"Oh, I am so incredibly clumsy today," Celeste Whitmore said.

She didn't even try to hide the smirk on her face. Red wine soaked into the pale silk of my maternity dress, chilling the skin over my swollen, seven-month belly.

"Are you hurt, Viv?" Adrian Ashford asked.

My husband pulled a linen handkerchief from his tailored suit and gently dabbed at the stain. In front of the Ashford family and their wealthy guests, he played the perfect, doting partner.

"I'm fine, Adrian," I murmured. I rested a protective hand on my stomach.

"You need to be careful, Celeste," Adrian scolded lightly. His tone remained perfectly polite. "Vivian is carrying the Ashford heir."

Celeste’s jaw tightened. She slammed her empty crystal glass onto the banquet table. The sharp clink silenced the nearby guests.

"Right. The precious heir," she snapped. "Forgive me for ruining your perfect family portrait."

"Celeste, wait," Adrian called out.

She was already spinning around, storming toward the grand exit of the dining hall. Adrian took a step after her, his hand twitching at his side. He caught himself, turning back to me.

"Come on, Viv," he said. He wrapped an arm around my waist. "Let's get you upstairs to change."

We walked toward the guest suites of the estate. The whole way, his eyes kept darting back toward the doors Celeste had vanished through. His muscles were rigid against my side.

Inside the suite, I unzipped the ruined dress. Before I could step out of it, Adrian's phone buzzed. He snatched it from his pocket.

"What?" he demanded into the receiver.

He listened for three seconds. All the color drained from his face.

"She took her car? She's been drinking!" he yelled.

He shoved the phone back into his pocket and grabbed my wrist. His grip was entirely too tight.

"We have to go," he said.

"Adrian, I need to put clothes on. I'm freezing."

"There's no time, Vivian!" he barked. "She's reckless when she's mad. We are leaving right now."

"I'm seven months pregnant! Let me stay here. Your mother can send a driver for me later."

"I said we are going."

He didn't wait for my answer. He dragged me out of the room, down the back stairs, and out into the freezing night air. My ruined dress clung to my skin, sticky and cold.

He shoved me into the passenger seat of his SUV and slammed the door.

By the time I buckled my seatbelt, he was tearing down the gravel driveway. The tires spun, kicking up dirt as we hit the paved mountain road. The winding path was slick with fresh rain.

"Slow down!" I gripped the overhead handle.

"I need to catch her before she does something stupid," Adrian muttered. His knuckles turned white on the steering wheel.

"You're going eighty on a mountain curve!"

"Shut up, Vivian. Just shut up!"

His eyes were wide, fixed on the red taillights fading in the distance. Celeste's sports car was weaving erratically ahead of us.

"Adrian, please! Think about the baby!"

"I don't care about—"

He cut himself off. Headlights flashed blindingly bright through the windshield. Celeste had slammed on her brakes, her car fishtailing wildly toward the steel guardrail.

"Celeste!" Adrian screamed.

He jerked the steering wheel hard to the left to avoid hitting her. Our heavy SUV lost traction. We spun.

The world flipped upside down.

Metal crunched with a deafening roar. Glass shattered, flying through the cabin like icy rain. We rolled twice before smashing into the rocky embankment.

Silence followed. A heavy, ringing silence.

Pain tore through my abdomen. It was a sharp, blinding agony that stole the air from my lungs. I tried to move my legs, but the crushed dashboard pinned them in place.

"Adrian..." I choked out. Dust coated my throat.

Next to me, Adrian groaned. He fumbled with his seatbelt, the buckle clicking open. Blood dripped from a nasty gash on his forehead, but he was moving. He was alive.

"Adrian, help me," I pleaded.

He didn't look at me. He didn't even glance my way. He kicked his jammed door open with brutal force.

"Celeste!" he yelled into the dark.

I twisted my neck, fighting through the agonizing cramp in my stomach. Celeste's car had smashed into the barrier just twenty yards away. Smoke billowed from her hood.

"Adrian, the baby..." I screamed.

