When I started my husband Piers Stephens's car, I activated the navigation system. "Take me home."

"Navigating to 'Family of Three.'"

The unfamiliar address caught me off guard.

Then I remembered the surprise he'd promised when he found out I was pregnant, and I smiled.

Four years of marriage. Three miscarriages.

This time, we would finally become the family of three we'd always dreamed of.

At a red light, a notification flashed across my phone.

"Stephens Corp CEO Piers Stephens critically injured!"

My heart seized. I tapped the headline immediately.

"Stephens Corp CEO gravely wounded after heroic rescue. Condition critical..."

A ringing filled my ears. Tears blurred my vision.

No. He was going to be fine.

We were about to have our baby. Our child and I couldn't lose him.

I called him ninety-nine times. No answer.

I pulled up his location and found he was at the address the navigation had mentioned: "Family of Three."

Confusion cut through my panic. Why wasn't he at a hospital?

On the hundredth call, he finally picked up. He said he needed a million dollars for surgery.

I'd just arrived at the neighborhood and decided to give it to him in person.

But as I reached the front door, I heard his voice.

"One fake news story, and the last million is about to land. All her assets are yours now."

Piers Stephens stood perfectly unharmed, his arms wrapped around my stepsister Julie Harding, pressing a kiss to her swollen belly.

"Once she signs the divorce papers, we'll be a real family of three."

Julie laughed, sweet and coy. "That idiot. You could put anything in front of her and she'd sign it. The asset transfers, the consent form to pull the plug on her mother..."

Bile surged up my throat. I clamped both hands over my mouth.

So that was his "heroic rescue."

The man I'd loved for four years hadn't just betrayed me. He'd killed my mother.

In that moment, I finally woke up.

What he didn't know was that the transfer agreement contained a clause.

The moment we divorced, every asset reverted to me automatically.

I wiped my tears and called my grandmother.

"I'm pregnant, but he's betrayed me. In one week, I'm leaving him and keeping this baby."

...

I sat in the car, silently repeating the name of the destination.

"Family of Three."

Four years of marriage. Three losses that had shattered us to the core.

The first time, days before my due date, I stepped on a loose screw and tumbled down the stairs. That same night, Piers fired every servant in the house, his eyes red-rimmed with fury.

The second time, at eight months, a neighbor's dog went berserk and lunged at my belly. By the next morning, Piers had made that family vanish without a trace.

The third time, a car accident nearly destroyed my ability to ever conceive again. Piers brought in a top-tier legal team and put the driver behind bars for life.

Yet none of it eased the grief that consumed him.

Every time I got pregnant, he would set up the nursery with his own hands. Every time I miscarried, I could hear him behind that closed door, choking back sobs he thought I couldn't hear.

Now I was pregnant again.

At a red light, my phone buzzed.

I glanced down casually, and my pupils contracted.

BREAKING: Stephens Corp CEO Piers Stephens critically injured!

My hands shook as I tapped through to the article. "Stephens Corp CEO gravely wounded after heroic rescue. Condition critical."

Cold washed through my entire body. A low ringing filled my ears.

Memories flashed before my eyes: the way he'd cried before I did when I accepted his proposal. The way he'd held himself together to comfort me after each miscarriage, only to fall apart when he thought he was alone. The way he'd wanted to hold me when he learned I was pregnant again, but stopped himself, terrified he might hurt me...

Was our baby going to grow up without a father?

Was our dream of becoming a family of three going to die before it ever began?

"No... please, no..."

A blaring horn pierced the air behind me. The light had turned green.

I pulled the car to the curb and dialed his number over and over, frantic.

Ninety-nine calls. Not a single answer.

On the verge of collapse, I suddenly remembered I'd set up location sharing on his phone.

I pulled up his coordinates, and the pin dropped on the navigation's destination: Family of Three.

My heart sank like a stone.

Had he been hurt while setting up my surprise?

Then why hadn't he gone to a hospital?

I started the engine and floored the accelerator.

No matter what it cost, I would not let anything happen to him.

I'd barely pulled up outside the gated community when the hundredth call finally connected.

"Piers! I saw the news. How bad is it?"

"I'm okay." His voice was barely a thread. "I'm sorry. You're pregnant... I didn't want you to worry."

Tears splashed onto the steering wheel. I couldn't speak through the sobs.

Even now, even like this, he was comforting me.

"Sweetheart, I'm about to go into surgery. I need a million dollars for the operation."

The line went dead.

I didn't stop to think. I was about to transfer the money when the location screen, still open on my phone, made me freeze.

On the map, two pins sat nearly on top of each other.

