Chapter 1

My husband, Herman Foster, pushed me when I was pregnant.

His hand shoved my shoulder so hard, like I was nothing. Just an ugly piece of furniture in his way. I tumbled down the stairs. Even then, my hands went to my stomach. Pure instinct. I didn't even know I was pregnant yet.

"Arianna, Rosalind's back," he said from the top of the stairs, his voice icy. "It's time for you to step aside."

My head crashed against the corner of the stairs, and everything went dark. Then came the pain, low and sharp, tearing through my belly. It scared me more than the injury to my head.

Rosalind Sinclair stood next to him, wearing a white dress, looking fragile and pitiful. She gently tugged at his sleeve. "Herman, don't... Ms. Wright has been with you for three years."

He looked at me like I was dirt. "Just a stand-in. That's all she ever was. I kept her because of her eyes. They reminded me of you."

*****

A stand-in.

Those words hit me like a knife to the heart. No, even worse—like a blunt force, pounding away and shattering every bit of self-delusion I'd built up over the past three years.

I braced myself against the wall and struggled to stand, my hands trembling so badly. Warm liquid was running down my legs. I looked down and saw blood seeping through my light-colored pants.

"Herman," I said, my voice eerily calm. "I'm bleeding."

He frowned, finally stepping down a few stairs. Rosalind followed close behind, and there was a flicker in her eyes. Something I couldn't quite read. Maybe smugness. Maybe panic.

"Quit acting pathetic." Herman reached out and pinched my chin. "Rosalind nearly lost her leg saving me. And you? What else do you have, besides a face that vaguely looks like hers?"

I almost wanted to laugh. This face that looked like Rosalind's. That was why he pursued me so fiercely three years ago, why he would cup my cheeks late at night and whisper, "I love you," why he desperately begged my parents to let me be his wife.

So, it was all just because of this face.

"You're right, Mr. Foster," I said, pushing his hand away and steadying myself. "I truly have nothing else."

Except for the baby inside me. The one his own father just killed.

I kept it to myself. I watched as Rosalind slipped her arm through Herman's. I watched how he held her so carefully, like she was a precious treasure he'd just found again. Suddenly, I felt completely drained.

"I'll sign the divorce papers," I said. "I don't want a single thing from your family."

Herman looked taken aback, clearly not expecting me to be so straightforward. Normally, I'd be crying, begging him not to leave me. Yeah, that was exactly what the old Arianna would've done.

But in those few seconds when I tumbled down the stairs, something inside me died. For good.

"Smart move," Herman said, pulling a card from his wallet. "There's 1.5 million dollars on this. That should be enough for you to..."

I slapped the card out of his hand.

The silver card spun down the stairs, landing at the bottom as weightless as a feather.

"Herman," I said, making it clear, "we're even now."

I turned and walked downstairs. With every step, the pain in my lower abdomen got worse. Blood ran down my legs, marking the floor with drops of red as I walked. I heard Rosalind whisper, "She's bleeding. Herman, is she..."

"Just ignore her." His voice grew distant. "I'll have the driver take you to the hospital to check your leg. Rosalind, your wellbeing comes first."

When I reached the front door, I turned back for one last look.

Herman was bending down to pick up the card, with Rosalind leaning against him. They looked like the perfect couple, while I stood there in blood-stained clothes, like a clown who had wandered onto their beautiful stage.

The housekeeper, Mary Wood, was hiding by the kitchen door, her eyes full of concern and confusion as she watched me. I shook my head at her and mouthed, "Don't say a word."

Then I pulled open the door and stepped out into the icy December wind.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was my best friend, Stacey Quinn, calling. I answered, and before I could even say a word, she was practically shouting, "Arianna! I heard that bitch Rosalind is back. Did Herman hurt you? I'm coming to get you right now."

"Stacey," I said, "please take me to the hospital."

"What happened? You sound off."

"I think... I might have lost the baby," I whispered, slumping against a sycamore tree by the roadside, my vision blurring as the world spun around me.

On the other end, I heard tires screeching. Stacey swore loudly, "Send me your location. Ten minutes. Don't you dare pass out on me!"

I hung up and sent her my location. Then I did three things.

First, I opened my phone's recorder and saved the last audio to a secure, encrypted cloud folder. It had Herman admitting I was just a stand-in, the sound of him shoving me, and Rosalind's so-called attempt to calm things down. That little "Herman, don't." She was just pouring fuel on the fire.

Second, I bundled up all the dirt I'd secretly collected over the past three years—copies of Herman's tax evasion records, evidence of his shady tricks to land projects, and suspicious files about Rosalind's car crash. I sent everything to three different secure addresses using an anonymous email.

Third, I erased every single photo of Herman and me from my phone. Not just deleted. I factory reset my phone. Wiped it clean.