A warm, terrifying wetness spread between my thighs. Blood. So much blood.

He sprinted toward the smoking sports car. He didn't hesitate. He didn't look back.

"Celeste! Baby, answer me!"

Baby.

He called her baby.

I watched through the shattered remains of the windshield. Adrian grabbed the bent metal of Celeste's door and yanked it open. He reached inside, his frantic hands pulling her out of the wreckage.

"I'm here," he whispered, pressing frantic kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, her hair. "I've got you. I'm right here."

"My arm hurts, Adrian," Celeste sobbed, burying her face in his chest.

"I know, I know. It's going to be okay. I'll get you to a hospital."

"Adrian!" I shrieked.

The sound tore my vocal cords. The pain in my belly clamped down, doubling me over against the steering column.

"I'm trapped! Please! The baby is coming! I'm bleeding!"

Adrian stopped. He turned his head, peering through the darkness at our mangled SUV. His eyes met mine.

There was no panic for me. No fear for his unborn child. Just a cold, detached annoyance.

"Quiet down, Vivian!" he shouted back. "Celeste is injured! I have to get her down the mountain!"

"I'm dying!" I sobbed, my fingers clawing uselessly at the crushed metal trapping my legs. "Save your child!"

He turned his back to me.

"Hold on to me," he murmured to Celeste.

He lifted her into his arms, carrying her bridal-style down the dark, winding road toward the distant glow of town.

I stared at his retreating back. The man I married. The father of my child. He was walking away, leaving me trapped in a crushed tin can to bleed to death.

Another contraction hit me, harder than the last. I screamed until my vision spotted with black stars.

The warm pool beneath me grew larger. My baby was slipping away. Every second that passed, another piece of my life drained into the ruined upholstery.

"Someone..." I whispered to the empty, freezing night. "Please..."

My eyelids fluttered. The taillights of Celeste's wrecked car blinked like a mocking heartbeat. I felt the last bit of warmth leave my body. The dark edges of my vision closed in completely.

Right before the world went entirely black, a pair of headlights swept across the wreckage, and the crunch of heavy footsteps sounded on the gravel.

"Hey! Is anyone in there?" a deep, unfamiliar voice called out.

My hands moved on their own, sliding down the crisp hospital sheets to find my stomach.

Flat. Bandaged. Completely empty.

The heavy, swollen weight of the past seven months was gone. Panic seized my throat. I tried to sit up, but a sharp, tearing agony ripped across my lower abdomen, pinning me to the mattress.

Outside my cracked hospital door, hushed voices filtered into the dim room.

"Her vitals are stabilizing," a man in scrubs said. "But the trauma from the crash was catastrophic."

"Skip the medical jargon, Doctor," my father, Richard Sinclair, replied. His tone held all the warmth of a winter storm. "Did the fetus survive?"

"No. The placental abruption was complete before she even reached the operating table."

A choked sob escaped my lips, but neither man heard it over the hum of the hallway ventilation. My baby. My sweet, innocent baby.

"And the mother?" Richard asked.

"We performed an emergency hysterectomy to stop the internal hemorrhaging," the doctor explained. "Vivian will recover physically, but she will never carry a child again."

Silence stretched in the corridor. I waited for my father to express sorrow. I waited for him to ask how to break this devastating news to his only daughter.

"Are you absolutely certain the clinic followed my instructions last year?" Richard demanded instead.

"Mr. Sinclair, this hardly seems the time—"

"Answer the question."

"Yes," the doctor sighed. "Per the agreement between you and Mr. Ashford, Vivian's harvested eggs were destroyed. The embryo we implanted in her was comprised entirely of Adrian Ashford and Celeste Whitmore's genetic material."

The heart monitor beside my bed spiked, beeping in a rapid, frantic rhythm.

I stopped breathing. The sterile smell of the room suddenly made my stomach heave.

"Good," Richard stated flatly. "Adrian was paranoid the clinic might have made a mistake. He wanted a pure Ashford heir, not a Sinclair half-breed."

