Chapter 1

Note: The inner thoughts of people other than the protagonist are expressed in '' marks.

For five years, my husband and I tried every possible remedy we came across but still failed to conceive.

After a year of IVF, we ended up with triplets.

I was both shocked and overjoyed. Holding the test results in my hands, I wept so uncontrollably in the hospital corridor that I could barely stay on my feet.

By the seventh month of pregnancy, I suddenly began to hear the thoughts of the babies inside my womb.

'Three more months till we're out. When she gives birth, whichever of us comes out last gives her a good kick.'

'Yeah, better yet. Make her hemorrhage and die right there. Get her out of the way.'

'Great. Without her in the way, our real mother can be with Daddy forever.'

The color drained from my face. I looked down at my enormous belly and told myself I must be in so much pain that I was hearing things.

Frightened, I went looking for Charles Grant, but no sooner had I reached the study door than I caught him talking with a friend.

"Charles, that's a vicious move, making Emily carry children for you and another woman, and giving you three heirs in one go."

*****

Charles' voice was calm. "Emily's bloodline is tainted. The Grant family's children can't have that kind of dirty blood running through them. Being a surrogate is the most useful thing she'll ever do in her life."

I steadied myself against the wall, my palm flat against the cold surface, my legs trembling so badly I nearly dropped to my knees.

So the three babies in my belly had never been mine to begin with.

From inside the room, the voice went on. "Charles, if you hate her that much, why not just divorce her?"

After a beat of silence, Charles said, "She can't survive without me. If I actually divorced her, she'd lose her mind. She's been with me all these years. The least I can do is leave her the title of wife."

He paused and then added, "And besides, a divorce right now would reflect poorly on the Grant family."

I stood there outside the door, my throat tight, as if stuffed with a ball of blood-soaked cotton.

"Emily's got to be the dumbest woman alive, still thinking she can't get pregnant because something's wrong with her body, when she's been on birth control this whole time. How was she ever supposed to conceive?"

"What if she finds out? She'd completely lose it, wouldn't she?"

"Lose it over what? The kids aren't hers, sure, but they're Charles'. She's so crazy about him that if she knew she was carrying his children, she'd probably thank him."

The room dissolved into laughter.

Through the crack in the door, the sound spilled out and hit my ears like dull knives, slicing back and forth, over and over again.

I dropped my gaze to my belly.

For seven months, I had thrown up everything that went into my mouth.

My legs had swollen so badly I couldn't get my shoes on, and I had woken up in the middle of the night with cramps so painful I could barely move, all while reassuring Charles that it was nothing.

I had believed all that suffering was for the children he and I shared.

But it turned out I was nothing more than a vessel kept in the dark.

From inside my belly, the voices came again.

'Oh no. Did she hear all of that?'

'Is she going to abandon us? Please don't. I haven't even met our mommy yet.'

'She wouldn't dare. Watch me kick her to death right now.'

No sooner had the words left than a sharp pain shot through my abdomen.

I doubled over so hard that my forehead slammed against the wall, and the agony left me completely speechless.

Inside the study, the laughter went on without a pause.

None of them had the slightest idea that I was standing just outside that door, having caught every single word they had said.

'She's definitely in pain.'

'Good. Let that be a lesson to her.'

'That's what she gets for listening in on Daddy.'

I bit down on my tongue until the coppery sting of blood flooded my mouth.

This was no delusion.

I could actually hear the thoughts of the triplets growing inside me.

They resented me, hated me, and wanted me dead.

And I had spent every single day running my hand over my belly, reading them stories, telling them how much I loved them.