Which meant that call had come from the villa just ahead.

How could he possibly have surgery here?

My fear peaked. I threw the car door open and ran.

I had to see with my own eyes that he was safe.

But the moment I reached the villa's entrance, I heard Piers Stephens's voice. And he was laughing.

"One fake news story, and the last million is about to land. All her assets are yours now. We can take our baby and finally be a real family of three."

Through the gap in the half-open door, I saw Piers Stephens with his arms around a woman. Not a scratch on him.

The world tilted. My first instinct, pathetically, was to make excuses for him.

Could there be some misunderstanding?

Then he leaned down and kissed her on the lips, and every pitiful illusion I'd been clinging to shattered.

The woman let out a soft, satisfied hum. "She's still so easy to fool. Last time she literally saw me run her down, and you told her she was remembering it wrong, and she actually believed you!"

Every drop of blood in my body turned to ice.

That voice. I would know it if I were dead.

My stepsister. Julie Harding.

A crushing ache spread through my chest. I stared at Piers, unable to comprehend what I was seeing.

He knew better than anyone what Julie Harding had done to me.

"This miscarriage should be my turn," Julie pouted, her voice dripping with petulance. "You handled the first two. I should get the next two. That's only fair!"

Piers pinched her nose and smiled. "Whatever you want."

I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted blood, swallowing the scream clawing up my throat.

Every miscarriage had been orchestrated. Every single one.

The bone-deep agony of losing my children was nothing more than a scoreboard in their sick little game.

During the car accident that caused my third miscarriage, I had seen Julie. I knew I'd seen her.

But when I woke up, Piers swore my memory was scrambled from the trauma.

And I believed him. I believed he would never lie to me about something like that.

Reality delivered the cruelest blow imaginable.

He hadn't just lied. He was the one who murdered my children.

Piers leaned down and pressed his lips to Julie's belly, his eyes shining with a tenderness I had never once seen directed at me.

"Once she signs the divorce papers, we'll be a real family of three."

Julie let out a derisive laugh. "That idiot signs whatever you put in front of her. Asset transfer agreements, the consent form to withdraw her mother's life support. All of it."

Something detonated inside my skull.

Five years ago, Julie had run my mother down and left her in a vegetative state.

I had poured every ounce of myself into caring for her, but two years later her organs failed and she was gone.

On all those sleepless nights when I lay awake drowning in guilt, convinced I hadn't done enough, it was Piers who held me close and told me it wasn't my fault.

Now they were telling me her death was their design too.

He tricked me into signing away my mother's life.

Rage and despair shattered every last thread of restraint. I slammed the door open, seized Julie's wrist, and squeezed. "Say that again. Was it true?"

Julie shrieked. "Geraldine! You're hurting me!"

Piers's expression darkened. He shoved me away without hesitation.

My lower back cracked against the edge of the table. White-hot pain shot up my spine.

He looked down at me with undisguised irritation. "Geraldine. Stop making a scene."

"Making a scene?" My voice shook. "Then explain. The consent form to withdraw life support. My babies. Were you two behind all of it? And weren't you supposed to be in a car accident?"

"You've been too anxious lately. You're having delusions." Piers furrowed his brow, his concern as convincing as it was hollow. "Losing the baby devastated me just as much as it did you. And there was no consent form. That never happened."

"As for the accident," he sighed, the picture of patient indulgence, "you ruined the surprise, but I know you didn't mean to. I don't blame you."

His gaze was steady and open, as though I were the unreasonable one.

So this was how he saw me. Even caught red-handed, he was certain I was stupid enough to be talked out of what I'd heard with my own ears.

Tears spilled before I could stop them. A second later, a vicious cramp tore through my lower abdomen.

The familiar terror of miscarriage flooded every nerve. "The baby... call an ambulance!"

Piers's voice turned cold and accusing. "This is exactly why you can never carry to term. You're too impulsive."

"No..." The pain shredded my words. Warmth spread between my legs, and I looked down to see blood.

His pupils contracted. Finally, with a reluctant frown, he reached for his phone.

But Julie let out a wail. "Piers! My stomach hurts so badly. Did Geraldine push me? Is that why—"

The color drained from his face. He hurled the phone aside. "I'm taking you to the hospital!"

He scooped her into his arms and bolted for the door. He never looked back.

But I saw his face before he turned. The panic. The anguish. All of it real.

None of it for me.

The door slammed shut, and the last fragile shard of hope inside me shattered into dust.

We were both at risk of losing a pregnancy. For me, he had nothing but blame and impatience. For Julie, he gave every ounce of worry and devotion he possessed.