"She is your daughter, sir."

"She is a vessel," Richard corrected. "Or, she was."

A strange, hollow sound bubbled up from my chest. It wasn't a sob. It was a laugh. A dry, broken laugh that scraped against my parched throat.

I ripped the IV needle out of the back of my hand. A bright bead of blood welled up, smearing across the white blanket. I threw my legs over the edge of the bed. Fire laced through my surgical incisions, but the betrayal burning in my chest burned hotter.

I grabbed the metal IV pole to steady myself and dragged my bare feet across the linoleum floor.

I shoved the heavy wooden door open. It banged loudly against the wall.

Richard turned. He smoothed the lapels of his tailored suit, his expression entirely undisturbed by the sight of me in a blood-spotted hospital gown.

"You should be in bed, Vivian," he noted.

"My baby," I rasped. My fingers dug into the metal pole. "You're telling me the child I carried... wasn't mine?"

The doctor took a step forward, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "Mrs. Ashford, please. Your stitches—"

"Shut up!" I screamed. The force of it tore at my throat. I locked eyes with my father. "Tell me the truth, Richard!"

Richard checked his gold watch, annoyed by the interruption. "There is no need for theatrics. It was a business arrangement."

"A business arrangement?" I gasped. "I am your flesh and blood!"

"You are a Sinclair," he countered sharply. "Your duty was to secure our corporate merger with the Ashfords. Adrian required an heir. Celeste's medical history made pregnancy impossible for her."

"So you let them use me?" My knees trembled. "You let my husband implant his mistress's child inside me?"

"It was the only condition under which Adrian would agree to the marriage," Richard said. "You lacked any other redeeming qualities to offer him. We provided the womb. He provided the ring."

I stared at the man who had raised me. Every memory of the last seven months flashed behind my eyes. Adrian resting his hand on my belly. Adrian buying the crib. Adrian whispering to my stomach late at night.

He wasn't talking to our child. He was talking to Celeste's.

"I loved him," I whispered, the devastating reality crushing the remaining air from my lungs. "I thought we were building a family."

"You were building a portfolio," Richard snapped. "And now you have ruined it."

"I ruined it?" I asked, my voice rising in disbelief. "Adrian drove us off a cliff!"

"And yet, you are the one who lost the child," Richard pointed out coldly. "They removed your uterus, Vivian. Do you understand what that means?"

I flinched as if he had struck me across the face.

"It means you have outlived your usefulness," he continued, his eyes devoid of a single ounce of pity. "A surrogate who can no longer breed is of no value to the Ashford family. And frankly, you are of no value to me."

"Mr. Sinclair!" the doctor objected, appalled.

"Leave us," Richard ordered.

The doctor hesitated, glancing at my pale face, but the sheer authority in my father's posture sent him scurrying down the corridor.

I stood alone with the monster who called himself my father. My entire life had been a transaction. My marriage. My pregnancy. My grief.

"Where is he?" I demanded.

"Adrian has more important matters to attend to."

"Where is my husband!" I shouted, stepping forward. Pain ripped through my stomach, but I ignored it. "Where is the man who left me trapped in a crushed car to bleed out?"

Richard raised an eyebrow. "Keep your voice down. You are making a scene."

"Tell me where he is!"

"He is on the fourth floor," Richard replied smoothly. "In the VIP recovery wing."

"He's hurt?" A pathetic, twisted part of my heart still recognized the name of the man I had loved.

"No," Richard said. "Celeste suffered a fractured wrist during the collision. Adrian has not left her bedside since the ambulance brought them in."

My grip on the IV pole slipped. I crashed to my knees on the hard linoleum.

I was bleeding to death in the wreckage. I lost my child. I lost my future.

And Adrian was holding Celeste's hand over a broken bone.

"Pathetic," Richard muttered, looking down at me. "I will inform the lawyers to draft the divorce papers. Expect a meager settlement."

He didn't offer a hand. He didn't call for a nurse. He simply turned on his Italian leather shoes and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the empty hall.

