The wound across my abdomen split wider with every breath, blood soaking through the thin fabric of my pants in a spreading stain.

I kept my head bowed like a puppet with nothing left inside, repeating the same hollow apologies on loop.

"I'm sorry."

"I shouldn't have made you angry."

"I shouldn't have hurt you."

Lucinda savored every second of my humiliation, ordering the servants around like she was showing off a new toy.

"Go get Mrs. Gilbert's favorite jewelry set. I want to try it on."

"And that limited-edition bag. I want that too."

Giles stood there, cold-eyed, and let it happen.

He thought he'd won.

He thought he'd snapped the last bone of my pride.

No one noticed that beneath my lowered lashes, my gaze was locked on the second-floor study.

Giles, you think this is the cage that breaks me. You just opened the door to your own hell.

He looked at me—at the dead, hollow thing I'd become—and something clawed at him, something he couldn't name. I was already slipping out of reach, and he could feel it.

After the apology, Giles had me confined to the master bedroom.

Lucinda paraded around the living room like she owned the place, bossing every servant in the villa.

I shut the door and sealed out every sound.

I needed to rest. I needed to wait for my chance.

It came the next night.

An emergency at the company pulled Giles out of the villa in the middle of the night.

The moment I was sure he was gone, I dragged myself out of bed.

Every step sent a dull blade of pain through my abdomen, the wound pulling open a little more with each one.

But I couldn't afford to care.

I made my way to the second-floor study.

Everything was exactly as I'd left it.

I moved the bookshelf panel aside with practiced hands, revealing the hidden compartment and the safe behind it.

The combination was our wedding anniversary.

How fitting.

At the very bottom of the safe, a brown paper envelope lay waiting.

My hands were shaking as I pulled out what was inside.

A medical report from five years ago.

Three lines, printed black on white, that could ruin him:

*Giles Gilbert — congenital infertility — no known cure.*

My trump card was finally back in my hands.

Five years collapsed in on me at once.

The day I first held that report, my whole body went numb. I couldn't fathom what it would do to a man like Giles—that proud, that certain of himself—to learn the truth about his own body. I was terrified it would hollow him out, terrified his competitors would smell blood and use it to tear him apart. So I went to Rex Delgado, my closest friend and one of the top urologists in the country, and I begged him to bury the secret. Then I walked into a hospital alone and had an IUD put in, and I told everyone—Giles, his mother, the whole Gilbert family—that I was simply too afraid of the pain, that I didn't want children. For five years I swallowed every name they called me—the barren wife, the hen that couldn't lay eggs—and I carried the weight of the entire Gilbert family's contempt on my back without a word.

I thought I was protecting our love and his dignity.

Now I see it for what it was—one long, cruel joke.

I was about to leave the study when the door behind me opened.

Giles stood in the doorway, eyes dark and cold.

"What are you doing in my study this late?"

"Stealing trade secrets? Who are you running to for help?"

He closed the distance step by step, the pressure of him so suffocating I could barely breathe.

I forced myself to stay calm.

I pulled open the drawer and took out the only photograph we'd ever had together, then held it up in front of him and tore it apart, piece by slow piece.

I let the fragments fall at his feet, and when I spoke, my voice carried nothing at all—no anger, no grief, not even the memory of love.

"To get back the last shred of my dignity."

"Don't worry, CEO Gilbert. Your money, your trade secrets—I couldn't care less about any of it."

My answer clearly caught him off guard.

He looked into my hollow eyes, and something like panic flickered through him.

That panic made him angry.

He seized my wrist, shoved me down against the desk, and lowered his mouth toward mine.

I didn't struggle. I didn't respond.

I lay there like a corpse with no warmth left, and let him spend his rage on a body that gave him nothing back.

His kiss started violent, then slowly drained of any hunger at all.

In the end, he pushed me away in disgust and straightened his clothes.

"Beulah, that dead look on your face is revolting."

He turned and left, slamming the door behind him.

I braced myself against the desk and slowly straightened up.

Watching his silhouette disappear through the doorway, I smiled in the dark without making a sound.

Giles, you're wrong.

What you ripped out of me wasn't a useless uterus.

It was your only chance, in this lifetime, at a bloodline.

I was the only woman in this world who could ever bear a child for a man whose body would never produce one on its own.

And now, that chance was gone.

The Gilbert Group's thirtieth-anniversary gala was a grand affair.

Every notable family in the city was in attendance.

Giles wanted to legitimize Lucinda and the "firstborn" in her belly, so he ordered me to dress up and attend.

I chose a pure black couture gown.

The makeup artist said the dress was too somber, wrong for a celebration.

I smiled at my reflection.

A funeral, after all, calls for something dignified.

When I walked into the banquet hall, every pair of eyes in the room turned to me.

Some held sympathy. Some held pity. Most held the gleeful curiosity of spectators settling in for a show.

I didn't care.

I walked over to Giles, who had his arm around Lucinda and was introducing her to guests.

When he saw me, his brow creased, but he still pulled me to his side.

"This is my wife, Beulah."

That was all he gave me—three words tossed out like an afterthought before he turned back to his guests.

The gala began.

Giles strode onto the stage in high spirits, holding Lucinda's hand.

He picked up the microphone, his voice carrying clear and strong across the hall.

"Thank you all for being here. On this special occasion, I have an important announcement to make."

He glanced down at Lucinda's belly with a look of deep affection.

"Everyone here knows my wife, Beulah. She's always been too afraid of the pain to have children." He let that land, then spread his hands with a generous smile. "And I've always been understanding about it."

"But the Gilbert family must have an heir."

He paused, letting a carefully measured look of regret settle over his face.

"So to fill that void—and to make sure the Gilbert name carries on—I've decided to take the child Lucinda is carrying and raise it as my own. My one and only heir."

The room erupted.

Lucinda leaned into Giles, beaming so wide she could barely contain it, every line of her face broadcasting triumph.

Giles grabbed my hand and dragged me onto the stage.

The spotlight hit me, stabbing into my eyes.

"Bea, I know you've always been kindhearted."

"So go ahead. Tell everyone how grateful you are that Lucinda is giving the Gilbert family what you couldn't."

The cruelty was surgical.

He wanted me to stand here and confess my own "failure" out loud—then smile and thank the mistress who had stolen everything from me.

I looked out at the faces below the stage, the pity, the contempt, and I looked at Lucinda's face, drunk on her own victory.

I took the microphone from his hand.

The entire room went silent.

Everyone was waiting to watch me cave. Waiting for the dutiful wife to bow her head and keep the peace.

I cleared my throat. My voice came out terrifyingly calm.

"Grateful? Yes, actually."

"Because Ms. Lambert finally showed me how cheap five years of CEO Gilbert's devotion really were."

The color drained from Giles's face in an instant.

"Beulah, what the hell are you talking about!"

I didn't look at him.

I leaned into the microphone and spoke slowly.

"Distinguished guests, in honor of the Gilbert Group's thirtieth anniversary, I've prepared a special gift. For CEO Gilbert, and for all of you."

The moment the words left my mouth, the massive screen behind the stage flickered. The looping highlight reel of the Gilbert Group's achievements vanished.