Through the blinding pain, hatred kept me conscious. I dragged my phone closer and dialed emergency services, then called my attorney.

"Draw up a divorce agreement. And hire someone to investigate Piers Stephens." My voice trembled, but it did not waver. "One week. That's all I need to take everything he has."

The ambulance arrived in time. The baby survived.

I spent three days in the hospital. It wasn't until the day I was discharged that I received a call from Piers.

"You've had your little tantrum long enough, haven't you? There's a reception tonight. You're coming with me."

So that was it. Three days of complete silence, and he'd assumed I was sulking. That the cold shoulder was deliberate punishment for my so-called rebellion.

I wanted to refuse, but the hostess, Mrs. Xu, had been one of my mother's closest friends. I couldn't not go.

At the reception, Piers played his usual role to perfection, intercepting every glass of wine offered my way. The women around us practically swooned.

"Mr. Stephens is so attentive. He never lets his wife touch a single drop."

"Remember that fool who tried to pressure Mrs. Stephens into drinking? He flipped on the spot. Who would've guessed that a man with such impeccable composure would put someone in the hospital over it?"

"That's what they say. Love your wife and the fortune follows. Just look at how far Stephens Corp has come!"

I smiled through all of it, but the smile never reached my eyes.

The devotion they envied was nothing more than a carefully constructed illusion. Only I knew what filthy betrayal and calculation lurked behind it.

The words had barely settled when Julie glided over on the arm of a date.

"Hey, sis. Hey, brother-in-law." She leaned into her companion's shoulder with practiced intimacy. "Let me introduce you. This is my boyfriend."

Piers's smile froze. A sharp crack split the air as the champagne flute shattered in his bare hand.

He seized Julie by the arm and wrenched her away from the man. "Come with me."

"Piers, what are you doing?!"

He said nothing. His face was ashen as he dragged her away, leaving the entire room buzzing.

I had no interest in cleaning up their mess. I slipped out during the commotion.

The evening breeze on the terrace swept away the noise of the banquet hall, but it carried something else: voices, sharp and furious, from just around the corner.

"Weren't you the one who wanted to draw the line? So why do you care what I do?!"

Piers's voice was glacial. "You're carrying my child, and you have the nerve to parade around with another man?"

"So what? My boyfriend doesn't mind. He'll raise this baby as his own!"

"Over my dead body." Piers turned to go after the man, but stopped short when he spotted me standing in the shadows.

Something shifted behind his eyes. He glanced at Julie, then closed the distance between us in one stride and crushed his mouth against mine.

The kiss was brutal and cold. Revulsion rippled through me like an electric shock.

I fought to pull away, but his arm locked around my waist like a vise.

Humiliation crashed over me in waves. He was using me. Using me as a prop to provoke Julie.

Right on cue, a choked sob rose behind him. Emboldened, Piers pressed harder, yanking down my dress strap and shoving his hand beneath the fabric.

"Let go of me!" I snarled, but he only tightened his grip.

Then came the sound of approaching chaos.

Julie had brought an audience. A crowd of guests surged toward the terrace, her trembling voice leading the charge. "I saw a man drag my sister out here! Someone please help her!"

Piers froze. He fumbled to pull my gown back into place and stepped in front of me.

"Get out!"

The guests recognized him, and nervous laughter rippled through the group.

"Oh, it's just Mr. Stephens!"

"The lovebirds were having a moment. Ms. Harding, you had us worried over nothing!"

Julie's tears streamed freely. "I'm so sorry, sis. I was just worried about you..."

Piers saw right through her jealousy, and he couldn't hide his satisfaction. "That's enough. Don't cause a scene next time."

Before he could finish, Julie's eyes rolled back and she collapsed.

"Julie!" His pupils contracted. The cold indifference he'd worn while using me vanished in an instant, replaced by raw panic and desperate tenderness.

He didn't hesitate for a single second. He dropped me, scooped Julie into his arms, and charged out of the banquet hall. "Call an ambulance!"

The moment he let go, my gown slipped free and pooled around me. Bare skin flashed under the chandelier light.

I grabbed for the fabric, but it was already too late.

Camera flashes erupted like a hailstorm, so blinding I couldn't keep my eyes open.

"Stop! Don't!" I shielded myself uselessly. "Stop taking pictures!"

No one listened. I clutched the gown to my body, fingernails digging through the fabric and into my palms.

Through the relentless storm of shutter clicks, I stared in the direction Piers had disappeared, and the hatred inside me grew like thorned vines wrapping around every rib.

Piers Stephens. Everything you did to me tonight, I will repay tenfold in three days.