The firelight played across my face. By the time it was over, dusk had settled in, and I went home alone.

Days of insomnia had left me in a fog. I'd just brewed a pot of coffee and was about to sit down when my phone started buzzing nonstop.

An unknown account sent me photos. I stared at them, transfixed, and didn't notice the coffee cup slipping from my hands until it shattered on the floor.

A shard of glass sliced into my shin. I didn't feel it.

In the photos, silky hair spilled across Frederick's back. The dim lighting only made the outline of their bodies more unmistakable.

The diamond ring on her hand glinted so brightly it was impossible to ignore. My eyes went wide when I spotted the vanity box I'd always treasured sitting on the table behind them. It used to live in the passenger seat of his car.

The video was grainy, but the audio was crystal clear.

"When are you going to go public with me? I'm the one who sent her that recording. Time she learned her place."

"Relax. You're my only real wife. Once she gives birth, she's served her purpose."

Their silhouettes tangled together, and the sound of heavy breathing drowned out everything else.

I was shaking all over. I ripped the ring off my finger and hurled it across the room. It struck the framed photo of us, the one already yellowed with age, and the glass exploded.

So that was it. My only value was to carry on the Simmons family line. No wonder my parents had never been so thrilled about anything as they were when they heard I was pregnant.

The rage at Frederick's betrayal, at my parents' favoritism, at every swallowed grievance, all of it came pouring out at once.

By midnight, I sat hollow and spent, one hand resting on my swollen belly, dried tear tracks streaking my face.

Once I'd made the decision to raise this child alone, I sent an email to my former business partner, Joseph.

Dawn broke, and Frederick finally came home. The moment he saw me curled up on the couch, he pulled me into his arms.

"Baby, why do you look so worn out? Is the little one giving you trouble?"

He rubbed my frozen hands between his, his eyes brimming with concern.

My voice came out flat and cold. "It's nothing. I stepped on some broken glass."

Only then did he notice the shards scattered across the floor and the blood still trickling down my shin.

Before I could say another word, he scooped me up and carried me to the car, calling ahead to put every doctor in the city on standby.

"I'm sorry, baby. I shouldn't have left you alone like that. That's on me. I'm taking you to the hospital right now."

I told him clearly it wasn't serious, but Frederick insisted on running every test imaginable.

"If anything happened to you, I wouldn't know how to go on. I promised I'd take care of you for the rest of your life."

He didn't leave my side for a single second, and only exhaled when every last result came back.

All the other markers were normal, but one line was flagged in bold: acute emotional distress and depression.

Frederick panicked. His only worry was that it might affect the baby's health.

He assumed it was pregnancy hormones. To keep me calm and protect the baby, he suggested taking me to a gala at Greystone Winery.

The next morning, a custom-tailored apricot gown was draped over the headboard. Frederick had stayed up all night teaching himself a fashionable updo. He did my hair and makeup himself, then drove me to the winery.

It was a private estate, but the wine collection was staggering. Frederick knew I loved a good vintage, and every bottle my gaze lingered on for even a second, he bought on the spot.

Spending a fortune just to make me smile. The extravagance turned heads all around us.

My injured leg slowed me down, and I gradually fell behind him.

Most of the guests were Simmons Group business partners. They crowded around him, ribbing him good-naturedly.

"Mr. Simmons, spending a fortune to win a beauty's smile! There were a few rare bottles I had my eye on, and you snatched them right out from under me!"

"Frederick, that most prized vintage of yours, any chance you'd let me have it? Ten times the price, name it."

I listened to all of it and felt nothing.

Frederick waved them off without a glance. "Nothing matters more than Agatha. I only listen to her."

The corner of my mouth twitched. I pretended I hadn't heard that name. My expression didn't change.

Ignoring the small talk, Frederick took my hand and led me down into the winery's underground ballroom.

Through the shifting crowd, a flash of red caught my eye. A familiar figure.

Then the sound of a wine glass shattering cut through the noise, and every pair of eyes in the room snapped toward the same spot.

The champagne tower at center stage came crashing down in a cascade of glass and liquid, shards flying in every direction.

"What's wrong with you, young lady? You can't even walk without slamming into me, and now you've knocked the whole thing over!" Mr. Finch, Frederick's business partner, barked at the culprit.

