I was kidnapped while we were in Vermont celebrating our fifth wedding anniversary.

A month later, I found out I was pregnant.

The result was nine DNA reports, each one coldly declaring that the child in my womb had no relation to my husband, Sterling Hawthorne.

He put on a show of loyalty and heartbreak by having a vasectomy.

In the abyss of guilt, I tried to end my own life six different ways.

Until the day I drifted like a ghost to his study door and overheard a conversation between him and his friend.

His friend asked if it was worth it—orchestrating my kidnapping, framing me for carrying another man's child, and forging nine DNA reports, all to bury a sex tape scandal for some influencer named Cassidy Shaw. He asked Sterling if he wasn't afraid I'd actually lose my mind.

Sterling let out a soft laugh, his charming, cold voice carrying through the door. "Juliet loves me more than life itself. Even if she found out, she would forgive me."

In that moment, I understood. All the hell I had endured was nothing but a script he had meticulously orchestrated for another woman.

The next second, he opened the door and, acting as if nothing had happened, pulled my cold body into his warm embrace, whispering in my ear, "Darling, come with me to my mother's charity gala."

Later, at the gala, my assistant accidentally bumped into Cassidy. Sterling instantly swept the woman into his arms. The lips that had once whispered words of love to me now spoke the most venomous words:

"If anything happens to the child in her womb, I'll kill you."

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1

I was kidnapped during a trip to Vermont, on what was supposed to be my fifth wedding anniversary.

A month later, I discovered I was pregnant.

I insisted I had never been assaulted.

But nine DNA reports from different labs all concluded that the child in my womb shared no genetic link with my husband, Sterling Hawthorne.

He immediately underwent a vasectomy. It was a public performance of his devotion, a declaration that it didn't matter the child wasn't his.

But I was drowning in a tidal wave of guilt.

After every hypnotherapy session, I would wake up screaming from nightmares of being violated.

I sank into a deep depression and attempted suicide six times.

After my sixth failed attempt, I drifted from my room, barefoot and spectral.

When I reached the study door, I heard Sterling—the man who had sworn he couldn't live without me—laughing with a friend.

"Sterling, you staged Juliet’s kidnapping and framed her, all to bury a sex tape for that influencer you sponsor, Cassidy Shaw. Don't you think that's taking things too far?"

"And nine fake DNA reports? Aren't you afraid your wife will completely lose her mind if she ever finds out?"

"Relax. She'll never find out. Besides, she loves me so much, she'd forgive me even if she knew." A faint, unreadable smile played on Sterling's lips, his eyes calm and detached.

"Once Cassidy gives birth, she'll go to Europe. My father entrusted her to my care before he died. Protecting her is just me keeping a promise. There's nothing between us."

His friend raised his glass, a mix of admiration and resignation in his toast.

"You're a cold bastard, my friend. But I have to admit, it was a brilliant move. Juliet is wrapped around your finger."

At that, Sterling’s expression shifted, a dark, complex emotion flickering in his eyes.

He raised his glass and took a slow sip of whiskey.

"Juliet is important to me. Once this whole mess with Cassidy is over, I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to her."

I gripped the doorframe until my nails splintered in the wood.

My mind went blank. Then, a crushing numbness washed over me.

The kidnapping, the fake DNA reports, the nightmares, the depression, the six attempts on my own life—it was all a lie.

A conspiracy.

Everything was fake.

Cassidy Shaw was an influencer Sterling had sponsored for years. She was always so lovely and sweet, calling me "Juliet" in that gentle, intimate voice of hers.

Yet behind my back, her sex tape had caused an uproar online, drawing endless ridicule.

When Sterling said he wanted to help her, I had agreed without a second thought.

I never imagined his "help" meant making me the scapegoat.

My kidnapping, the fake reports, my child branded a "bastard"...

It was all an elaborate hoax he'd designed to salvage Cassidy's reputation.

The Sterling who once loved me with all his heart was gone. He was dead to me.

The door opened. Sterling must have found my silence unnerving, because he crossed the space between us in an instant and pulled me into his arms.

"Darling, tomorrow is Mom's annual charity gala. Let's go together."

I didn't want to go, but Sterling insisted. He ushered me into the car, insisting the fresh air would do me good.

It was his mother, Beatrice Hawthorne's, annual charity gala.

To my surprise, Cassidy was there.

She wore a brand-new couture gown, the waistline cinched just so, accentuating her slightly bulging abdomen.

Beatrice’s eyes never left that belly all evening, her joy practically overflowing.

She held Cassidy's hand, fussed over her, and personally instructed the staff to prepare a special non-alcoholic mocktail and warm appetizers for her.

Like me, Cassidy was also carrying a child whose father was "unknown."

