Chapter 1

My husband killed our unborn child to please his mistress, then made me watch as he comforted her with diamonds. "Did you really believe I'd let you raise my child after killing Alison’s?" Blake's voice cut through the ballroom as he wrenched me forward. His hand lashed out.

Glass exploded. My knees hit marble with a sickening crack as he shoved me down. A hot gush flooded between my thighs. The crowd's gasps turned to screams.

"No!" My hands flew to my stomach, but the stain spreading across my ivory gown said everything. Blake stood frozen, his polished shoes splattered red.

Then I saw her, Alison's lips curling behind her clutch, her eyes gleaming.

"Get Alison out of here!" The last thing I saw before darkness took me was his lips moving, not calling for help, but to spare his delicate mistress the sight of her victory.

While I hemorrhaged and lost a fallopian tube, he was at an auction, splurging on collectibles for his precious girlfriend to make up for her loss.

When I saw the news footage of him gazing at her with adoration, I knew our marriage was over.

I dialed an overseas number.

"Does your offer to marry me still stand?"

The man paused, then chuckled softly.

"Of course."

After being discharged, I returned to the Jennings estate and froze at the sight of a pair of flashy heels by the door.

Before I could process it, Blake's lazy voice drifted from the couch.

"Perfect timing. Alison isn't comfortable with strangers around, so I gave the staff the week off. Go make her some chicken soup—she needs to recover."

He lounged deep in the sofa, Alison's delicate face nestled against him, her fair skin glowing.

"Blake, Delilah just got out of the hospital. She's still weak—let me do it instead…"

Alison's voice was soft, but it ignited Blake's temper instantly.

"Don't fall for her act. She's a master at playing victim. A simple procedure, and she milks it for over half a month just to guilt-trip me."

"Delilah, don't expect remorse. That child? You owed Alison this."

I forced a bitter smile.

A month ago, Alison had been diagnosed with an ectopic pregnancy and needed emergency surgery.

But Blake, swallowing every rumor whole, became convinced I'd bribed the doctors to kill her baby.

No matter how I pleaded, he refused to listen.

At the company gala, Alison played a recording of me supposedly conspiring with the doctor, sealing my "guilt" in front of everyone.

To console her, Blake—ignoring my three-month pregnancy—held me down and performed the abortion himself, offering our child as compensation for hers.

He didn't even wait for my surgery to end before whisking Alison off on an international getaway.

At an auction, he threw money around like confetti, buying her rare collectibles—including a medieval coronet—while I bled out on an operating table, losing a fallopian tube with no one by my side.

And now, he had the audacity to say I owed her.

How laughable.

As I mechanically moved toward the kitchen, Blake called after me, smug.

"Oh, and Alison hates cilantro."

"Also, make the fish light—deboned, no heavy seasoning."

His attentiveness made Alison blush, her fingers slipping playfully under his collar.

Soon, soft moans filled the air, the room thick with intimacy.

I shut the kitchen door, blocking out the noise.

Then it hit me: in five years of marriage, he'd never learned a single dish I liked—yet he knew Alison's tastes by heart.

Tears blurred my vision, but I wiped them away.

After finishing, I headed upstairs to pack—only for Blake to intercept me.

"Forgot to mention—I moved your things to the guest room. My girl's been pampered her whole life; she can't sleep in a north-facing…"

A wave of dread hit. Without thinking, I rushed to the guest room.