Agony ripped through my abdomen, sharp and blinding.

I tore my eyes open. Blinding surgical lights seared my vision. The cold metal of the operating table bit into my spine.

"Ah!" I screamed, my voice muffled by an oxygen mask.

Vincent paused. His gloved hands hovered over my open flesh. Above his surgical mask, his dark eyes remained entirely detached.

"You're awake," he noted.

"Vincent, it hurts," I choked out, thrashing against the leather straps binding my wrists. "I can feel everything."

"I lowered the anesthesia," he replied.

He picked up a pair of surgical forceps.

"Why?" I gasped.

"I needed you conscious for this part," he said. He reached back into my incision.

A fresh wave of torture tore a raw shriek from my throat.

"Stop!" I begged. "The baby... the ectopic pregnancy..."

"It wasn't ectopic." He dropped a bloody mass into a stainless steel basin. "The embryo was perfectly healthy."

The clatter of metal echoed in the sterile room.

"Healthy?" I whispered. "You said it was killing me. You said we had to operate."

"I lied." He selected a curved suture needle from the tray. "Just like I lied four years ago."

"What are you talking about?"

"When I removed your appendix four years ago, I tied your fallopian tubes." He pierced my skin with the needle. I jerked, crying out. "This pregnancy was a miracle slip-up. A statistical anomaly. I just corrected it."

"You sterilized me?" My heart slammed against my ribs. "Without my consent?"

"You would have argued."

"You murdered our child!"

"Keep your voice down," he ordered, pulling the synthetic thread tight. "I had my reasons."

"What reasons?" I sobbed. "Why would you do this to me?"

"Victor died at sea," Vincent stated. "Isabella was left entirely alone. The family treats her like an outsider."

"What does your brother's widow have to do with my uterus?"

"I gave her a child," he said.

The heart monitor beside me spiked into a frantic rhythm.

"You gave Isabella a baby?" I asked.

"She needed an anchor in this family to secure her inheritance," Vincent explained, tying off a knot in my flesh. "I can't give you a child too. Two heirs would threaten her position. I won't allow Isabella to be marginalized."

"You mutilated my body for her?"

He drove the needle through my skin again. I bit my lip until copper flooded my tongue.

"Listen to me very carefully, Serena." He leaned over the table. "Do not make things difficult for Isabella. She has suffered enough. If you cause trouble for her, I will make you regret it."

Hours later, the midnight silence of the St. Jude Private Hospital VIP suite pressed down on me.

I lay in the darkness. The fresh stitches in my lower belly burned like hot coals.

A heavy thud echoed from the adjoining caregiver suite.

I turned my head. The connecting door stood slightly ajar. A sliver of warm yellow light spilled across the cold floor tiles.

Then came the wet, slapping sounds of flesh hitting flesh.

"Fuck, Vincent. Right there."

Isabella's voice.

"You want my cock deeper in your pussy?" Vincent grunted.

"Yes," she moaned loudly. "Fuck my wet cunt. Don't stop."

I shoved the heavy down comforter off my legs. I ripped the IV line from the back of my hand. Blood beaded on my skin.

I forced my feet onto the floor. Every step felt like a knife twisting in my gut. I braced my hand against the wall, dragging my body toward the light.

I pushed the oak door open.

They were on the narrow hospital bed. Vincent was driving his hips forward, burying himself inside Isabella. Her pale legs wrapped tightly around his waist.

He stopped mid-thrust.

He turned his head and saw me standing in the doorway.

No shock crossed his features. No panic.

He pulled his dick out of her, reached for the Tom Ford suit jacket draped over a nearby chair, and wrapped it around Isabella's naked shoulders.

"If you find this an eyesore, the divorce papers are ready to sign anytime," he said.

Isabella clutched the expensive wool lapels. She peered out at me. Tears instantly welled in her wide, doe-like eyes and spilled down her flushed cheeks.

"Serena," she sobbed. "I'm so sorry."

I leaned against the doorframe, pressing a hand over my bleeding surgical wound.

"Losing Victor was too painful," Isabella cried, burying her face into Vincent's chest. "The nights are terrifying. Only Vincent gives me security. I need him."

Vincent stroked her hair. "Hush. Don't upset yourself."

She looked back at me, her bottom lip trembling. "As my best friend, please understand my fragility."