The woman across from him said nothing, her face a picture of helpless resignation.

Anyone with eyes could see that Mr. Finch's suit was worth a small fortune, and now it was drenched in champagne. The temperature in the room plummeted.

The commotion drew our attention. The moment Frederick's gaze locked onto the woman responsible, something shifted in him. I felt it in the way his hand released mine.

He was about to walk over when I accidentally stepped on the edge of a tablecloth. A row of glasses tipped and nearly cascaded onto me. Frederick's reflexes kicked in. He grabbed me and pulled me close, shielding my stomach.

Shards of glass sliced into my hand. Blood ran freely between my fingers. He didn't even glance at it.

"Libby, are you alright? Just rest here for a minute. My friend seems to have run into some trouble."

The crowd was thick, but through the gaps between onlookers, I spotted a pair of eyes I knew all too well.

My adoptive sister, Agatha. Dramatic as ever. She stood there in a scarlet dress, her expression dripping with contempt, utterly unbothered by the powerful man she'd just offended.

Frederick cut through the crowd and positioned himself in front of Mr. Finch, tucking Agatha behind him.

"Mr. Finch, it's such a wonderful evening. Don't let this ruin your mood. You mentioned earlier you wanted some of the wine I ordered? However many bottles you'd like, they're yours."

Frederick was all smiles and flattery. When Mr. Finch's expression finally softened, Frederick quickly had someone bring out a fresh suit.

Agatha stayed behind him the entire time, gazing up at him with naked adoration as he smoothed everything over for her.

After enough reassurances, the crisis passed. The crowd dispersed. Frederick finally let out a long breath.

In a quiet corner near the stage, he wiped the cold sweat from his brow. "Why are you back? Mr. Finch is one of our most important partners. How could you be so careless—"

Before he could finish, Agatha threw herself into his arms, unable to contain herself any longer. "It's been days. Didn't you miss me? I wanted to surprise you, so I didn't tell you I was coming."

His reaction wasn't what she'd expected. Frederick flinched, startled, then glanced around nervously. His eyes landed directly on me, standing right there, watching them both.

"When did you get back? It's been a while, Agatha." I walked toward them, keeping my voice even.

Agatha didn't let go of Frederick's arm. Her words, though, came laced with thorns. "It really has been a while. You still look terrible, sis."

"What's the matter? Hasn't your dear husband been taking good care of you?" She let out a derisive laugh, her eyes glittering with scorn. "Or maybe it's not you he's been taking care of."

I wasn't about to swallow that kind of provocation. I stepped forward, ready to put her in her place, but Frederick blocked my path.

"Libby, calm down. She's just joking around."

"Agatha, why don't you pour your sister a glass of water?" He gestured toward a cup nearby.

Frederick shot Agatha a look. She played obedient, picked up the cup, and brought it over with an apology.

I didn't want to accept anything from her. But Agatha kept pressing, and in the end, I took it.

My throat was parched. I drank it all in one gulp. Instantly, a searing burn tore through my mouth and spread down my throat. I collapsed to the floor, curling into myself, screaming. "My stomach—it hurts!" The sound drew a crowd.

The cup shattered on the ground. Agatha stumbled back, wide-eyed, turning helplessly toward Frederick. But beneath the panic, a flicker of satisfaction crossed her face.

Her hands trembled. She didn't dare come closer. Frederick swallowed hard, frozen for a beat, then scooped me into his arms and rushed for the hospital.

But it was already too late. Hours of induced vomiting and stomach pumping couldn't undo what the concentrated alcohol had done. My baby was gone.

I couldn't believe what the doctor was telling me. The child I had hoped for, prayed for, wished into existence—taken by a single glass of Agatha's "water."

When they wheeled me out of the emergency room, I had no strength left. My eyes were hollow. Tears had dried in streaks across my face.

Voices drifted down the corridor outside. Faint, but I caught every word.

"Frederick, what do we do now? I only gave it to her because you told me to. I didn't think it would actually make her miscarry!"

"How could you be so careless? That child was the only reason I've been putting up with this."

"Forget it. It's fine. We'll just have her get pregnant again."

