On the night of my thirtieth birthday, my husband, Alexander Blackwood, Alpha of Silver Crest pack brought his pregnant mistress home.

With cold detachment, he listed his demands.

"Victoria gets migraines from strong scents. Burn all your clothes. I can smell your cheap perfume in the fabric."

"She's been having anxiety attacks since the pregnancy. From now on, you'll sleep in the basement storage room so she can have our bedroom."

Without uttering a word, I picked up the small bag I had hidden behind the coatrack and headed for the door.

Our elderly butler, who'd practically raised me after my parents died, tried to stop me with tears in his eyes, but Alexander merely laughed.

"Let her go with her pathetic little act. She has nowhere else to go. I've made sure of that."

Right then, Victoria smirked and whispered something in Alexander's ear. He nodded with a cruel smile spreading across his face.

"Actually, before you leave, entertain us. Get on your knees and beg Victoria's forgiveness for being such a disappointment. If you do it convincingly enough, I might allow you to stay in the gardener's shed instead of the basement."

The room filled with their mocking laughter as his security team formed a circle around me, recording with their phones, ready to humiliate me online if I refused.

What they didn't know was that the last of my inheritance money had purchased a one-way ticket out of this nightmare.

This time, I wouldn't be coming back.

——

Just as I reached the front gate, Alexander's voice cut through the night air.

"Lauren, give Victoria your medication. Her morning sickness is worse than your 'supposed heart condition."

My body went rigid with shock.

That medication was keeping me alive—the only treatment that worked for my rare condition after three years of searching for a viable option.

When I turned to face him, Alexander noticed my trembling hands but showed no compassion.

"What do you need it for anyway?" he asked coldly. "You've been faking symptoms for attention again, haven't you?"

How could he say that when just last week, I had collapsed in the bathroom, coughing up blood while he stood over me, photographing my suffering to document my theatrics as he called it?

With unsteady fingers, I removed the pill box from my purse and placed it in Victoria's outstretched hand.

"Take them with food," I whispered. "They're strong."

Victoria clutched the pills to her chest like a treasure, while Alexander's expression softened as he looked at her.

"See? Lauren's finally being useful. In return, I'll allow you to keep the only photo of your deceased brother. The rest I'll burn tonight."

The moment he mentioned my brother, my knees nearly gave out. The photo was all I had left of him after Alexander's lawyers blocked me from even attending his funeral.

Victoria suddenly stood up with a glass of red wine in hand, and deliberately poured it over my white birthday dress—the last gift my parents had given me before they died. Then she fell on it and moaned dramatically.

Alexander immediately lifted her into his arms, cradling her like precious porcelain.

"Call the Healer immediately!" he barked at the housekeeper. "And get her some water!"

The urgency in his voice made everyone look at me with contempt, as if I'd somehow caused her discomfort.

I couldn't help but laugh bitterly inside.

Three days ago, when I had a severe allergic reaction because someone had deliberately filled my moisturizer with peanut oil—I'd begged Alexander to take me to the healer as my throat closed up. Instead, he locked me in the bathroom, telling the staff I was "having another episode" and needed to "calm down alone."

I was found unconscious hours later by the new gardener, who thankfully had medical training.

When I returned from the healer, Alexander had the gardener fired for "trespassing" in the main house.

Clutching my bag tighter, I turned to leave once more.

But Alexander's hand shot out, grabbing my hair and yanking me backward so hard I heard strands ripping from my scalp.

"Where do you think you're going? Victoria isn't feeling well because of the stress you've caused."

"I didn't—"

His open palm connected with my face before I could finish, the force sending me sprawling across the marble floor.

"Kiss her feet. Three times. Now."

My lip split from the impact, blood dripping onto the remains of my white dress.

Victoria stood over me, one hand protectively over her stomach, the other holding my medication hostage. She extended her foot, the expensive designer shoe inches from my bleeding mouth.

"Look what you've done," Alexander snarled. "You've upset her again with your selfishness. Kiss her feet and be grateful she's allowing you to do so."

Since becoming Alexander's mate, degrading myself had become as natural as breathing.

I kissed the floor when his dinner wasn't hot enough, even though he came home three hours late.

I spent the night in the dog kennel when I interrupted his call to tell him I'd found hotel receipts with Victoria's name.

I wrote a fifty-page essay on my worthlessness when he broke my finger for accidentally using his favorite coffee mug.

I even thanked him last month when I found him in our bed with Victoria, as if his betrayal was a gift I should cherish.

With blood filling my mouth and my vision blurring, I forced myself forward.

Lowering my face to her shoe, I placed my bleeding lips against the leather once, twice, then a third time, leaving blood marks as they recorded the entire humiliation.

Then I looked up at Alexander with eyes devoid of everything except resignation.

"Is that enough?" I whispered.

His nostrils flared as he noticed the blood pooling beneath my face.

"Lauren," he sneered, grabbing my chin roughly, "Your grandfather is dead, and I own everything he left you. Your tears won't work on me anymore. Who exactly are you trying to impress with this victim act?"

