, then bit the bullet and typed: [I'll take it.]

Andrew was such a good kid. He took his medicine and went right to sleep. I asked Ingrid Wilson next door to look after him for me, and the next evening, I slipped into the uniform the hotel provided.

*****

When I arrived at the back entrance of the hotel, the supervisor looked me up and down, a hint of surprise flickering in his eyes.

"Nice figure. Pretty face too. You look the part. Have you done this kind of work before?" he asked.

I kept my head down. Didn't want any attention. "Yeah, I have."

"Alright, tonight's guests are the movers and shakers of the city, so stay sharp. And whatever you do, stay away from the guy at the head table. He's got a temper. Keep your distance," he warned.

I nodded, picked up my tray, and trailed after the others into the lavishly decorated ballroom.

I knew this world. I used to live in it. Back then, I walked into places like this on Darren's arm, wearing designer dresses, drawing stares from every corner.

Now I was squeezed into a cheap uniform that didn't fit right, carrying a tray of drinks, weaving through the crowd like an ant trying not to get stepped on. Always looking over my shoulder. Always afraid someone might recognize me.

I was pouring wine for a guest when the ballroom doors swung open.

The bustling room went dead silent in an instant.

A wall of bodyguards in black moved in first, clearing a path. Then a custom wheelchair rolled in behind them slowly.

The man in the wheelchair wore a black suit with a thin blanket over his knees. His face was pale, almost translucent. But his eyes were as sharp as a hawk's. Cold. Dangerous. Full of menace.

Darren.

Was he really finished?

My hand trembled, and a few drops of red wine splashed onto the tablecloth.

"Watch it," the guest snapped, clearly annoyed.

I quickly apologized, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

The commotion was minor, but in the dead silence of the room, it sounded way louder than it should have.

Darren's eyes swept through the crowd, cold and piercing, landing on me like a chilling spotlight.

For a split second, it felt like my blood froze solid.