"Relax. When the time comes, act sweet and beg her forgiveness. She can't really do anything to you. Besides, I'm the one who told you to hand her that drink."

Frederick's tone was light, almost bored, though a trace of regret flickered in his eyes.

My breathing turned ragged. My eyes went wide. Frederick had only ever cared about the baby. Not once had he worried about whether I lived or died. The child was gone, and the grief crushed down on my chest like a physical weight, suffocating and relentless.

After I was moved to a private room, the two of them finally appeared. Agatha stood beside the bed, clinging to Frederick's arm with a look of helpless distress. Rage boiled through me. I glared at them both with every ounce of hatred I had.

"I'm so sorry, sis. It was an accident. I grabbed the wrong one. It's all my fault. Whatever you need while you recover, I'll do it." Agatha's face was the portrait of remorse. She clutched my ice-cold hand, tears streaming down her cheeks.

I wrenched my hand free with what little strength I had and turned away. Watching these two wolves perform their little act made my stomach turn.

I lay in that hospital bed, hollowed out. Frederick made a few perfunctory arrangements and left.

"Agatha just got back. I need to get her settled in. Libby, you focus on resting."

As if the child he'd lost wasn't his. I couldn't detect a single trace of grief in him. The coldness of it left me speechless. I spent the next few days recovering alone.

But the sterile chill of the hospital was more than I could bear. I asked to go home to recuperate. Frederick said he needed to finish looking after Agatha first. I shook my head in quiet disappointment.

Early the next morning, Frederick and Agatha left ahead of me. By the time they arrived home, my parents were waiting at the door with open arms.

"Welcome home, Agatha! Mom and Dad have had dinner ready for hours!"

Frederick had even tidied himself up for the occasion, all to welcome Agatha back.

After I finished the discharge paperwork, I went home alone. No one noticed I'd arrived.

Ever since my parents adopted Agatha when I was ten, their love had slowly tilted toward her.

She was sweet and adorable, the kind of girl who made people want to protect her. But her love life was a disaster. After a string of breakups, cheating boyfriends, and ugly fights, my parents only grew more protective of their youngest daughter.

Then I met Frederick. Out of sheer jealousy, Agatha tried to sabotage the relationship. She faked a suicide attempt by swallowing pills, though the dose wasn't enough to do real damage. My parents caught her in time.

She blamed me. Said I'd driven her to it. After that, they grew even colder toward me, convinced I was some vicious, jealous creature.

After the wedding, my parents barely kept in touch. All their energy went to worrying about how Agatha was doing.

Even so, I had no choice but to come back. Frederick had arranged everything.

Now, sitting together again, the dining table was loaded with dish after dish. It had been so long since I'd tasted my parents' cooking. The first bite loosened something tight in my chest.

Frederick sat beside me, piling food onto my plate without pause. My parents clustered around Agatha on the other side of the table, asking about her life.

"How long are you staying this time, sweetie? Why don't you spend a few nights here with us?"

Mom's face was all warmth as she heaped food onto Agatha's plate. Agatha said she just wanted to stay and take care of me.

I didn't respond. I just watched my parents. Not a single word about my miscarriage. All they cared about was rolling out the red carpet for their precious younger daughter.

Agatha noticed Frederick serving me and let out a teasing little laugh. "My brother-in-law is so good to you, sis. Nobody does that for me except Mom and Dad."

I scoffed. "What are you, five?"

Agatha's face twisted. She rolled her eyes, then caught my parents looking and instantly rearranged her expression into something wounded and pitiful.

Frederick's chopsticks hovered, then slowly lowered back to the table. "She didn't mean anything by it," he said quietly. "Do you have to go after her like that?"

Dad took one look at Agatha's hurt expression and turned on me. "Your sister just got home! Would it kill you to be civil?"

He pivoted right back to soothing Agatha, then disappeared into the kitchen and returned with bowls of mango tapioca pudding to cheer her up.

Agatha's eyes darted sideways. She picked up a bowl and carried it to me with both hands. "Dad worked so hard on this. You should have the first taste, sis."

I turned my face away. I couldn't stand watching her perform. The smell of mango alone was enough to make my stomach lurch. But out of the corner of my eye, I saw every person at that table staring at me.