Before I could respond, the healer arrived—Alexander's personal physician who had falsified my medical records numerous times to cover the abuse.

Stepping over me like I was nothing but a stain on the floor, Alexander guided the doctor straight to Victoria's side, leaving me bleeding on the marble.

While Alexander attended to Victoria's every whimper, I slipped quietly through the service entrance.

I had barely made it halfway down the winding driveway when headlights flooded the darkness. A familiar black SUV pulled up alongside me, the healers vehicle.

The family lawyer, Mr. Reeves emerged with a sympathetic smile.

"Lauren, thank goodness we found you. Alexander is worried sick," he lied smoothly. "You're having another episode. Let us help you home."

Before I could protest, two nurses in white uniforms approached from behind. One pressed a cloth against my face, the smell flooded my senses before darkness took me.

I woke up in our home medical suite, My clothing had been changed to a thin gown, and an IV dripped clear fluid into my arm.

Alexander entered my line of vision.

"You're finally awake," Then he leaned close to my ear and whispered, "Try to run again, and next time you'll wake up in the psychiatric ward I just purchased. A lifetime of sedation might finally cure your disobedience."

The healer approached with a chart. "Mr. Blackwood, I must advise against this procedure. The risks to your wife's reproductive system—"

"The procedure happens now," Alexander cut him off. "Victoria needs those hormones for the baby, and Lauren isn't using her ovaries for anything important, are you, dear?"

I stared at him, uncomprehending, until the Healer explained in clinical terms.

"We'll be harvesting immature egg follicles and extracting hormones to create a treatment for Victoria's pregnancy complications. The procedure is aggressive. It will likely damage your ovarian tissue permanently."

My body went cold. "You're taking my ability to have children?"

Alexander's eyes hardened. "Victoria's baby is the only Blackwood heir that matters. Your role was always temporary."

From across the room, Victoria called out, her voice strained. "Alexander, the pain is getting worse! Please hurry!"

Without hesitation, he abandoned our conversation and rushed to her side.

The healer looked at me with genuine pity. "I have to sedate you now."

As the drugs pulled me under, I heard Alexander instructing the doctor: "Take everything you need. If she can't walk afterward, it doesn't matter."

Without another word, Alexander rushed out, leaving me with the doctor who looked at me with genuine pity just as the mask came down over my face.

Three days later, I woke in a private hospital room. The first thing I saw was Alexander sitting by the window, his laptop open on the small table beside him.

A nurse entered with a tray of hospital food and medications. Alexander dismissed her with a wave.

"You need to eat," he said flatly, picking up the spoon.

I turned my head away. "I can feed myself."

He sighed then set the tray down where I could reach it.

"The procedure was successful," he stated. "Victoria's body is accepting the treatment. The baby's vitals have improved significantly."

"I need my medication," I whispered. "My heart—"

Alexander checked his watch. "The healers say you're exaggerating your symptoms again. You should try to be less dramatic."

I reached for the call button, but he moved it out of my reach.

"Alexander, please," I gasped. "My pills are in my purse."

With a look of annoyance, he rifled through my bag, finding the small orange bottle. Instead of handing it to me, he studied the label.

"These are expensive," he remarked coldly. "Another drain on resources that could be going to Victoria and the baby."

As my breathing became more labored, he finally tossed the bottle onto the bed, just beyond my reach. I struggled to grasp it with trembling fingers.

"You know," he said, watching me struggle, "you should really stop this childish behavior. It's embarrassing at your age."

I managed to swallow a pill dry, waiting for the medicine to ease the crushing pressure in my chest.

Alexander's phone chimed with a message. His entire appearance changed as he read it, his face softening.

"Victoria's having cravings again," he murmured.

Before he could leave, I gathered my strength to ask, "May I have my phone?"

He paused, studying me with sudden suspicion. "Who would you need to call?"

"My healer," I lied smoothly. "About my medication."

After a moment of deliberation, he instructed a nurse to bring my phone from the drawer.

As I scrolled through my notifications, I noticed dozens of missed calls from a number Alexander had never seen before.

"Who's been calling you so persistently?" he demanded, hostility creeping into his voice.

I looked up at him, my gaze unwavering for the first time in years. "Someone who actually cares whether I live or die."

His jaw tightened as he loosened his tie. Leaning over my hospital bed, he gripped the railing until his knuckles turned white.

"Olivia," he hissed, "I've tolerated your little rebellion long enough. You belong to me, remember? Everything you have—your medical care, this private room, the clothes on your back—all of it exists because of my generosity."

Once, those words would have broken me. I would have apologized, begged for forgiveness, tried to make amends.

Instead, I simply pointed to his vibrating phone and said tonelessly, "Victoria needs you."

The fight drained from his expression at the sound of her name. Without another glance in my direction, he strode into the hallway to answer her call.

The moment the door closed behind him, my phone rang again. I answered immediately, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Lauren? Thank God you finally picked up! I've been worried sick," came the urgent voice on the other end. "Our plan was for you to meet me at the safe house two days ago. What happened?"

"I'll call you back," I whispered urgently into the phone. "I just need a little more time. Three days at most."