I knelt on the floor for a long time. The physical pain in my abdomen was blinding, but the agony in my chest was absolute.

They took my baby. They took my body. They took my entire life.

A nurse rushed out of a nearby room, her eyes widening at the sight of me on the floor.

"Ma'am! You need to get back in bed!" she urged, reaching for my arms.

"Don't touch me," I growled.

I forced myself up. My muscles screamed in protest, but a new, freezing energy flooded my veins.

"I'm calling the doctor," the nurse warned, backing away from the wild look in my eyes.

I didn't care. I abandoned the IV pole and staggered toward the elevator at the end of the hall. I hit the call button, smearing a bloody fingerprint on the metal panel.

The doors slid open. I stepped inside and pressed the button for the fourth floor.

I needed to see it. I needed to look the devil in the eyes.

The elevator hummed as it carried me upward. When the doors parted again, the VIP wing greeted me with plush carpets and soft lighting.

I dragged my feet down the corridor, checking the names on the doors.

Room 412. Whitmore.

The door was slightly ajar. I stood in the shadows of the hallway, peering through the crack.

Celeste lay in a massive, luxurious hospital bed, her arm wrapped in a pristine white cast. Adrian sat in a chair pulled flush against the mattress. He held her uninjured hand, pressing kisses to her knuckles.

"My poor girl," Adrian murmured, his voice thick with an affection I had never received. "I was so terrified I'd lost you."

"Adrian," Celeste sniffled. "What about Vivian? What about the baby?"

Adrian's jaw tightened. He dropped her hand and leaned back in the chair, his expression hardening into stone.

"Don't worry about Vivian," he said, his words cutting through the air like a blade. "She already served her purpose. Once the divorce is final, we'll never have to look at her again."

I placed my hand against the heavy wooden door, ready to push it open and shatter their perfect moment, when a deep, unfamiliar voice spoke from right behind me.

"I wouldn't go in there if I were you."

I pushed open the heavy oak doors of the Ashford estate. Every step sent a fresh wave of agony through my surgical incisions, but I refused to hunch over. I forced myself to stand tall.

The silence I expected was broken by a bright, mocking laugh echoing from the living room.

I stepped into the grand foyer. Six designer suitcases sat in a neat pile by the sweeping staircase. They weren't mine.

I walked toward the voices.

Celeste lounged on the velvet sofa, her legs draped across the cushions. Her arm rested in a pristine white cast. She held a crystal glass of sparkling water in her good hand.

Adrian sat right beside her. He held a silver knife, carefully peeling an apple for her.

"What is she doing here?" I asked. My voice scraped against my dry throat.

Adrian looked up. He didn't drop the knife. He didn't rush across the room to help me. He didn't even ask about the staples holding my abdomen together.

"Celeste is staying with us," he stated. He set the peeled fruit on a napkin and handed it to her. "Her apartment is currently unlivable."

"Unlivable," I repeated. I gripped the doorframe to keep my knees from buckling. "She has a luxury penthouse downtown."

"There was a minor plumbing issue in her building," Adrian explained smoothly. "She needs a quiet place to recover. She has nowhere else to go right now."

"I insisted on a hotel," Celeste chimed in. She took a slow sip from her glass. "But Adrian wanted me here. Where it's comfortable."

"You need to be understanding, Vivian," Adrian said. His tone carried that familiar, polished authority. "She was severely traumatized in the crash."

"Traumatized," I echoed. My fingers curled into fists. "You drove us off a mountain, Adrian. I bled out in the wreckage while you carried her away."

"I made a split-second decision to save the person in immediate danger," he shot back. His jaw set into a hard line.

"You left your pregnant wife to die!"

"Keep your voice down," he warned. "The staff will hear you."

"Let them hear!" I shouted. The physical agony in my stomach was nothing compared to the ice flooding my veins. "I know the truth, Adrian."

He froze. The silver knife slipped from his fingers, clattering against the glass coffee table.