Before, I could never understand why Beatrice doted on Cassidy while treating me with such disdain.

Now I understood.

As a classic Boston Brahmin matriarch, Beatrice had likely known about Sterling and Cassidy's affair all along.

The moment Beatrice saw me, the smile vanished from her face.

Seeing this, Cassidy let out an exaggerated gasp.

She immediately stood, lowered her head, and said timidly, "Juliet, I know I come from a humble background and don't deserve to be here. Please don't be angry. If my presence makes you uncomfortable, I'll leave right away."

What I once mistook for genuine consideration, I now recognized as the smug smirk she wore beneath a mask of humility.

Beatrice shot to her feet, ready to scold me. "This is my gala. I'll invite whomever I please. Cassidy is a sweet, kind girl. If you dare bully her, you can get out of this house right now!"

Cassidy made a show of trying to smooth things over, but I could feel the triumph radiating from her.

It took every ounce of my strength to remain composed.

I offered her a smile so calm it surprised even me.

"I didn't come for you, Cassidy. I came for Sterling's mother."

Sterling's arm wrapped around my waist, his expression gentle but his grip tense.

"Darling, just enjoy yourself tonight. I had the chef prepare all your favorite dishes."

After we sat down, Beatrice kept piling food onto Cassidy's plate, while mine remained conspicuously empty.

I didn't care. I had no appetite.

When I excused myself to the restroom, my assistant, Maya, found me.

"Mrs. Monroe," she whispered, "I heard from the staff that Beatrice has a room for Ms. Shaw upstairs. She's been living here for two months! Beatrice has even been telling people that the baby is Mr. Hawthorne's. Everyone in their circle knows."

I stared at Maya, feeling another piece of me crack and fall away.

But I still forced a smile.

"It doesn't matter anymore, Maya."

When I returned to the hall, Cassidy was chatting with Beatrice about baby names.

The moment she saw me, she seamlessly pivoted.

"Juliet, I heard you haven't been sleeping well. I found this wonderful essential oil—lavender and chamomile. Should I have some sent to your room?"

I met her gaze, and for the first time, I felt nothing.

No anger, no jealousy, no sadness. Just a vast, empty void.

"No, thank you," I said.

Maya couldn't stand it.

Faking a stumble, she lunged forward, straight into Cassidy. An expensive vase Cassidy had been showing off to a guest slipped from her grasp and shattered on the floor.

Cassidy screamed, clutching her stomach and staggering back.

Instinctively, Sterling swept Cassidy into his arms.

This man, who moments ago had been gently telling me to enjoy the gala, now glared at Maya, his voice a low snarl. "Are you blind? If anything happens to Cassidy's child, I'll kill you!"

It wasn't just Maya who turned pale with fright.

I was frozen to the spot, the blood in my veins turning to ice.

For a split second, the world went silent.

Sterling finally realized his mistake.

He hurriedly let go of Cassidy and reached for me.

"Julie, it's not what you think..."

I flinched away from his touch and fled the banquet hall.

Sterling didn't follow. I didn't go far, stopping just out of sight from the entrance.

The moment I was gone, the room erupted in cheerful laughter.

"I've prepared a trust fund for the baby. Here, Cassidy, for my first grandchild."

"Sterling, that sullied woman isn't worthy of you. A pure, kind girl like Cassidy is a rare find. You must cherish her."

"You should have a few more while you're young."

Sterling's voice replied with a laugh, "I know, Mom. I'll give you what you want."

Cassidy chimed in sweetly, "As long as Sterling is willing, Mrs. Beatrice, I'll have as many children as he desires."

Every word was a dagger twisting in my gut.

Even from outside, their voices reached me, cruel and clear.

I dug my nails into my palms, the sharp pain a welcome anchor to reality.

The door behind me opened, and Sterling appeared.

"Julie, come back inside. It's cold out here."

His voice was gentle, as if nothing had happened.

I turned to face him.

For a moment, I almost wavered.

Almost.

But then his phone rang, the screen flashing with a single name: Cass.

"Go on," I whispered. "Answer it."

He hesitated for a moment, then retreated back inside without another word.

I stood alone in the cold night wind, gazing at the warm, mocking glow from the window.

In that moment, something inside me shattered. For good.

On the way home, Sterling reached over and took my hand.

I let him take it, my own fingers lying limp and lifeless in his grasp.

"Julie, you know how Mom is. She speaks without thinking. Don't take it to heart."

I stared at my ghostly reflection in the window.

"I know."

"And about Cassidy—"

"I said I know," I repeated, my voice flat.

He fell silent.

When we got home, I went straight to the wine cellar in the basement—the place in this house that terrified me most.

It was dark, cold, and suffocating.

But I needed to feel something, anything other than this unbearable numbness.