"Your sister is being so thoughtful. Just drink it, or you'll hurt her feelings." My parents closed in, their voices gentle but suffocating.

I was severely allergic to mango. When I was ten, I'd accidentally eaten some and spent a week in the hospital. But they'd forgotten all of that. The only thing they remembered was that Agatha's favorite dessert was mango tapioca pudding.

I stared at them, wide-eyed. No words came.

I turned to Frederick.

He frowned, giving me a look that said just do it. Don't make this awkward. "It's a dessert. How hard can it be? Does the whole family have to bend to your every whim?"

I said nothing. When it was clear I wasn't going to give in, Agatha kept up her sweet act and pushed some of the other dishes toward me.

Then she flashed a sly little grin and locked eyes with Frederick. A subtle nod passed between them. Frederick could smell the mango, but he picked up his chopsticks and started loading food onto my plate anyway.

"If you can't manage the dessert, at least eat something. It's your family's way of showing love. We're all together for once. Just humor them."

The passive aggression was impossible to miss. Before I could react, Frederick lifted a piece of food to my mouth and pushed it in.

The moment it hit my throat, I gagged and spat it out. Mango fibers. My skin flushed red almost instantly, hives blooming across my arms. My breathing turned shallow and ragged.

Just as I'd expected. An allergic reaction.

Agatha stumbled backward and collapsed to the floor in theatrical shock. My parents rushed to shield her, pulling her away so she wouldn't have to see my swollen, blotchy face. Frederick hurried over to comfort her too.

I staggered to the bathroom and shoved my fingers down my throat, retching until there was nothing left. I found the medication myself. It took thirty minutes before my body slowly returned to something close to normal.

I leaned against the wall, gasping. Once my heartbeat steadied, I decided to stay in the bathroom a while longer. I had no desire to rejoin that farce of a dinner.

After another fifteen minutes, I'd finally calmed down. I reached for the door handle and froze.

My mother's voice, just outside.

"You two already made her lose the baby last time. You need to watch how far you push things. Today you nearly killed her!"

A pause, then: "You just found out you're pregnant yourself. Think about the child in your belly and show some restraint."

Rage detonated inside my chest. My eyes went wide. Agatha was pregnant too? My parents already knew? They knew about my allergy and they'd still let Agatha pull this stunt?

My heart plummeted. The pain in my chest felt like something being carved out of me with a dull blade. I wiped my tears, forced air into my burning lungs, and threw the door open.

"What the hell did you just say, Mom?" I was shaking. "Agatha made me lose my baby on purpose? And you helped her do it?"

I screamed it. In my fury, I hurled the miscarriage report straight at her face, demanding to know why not one of them had asked me a single question about losing my child.

"Who is your real daughter here?" I roared.

"I already apologized, sis." Agatha's voice was soft, her expression the picture of innocence. "If you're angry, take it out on me. Don't yell at Mom."

The sight of that rehearsed, doe-eyed look made bile rise in my throat. I snatched the bowl of tapioca pudding and upended it over her head, then smashed the bowl on the floor.

She yelped and hopped around as the warm liquid ran down her scalp, screaming that I was insane. My mother joined in, calling me a lunatic, shooting me a look of pure disgust before dragging Agatha to the bathroom to clean up.

Frederick grabbed my arm and tried to hold me still. "Calm down. She didn't know you were allergic. You're fine now, so just let it go."

I shoved him off and called him exactly what he was: a fraud. An actor playing a role.

The commotion brought my father storming in. One look at the scene and he seized my arm and wrenched me aside. There was nothing in his eyes but contempt. "How dare you talk to your mother like that!"

The force of it sent my lower back crashing into the corner of the table. The old injury in my spine flared white-hot. I couldn't straighten up. I crumpled to the floor, writhing, and the three of them just stood there looking down at me like I was something foul they'd found on the bottom of a shoe.

In that moment, everything finally clicked into place. To them, I was nothing but a tool. A blood bank. The family love I'd spent my whole life reaching for had never existed.

I gathered every ounce of strength I had left and dragged myself upright. The pain was blinding, but I walked out without looking back.

Outside, snow was falling in thick, heavy flakes. I pulled out my phone and called Joseph Lawrence.

"I need a favor."