As the hospital room door closed behind Alexander, I quickly slipped the phone under my pillow, my heart hammering against my weakened ribs.

"Who was that?" he demanded again, his voice calm as he approached my bed.

"My pharmacist," I lied smoothly. "About my heart medication."

He studied my face for a long moment before glancing at his watch.

"Victoria's having false contractions," he said dismissively. "She's asking for special ice cream from that place downtown."

Even in a medical emergency, her cravings took precedence over my recovery.

"I have meetings all afternoon," he continued coldly. "I'll check on you tomorrow."

Tomorrow came and went. Then another day passed. And another.

Alexander never returned to the hospital.

Instead, through our mutual friends' social media feeds, I watched his life unfold without me. Video clips of Alexander escorting Victoria to her prenatal yoga classes. Photos of them shopping for nursery furniture at exclusive boutiques.

The worst was the live stream of him at a charity gala, his hand possessively curved around Victoria's waist as he proudly announced to the crowd, "My child will be born in five months. The Pierce legacy continues!"

Not once did he mention that he already had a wife.

On my discharge day, after signing my own papers and refusing the wheelchair offered by a nurse, I checked my phone one last time before leaving.

Alexander had posted a professional photoshoot on his social media: Victoria in a flowing white gown, her baby bump prominently displayed, while he knelt before her, pressing his lips to her stomach. The caption read: "The beginning of my real family."

With trembling fingers, I typed a comment:

[Congratulations. May your child grow up knowing true love.]

Within minutes, my phone rang with Alexander's call. I silenced it and slipped the device into my pocket.

As I made my way through the corridors, I passed the fertility clinic where we had once discussed treatments—before Alexander decided the problem must be with me, not him, and refused further testing.

That's when I saw them—Alexander and Victoria standing at the reception desk, his arm protectively around her shoulders.

"Mrs. Pierce, your prenatal vitamins are ready," the receptionist called out cheerfully to Victoria. "And Mr. Pierce, the special fertility supplements you ordered for her have arrived as well."

My feet froze to the floor. He'd never once purchased supplements for me during our years of trying to conceive.

"Alexander is so attentive," Victoria gushed to the receptionist. "He even installed a special air purifier in every room of our home to protect the baby."

I remembered the mold in my bathroom ceiling that Alexander had refused to fix for two years, claiming I was "being dramatic" about the respiratory infections I kept developing.

A nurse approached Victoria with a tablet. "Mrs. Pierce, I've scheduled your next three appointments. Mr. Pierce has already approved the dates."

My hand instinctively moved to my flat stomach.

Three years ago, I'd lost our baby after falling down the stairs. I later discovered that Alexander had "forgotten" to mention that he'd asked the housekeeper to wax them that morning.

When I called him from the emergency room, sobbing as they prepared me for surgery, I heard Victoria's voice in the background. "Hanging up already? But we've only just started..."

Alexander had called back an hour later, Victoria curled against him in the frame.

"Why are you always so clumsy?" he'd snapped. "You can't even carry a child properly. What good are you to me?"

Then, lowering his voice to a whisper that only I could hear: "Maybe this is nature's way of telling us you were never meant to be a mother."

The memory burned like acid in my throat.

I was about to turn and find another exit when Alexander spotted me. His eyes narrowed as he strode toward me, leaving Victoria at the desk.

"Why are you lurking around like some pathetic stalker?" he hissed.

"I wasn't—I was just leaving," I stammered, hating how quickly I reverted to defending myself.

"Wait." His hand clamped around my wrist, and I noticed Victoria watching us, her expression darkening.

She quickly composed herself and floated over, her face a mask of angelic concern.

"Olivia! You poor thing, you look terrible," she cooed, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. "Thank you so much for the bone marrow donation. The healer said your cells are already helping our baby develop stronger. You've been such a blessing to our little family!"

She turned to Alexander with pleading eyes. "Darling, shouldn't we give Olivia a ride home? It's the least we can do after her sacrifice."

Alexander brushed a strand of hair from her face with tender care. "Whatever makes you happy, my love."

Since I needed to retrieve my remaining possessions from the mansion anyway, I accepted Victoria's false kindness with a silent nod.

Inside Alexander's custom Bentley, Victoria suddenly gasped dramatically.

"Oh! What's this?"

She reached between the leather seats and pulled out a small velvet box.

"Alexander," she exclaimed with surprise. "You didn't mention buying me another gift!"

Opening the box revealed a charm bracelet—identical to the one I'd received from my mother on my sixteenth birthday. The one that had mysteriously "disappeared" from my jewelry box last month.

"Oh, this must be a mistake," Victoria said, examining the inscription inside: To our beloved daughter, forever in our hearts.

She held it up with a mocking glint in her eyes. "Isn't this... yours, Olivia? How strange that Alexander would have it."

Alexander's jaw tightened before he smoothly replied, "I had it resized for you, darling. I thought you might appreciate having a family heirloom, considering your connection to our family now."

The bracelet—the last gift from my parents before they died dangled from Victoria's wrist as she admired it in the sunlight.

"It's perfect," she cooed. "Practically made for me."