"Your fragility?" I asked.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," she whimpered. "But I can't survive without him."

My gaze drifted downward.

A pile of black silk and intricate French lace lay discarded on the floor tiles. The Agent Provocateur limited edition set.

"You're wearing the black lace," I said.

Isabella sniffled. "What?"

I pointed at the floor. "You handed me that exact box at my bachelorette party. You smiled and told me to wear it for him on our wedding night. You called it my bridal gift."

"It's just lingerie, Serena," Vincent interjected.

"You bought it for yourself," I said, staring directly into Isabella's tear-filled eyes. "You gave it to me, knowing you already owned the same set. Knowing you would wear your matching battle-armor to fuck my husband."

"It fits her better," Vincent said.

He stepped off the bed, completely naked, and walked toward me.

"Go back to your room," he commanded. "You're bleeding on the floor."

I looked down. Drops of crimson stained the white tiles between my bare feet. My stitches had torn open.

"You cut my baby out of me today," I whispered.

"I performed a necessary medical procedure," he corrected.

"So you could fuck her in the next room while I bled."

"I told you I want peace," Vincent said, his jaw tightening. "Sign the divorce papers tomorrow. I'll ensure you get a generous settlement."

Isabella peeked out from the suit jacket again. "Please don't hate us, Serena. We just want to be a family."

"A family." I repeated the word, the metallic taste of blood still lingering in my mouth.

I turned my back on them and walked toward the hallway exit, leaving a trail of red footprints behind me. I didn't stop at my bed. I didn't grab my clothes.

I reached the elevator bank and pressed the button.

The metal doors slid open, revealing a tall man in a tailored black trench coat. He stepped out, his cold gray eyes locking onto my blood-soaked hospital gown.

"Well," the man murmured, his gaze dropping to the crimson pooling at my feet. "This is certainly an interesting way to greet your new lawyer."

The man in the black trench coat caught me before my knees hit the floor. He carried me to a new ward, arranged for a private nurse, and left without offering his name.

The next morning, sunlight pierced the hospital blinds. The heavy oak door clicked open.

Isabella walked in, carrying a silver tray.

"I brought you something," she said, setting a porcelain tureen on my tray table.

"Get out," I rasped.

"We need to talk, Serena." She lifted the lid. Steam curled into the air. "I had the kitchen prepare a French consommé."

I turned my face away. "I don't want your soup."

"We were best friends," she pleaded, her voice trembling. "Since our days at the Swiss boarding school. Don't let a misunderstanding ruin ten years of sisterhood."

"You slept with my husband," I said flatly. "There is no misunderstanding."

She wrung her hands, her diamond rings catching the light. "The Davenport family is vicious. You know how the plutocrats operate. When Victor's yacht exploded three years ago, they never even found a piece of his bone. The board wanted to strip my shares. I was a widow with nothing but ashes."

"So you seduced his twin brother."

"Vincent has Victor's face!" Tears spilled over her lashes. "Looking at him eases my grief. He protects me."

I looked down at the golden broth. A strange, metallic sweetness hit my nose. A scent I would never forget.

My stomach violently twisted.

"What is in this?" I demanded.

"Just beef marrow and herbs," she said softly. "And a supplement Vincent gave me."

I snatched the silver spoon, dragging it through the clear liquid. A faint blue shimmer swirled in the fat.

"The cellular repair serum," I whispered.

"Oh, you recognize it?" Isabella smiled, wiping a tear from her flawless cheek. "Vincent is spoiling me. He bought out the entire European black market supply."

My blood ran cold. "All of it?"

"Childbirth ruined my complexion," she sighed, touching her jawline. "And my energy levels were so low. He spent ten million dollars to ensure I recover perfectly and get my glow back."

The spoon slipped from my fingers. It clattered against the porcelain bowl.

Three years ago. The torrential downpour outside the Davenport Medical Institute.

"My grandfather was dying," I said, my voice shaking.

Isabella frowned. "Serena, let's not bring up the past."

"His heart was failing!" I yelled, pushing myself up against the pillows. Pain flared in my stitched abdomen, but I ignored it. "I knelt in the freezing rain for four hours. I begged Vincent to use his medical clearance to buy just one vial of this exact serum."

The door swung open. Vincent strode in, wearing a crisp navy suit.

"Stop shouting," he ordered. "You'll tear your sutures."