"I spoke to the doctor," I continued. I held his gaze, refusing to blink. "I know about the fertility clinic. I know the child I carried wasn't mine."

Celeste set her water glass down. A smug, satisfied smile touched the corners of her mouth. She didn't look surprised. She looked victorious.

Adrian didn't deny it. He stood up, brushing a speck of dust from his tailored trousers.

"So your father finally told you," he said.

"You admit it?" I choked out.

"Of course I admit it," Adrian replied. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Did you really think I married you out of love?"

His words hit me like a physical blow.

"You were a transaction," he explained, his voice entirely devoid of warmth. "My family required an heir. Celeste's medical history made it impossible for her to carry a pregnancy safely."

"So you used me."

"I selected you," Celeste corrected. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her good hand. "I went through dozens of profiles. You were young, healthy, and your father was desperate enough for cash to sign the non-disclosure agreements. You were the perfect incubator."

My stomach heaved. I thought of the nursery upstairs. The tiny clothes folded in the wooden dresser. The months of morning sickness and the gentle kicks against my ribs.

"You let me believe we were building a life together," I whispered.

"I gave you the Ashford name," Adrian snapped. "You lived in absolute luxury. You wore custom jewelry. You attended galas. You should be on your knees thanking me. A woman of your background would never have qualified to step foot in this house otherwise."

"I was your wife!"

"You were a surrogate," he corrected coldly. "Nothing more. Your father signed away your rights to the child before you even walked down the aisle."

"He sold me."

"He secured his company's future," Adrian countered. "It was a mutually beneficial arrangement."

I stared at the man I had slept next to for two years. He looked like a complete stranger. The charming smile and gentle hands were all a calculated act.

"The baby is gone," I said, my voice trembling.

"An unfortunate setback," Adrian noted. He checked his gold watch. "But the contract remains. We still need an heir."

"What are you talking about?"

"The clinic has more embryos," he said smoothly. "Once you heal from the crash, we will schedule another implantation."

I stepped back. "Are you insane?"

"It is a simple procedure," Adrian pressed. "If you want to keep playing the role of Mrs. Ashford, you will undergo the IVF treatments again."

He spoke as if he were ordering a replacement part for a broken machine.

"You want me to do it again," I whispered.

"It is your only use," he stated. "Do this, and you get to keep the credit cards and the social status. Refuse, and I will throw you out onto the street with nothing."

I looked from Adrian's hard, expectant face to Celeste's amused smirk.

A dry, broken sound escaped my lips. I couldn't stop it. The laugh tore through my chest, rattling my ribs and pulling at my fresh stitches.

"What is so funny?" Adrian demanded. His eyes narrowed.

"You didn't read my medical chart, did you?" I asked.

"I spoke to the surgeon briefly. He said you would recover."

"I will heal," I agreed. I took another step forward, closing the distance between us. "But I bled too much, Adrian. The crash destroyed my organs."

His brow furrowed. "Speak plainly, Vivian."

"They took my uterus," I told him. I kept my voice perfectly flat. "I can't carry a child. Not yours. Not anyone's. I am completely, permanently barren."

The color drained from Adrian's face. He stared at my stomach as if seeing it for the first time.

"No," he muttered. "That wasn't in the report."

"It's the truth."

Celeste broke the silence. A soft, melodic chuckle slipped from her lips. She stood up, smoothing the front of her silk blouse.

"Well," Celeste said. She walked over to Adrian and looped her good arm through his. "Then she is completely worthless now."

Adrian didn't correct her. He didn't defend me. He just stared at me with pure, unadulterated disgust.

"Get your things," he ordered.

"Adrian..."

"I said get your things!" he shouted. He pointed a rigid finger toward the front door. "If you can't give me a child, you have no place in my home."

I stood my ground. My hands shook, but I refused to let a single tear fall for this monster.

Before I could turn to leave, the heavy oak doors behind me swung open again. Footsteps echoed heavily against the marble floor.

"She isn't going anywhere," a deep, unfamiliar voice announced.

I spun around. Standing in the threshold was the man from the mountain road.