I kept my eyes locked on Isabella. "Do you know what he told me?"

Isabella shrank behind Vincent.

"He told me my grandfather was eighty years old," I spat. "He said using the serum on a dying man was a waste of medical resources."

Vincent crossed his arms. "It was. The serum wouldn't have cured his heart disease. It would only have prolonged his suffering."

"It would have given him another year!" I grabbed the edge of the tray. "A year for me to say goodbye. I offered you my entire trust fund for one dose. But you refused."

"I made a clinical judgment," Vincent said coldly.

"And what is the clinical judgment here?" I pointed at the soup. "She has a pale face from having your bastard child, so you spend ten million dollars to clear out the black market?"

"Don't speak about our son that way," Vincent warned, stepping closer to the bed.

"You let my grandfather suffocate in a hospital bed!" I screamed. "And yesterday, you gutted me to kill my baby. All to protect her?"

"Isabella is the future of the Davenport empire," he stated. "Her health is paramount. Your grandfather was a retired florist."

The sheer cruelty in his eyes paralyzed me.

I grabbed the porcelain tureen.

"Serena, no!" Isabella shrieked.

I hurled the boiling liquid directly at her.

Vincent moved fast, shielding her with his body. The scalding broth splashed across his chest, ruining his silk tie and soaking his shirt. The bowl shattered against the wall, sending shards flying across the room.

"Are you insane?" Vincent roared, brushing the hot liquid off his suit.

"Get out of my room," I snarled.

Isabella peeked around his shoulder, completely unharmed. She stared at the broken porcelain and the wasted serum pooling on the floor.

"You shouldn't have done that, Serena," she whispered, her doe eyes hardening into something vicious. "That was my medicine."

Vincent grabbed a towel from the bathroom and wiped his neck. His jaw clenched tight.

"I tried to handle this peacefully," he said. "I offered you a generous divorce settlement."

"I don't want your money," I said.

"Good," he sneered. "Because you're getting nothing."

He pulled a folded document from his inner pocket and tossed it onto my blanket.

"Sign the papers," he demanded. "Or I'll make sure you leave this hospital in handcuffs for assaulting a Davenport."

I picked up the document. It wasn't a divorce agreement.

It was a psychiatric hold order.

"You're committing me?" I asked, the words tasting like ash.

"You just attacked my sister-in-law," he said, his face an emotionless mask. "You're clearly suffering from severe postpartum psychosis."

"I didn't have a baby!"

"The doctors will disagree," he replied. "Sign the divorce papers, surrender your shares, and I'll let you walk away. Refuse, and you spend the rest of your life in the locked ward."

He turned and guided Isabella toward the door.

Before they stepped into the hall, a gloved hand caught the doorframe.

"Actually, Dr. Davenport," a deep voice echoed from the corridor. "My client won't be signing anything today."

The man in the black trench coat stepped into the room, holding a leather briefcase.

"Actually, Dr. Davenport," the deep voice echoed from the corridor. "My client won't be signing anything today."

The man in the black trench coat stepped into the room.

I held up my hand, stopping him before he could cross the threshold.

"Wait outside," I told the stranger.

The man raised an eyebrow, his gray eyes sweeping over the shattered porcelain and pooled broth on the tiles. "Are you sure?"

"Five minutes," I insisted.

He nodded once and pulled the heavy oak door shut behind him.

Vincent ignored the interruption. He wiped a stray drop of soup from his lapel and fixed his stare on me. Disgust twisted his features.

"Look at yourself," Vincent sneered. "You act like a vulgar shrew. Isabella dragged her pregnant belly all the way to this ward just to care for you, and you assault her?"

Isabella whimpered, resting a hand on the swollen curve of her stomach. She hid behind his broad shoulders.

I stared at them. The final ember of my love for this man burned out, leaving only cold ash in my chest.

"Care for me?" I asked, my voice dangerously flat. "She brought me black-market serum bought with Davenport money. Money that should have saved my grandfather."

"She needs it for the baby," Vincent snapped.

"Your brother's baby," I mocked.

"My baby," he corrected, his tone dropping to a lethal whisper.

I gripped the edge of the mattress. "You married me, Vincent. Why? If you wanted her, why drag me to a Tuscan castle and vow to spend your life with me?"

A cruel smile touched his lips. "You really want to know about our wedding night?"

My stomach plummeted.

"The emergency call," I said. "The cross-border surgery in Milan. You left me in my gown."

"There was no surgery," he stated.

The room spun. I dug my fingernails into my palms to stay anchored. "Where were you?"

"Next door," Isabella piped up, her doe eyes shedding fresh tears. "I missed Victor so much. The castle reminded me of him. I took a razor to my wrists."

Vincent wrapped an arm around her waist. "I found her bleeding in the bathtub. She was broken, Serena. She needed a reason to live."

"So you gave her one," I guessed, nausea rising in my throat.

"I had to comfort her," Vincent said. "We slept together. It was the only way to pull her back from the edge."

"You fucked my best friend on our wedding night to cure her depression?" I laughed. The sound scraped out of my throat, harsh and entirely devoid of humor.

"It worked," Isabella whispered.

"I sat on the edge of our bridal bed until dawn," I told him, ignoring her. "I kept calling your phone. It went straight to voicemail."

"I turned the device off," Vincent replied.

"While you were inside her."

"I am practical," he said, stepping closer to the bed. His shadow fell over me. "And I am done playing house with you."

"Then divorce me. Give me my shares and let me go."

"You aren't getting a dime," he replied. "Tomorrow, the hospital board will release a statement. I am accepting a long-term, highly classified medical research position at Johns Hopkins University."

"A cover story," I realized.

"A necessary exit," he agreed. "Dr. Vincent Davenport will fade from the public eye. Meanwhile, a miracle will occur in Europe."

Isabella stroked her belly, a triumphant gleam replacing her tears.

"Victor will be found," Vincent continued. "He survived the yacht explosion. He suffered amnesia, but his memory finally returned."

"You're going to impersonate your dead twin brother," I said.

"We share the same DNA," he pointed out. "The same face. The board will welcome Victor back with open arms. And shortly after his miraculous return, he will marry his grieving widow in a grand, century-defining wedding."

"And the baby," I murmured, staring at Isabella's stomach.

"Will be Victor's legitimate child," Vincent finished. "The undisputed first-in-line heir to the Davenport empire."

I shook my head, trying to process the sheer scale of his deception. "The family will demand a paternity test."

"Let them," Vincent challenged. "My DNA matches Victor's perfectly. No one will ever question it."

"What about me?" I asked. "I'm still your wife."

"You are Vincent's wife," he corrected. "And Vincent is leaving you because you lost your mind. The press will have a field day. The barren, hysterical woman who went insane from infertility and drove away her medical genius husband."

"I am not barren! You tied my tubes!"

"Who will believe you?" he mocked. "I am the chief of surgery. Your medical records already reflect a history of severe paranoia and postpartum psychosis."

He picked up the psychiatric hold order from my blanket and tossed it onto my lap.

"You will be locked in the psych ward," Vincent promised. "Your social standing will turn to dust. You will be a pariah in every elite circle. Sign the shares over to Isabella, and I might ensure your cell has a window."

I looked down at the paper. My name was already typed on the dotted line. They had planned my destruction down to the last detail.

Isabella stepped out from behind him. She didn't look fragile anymore.

"Don't fight it, Serena," she advised, her tone laced with fake sympathy. "You always were the weak one. Just disappear quietly."

I ripped the psychiatric hold order in half.

Then I tore it again.

I threw the confetti of shredded paper directly into Vincent's face.

"I will burn your empire to the ground," I vowed.

Vincent brushed a piece of paper from his cheek. His eyes turned murderous.

"Nurses!" he shouted toward the hallway. "Get the sedatives! The patient is having a violent episode!"

Footsteps hammered against the corridor tiles. Two burly orderlies rushed into the room, holding thick leather restraints.

"Hold her down," Vincent commanded.

They lunged for the bed.

Before their hands could touch me, the heavy oak door slammed against the wall, cracking the plaster.

The man in the black trench coat strode back in. He didn't look at the orderlies. He didn't look at Vincent.

He walked straight to my bedside, pulled a gold-plated pen from his pocket, and handed it to me.

"I believe my five minutes are up," the lawyer stated.

Vincent glared at the intruder. "Who the hell are you?"

The man finally turned his head. His gray eyes locked onto my husband.

"I am the man who owns this hospital," he said smoothly. "And as of three minutes ago, I am also her new husband."