Everyone in Northport's socialite circle said the same thing: sure, Stanley Dudley—heir to the Dudley empire—was devastatingly handsome and obscenely rich, but he was cold-blooded, morally bankrupt, and for any woman looking for love, the worst possible choice.

Chloe Quinn didn't believe it. People weren't born heartless. He couldn't be that bad.

It wasn't until he had her strapped to an operating table, ready to terminate the baby inside her, that she finally admitted how naive she'd been.

After the divorce, Chloe turned toward the man who had always waited for her with quiet patience.

And the wolf she'd left behind? His eyes went red.

At a gala, Stanley shattered her suitor's leg in front of everyone.

Chloe finally snapped. "Stanley, how long are you going to keep this up?"

The violence drained from his face. His finger curled gently around hers. "Until you're willing to take my hand and lead me home."

Later, the tabloids captured a photo that stunned the entire city.

In the hallway outside Chloe's apartment building, the most powerful man in the Dudley family sat on the floor next to a stray dog.

"They really do look alike," the security guard muttered before he could stop himself.

Stanley didn't bother looking up. "Please. That mutt wishes it were as cute as me."

Chloe lowered herself onto the waterbed. The mattress swayed beneath her, rippling like disturbed water.

Her eyes drifted to the display case nearby. The adult toys arranged inside—their shapes explicit, their purposes unmistakable—made her fingers twitch. Her pulse quickened.

She was pregnant. Just past three months. To be safe, they still shouldn't be doing anything.

While her mind wandered, a hand wearing a wedding band pressed down on her shoulder, guiding her onto her back.

His lips found the curve of her neck.

The kiss sent electricity shooting through her limbs. Her lashes fluttered wildly. From the corner of her eye, she caught his profile.

An impossibly perfect face. The line from his brow to the tip of his nose, the clean arc of his jaw—every angle looked sculpted, almost too beautiful to be real.

But the mermaid skull tattooed behind his ear ruined the illusion. It was a reminder of exactly who this man was.

The most reckless soul in Northport. A circle of friends as depraved as they came. The city's number-one playboy wastrel.

Stanley Dudley.

"Honey." She pushed at him lightly. "Let me use the bathroom."

Stanley lifted his head. His narrow eyes swept upward at the corners, vulpine and hypnotic—like a fox spirit who'd learned to wear a man's skin.

"Running away again?" His hand slid slowly to her belly. "It's been three months. The doctor said we could."

Chloe pressed her lips together. A dull ache throbbed in her chest.

That afternoon, she'd accidentally overheard Stanley on the phone with one of his lowlife friends: "Fucking annoying. Turns out it's a girl. If it's not the old man's grandson, it's completely useless. I can't exactly drag her to the clinic, so how the hell do I get rid of it?"

She and Stanley had met—and conceived this child—by pure accident.

Three months ago, she'd been walking home through an alley after working late. A drunk's slurred obscenities sent her bolting in panic, straight into a private room near the elevator of an upscale club.

A woman inside asked who she was looking for. Chloe explained what happened, and the woman let her stay, promising to have someone drive her home after their gathering ended.

As the evening wore on and she relaxed around the group, she'd had a few drinks.

Then she went to the bathroom—and found Stanley slumped against the wall, eyes unfocused, breathing hard.

Catching him in such a vulnerable state, she'd asked out of politeness if he was alright.

He pinned her to the wall.

And just like that, she lost her virginity.

The experience had been terrifying, yes, but also strangely disorienting—shot through with a pleasure she couldn't name. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was because Stanley was so absurdly beautiful that her brain short-circuited.

That night, she hadn't exactly resisted. It wasn't force.

By the time she sobered up, regret was pointless. She told herself to treat it as a drunken one-night stand with a gorgeous stranger and move on.

Two weeks later, her whole body felt wrong. Her mother took her to the hospital.

She was pregnant.

She had to tell her mother about that night. Her mother did some digging, discovered Stanley was the young master of the Dudley family, and went to their estate alone. What exactly her mother negotiated, Chloe never learned.

But whatever was said, the Dudleys made Stanley marry her.

Now the baby was three months along. She and Stanley had been married for two.

During those two months, Stanley had treated her well. He took her traveling across the country, introduced her to his friends. Anything she glanced at twice, he bought without hesitation. He called her "honey" and "wife" constantly.

Sure, after she'd gotten to know him, people warned her he wasn't a good man.

But a handsome villain who'd never actually killed or robbed anyone—who just indulged in every pleasure money could buy—had a certain dangerous charm.

Chloe had been single her entire life. She never stood a chance against Stanley's relentless affection.

Feelings had a way of growing on their own. Somewhere along the way, she'd fallen for him.

A week ago, she'd even thought: maybe their story started absurdly, but they could still be happy together.

That day, the temperature in Northport had dropped. When they stepped outside and she rubbed her hands together, Stanley immediately grabbed them and said, "Honey, it's getting cold here. Let's spend a few days in Harborcrest—it's warmer there."

She'd agreed happily.

Until that phone call this afternoon shattered everything.

The trip to Harborcrest wasn't about showing her a good time.

He'd brought her here to get the baby's blood tested. To find out if it was a boy or a girl.

When the clinic confirmed it was a girl, Stanley had wrapped his arm around her and cooed about how wonderful daughters were, how she'd be his little princess.

Then he turned around and showed his true face to his friends.

Chloe's thoughts snapped back to the present. She forced a small smile, turning her head to dodge his kiss while pressing both palms firmly against his chest.

"The doctor may have said it's okay, but every situation is different. My stomach's been bothering me. What if we hurt the baby?"

Stanley froze. His eyes narrowed sharply.

Chloe swallowed, careful not to let it show. He knew what she was thinking.

But she hadn't confronted him directly. Even if he'd guessed, so what?

Stanley's lips curled into a wicked smile.

His thumb traced up to her throat, settling over her pulse. The pressure slowly increased.

His expression made it look like he was just initiating some rough foreplay—but the tightening grip sent genuine panic flooding through her. At the same time, his other hand yanked at her blouse. Buttons popped and scattered.

"How could we possibly hurt the baby? Your husband knows what he's doing. Be good..."

His mouth sealed over hers before she could respond.

She made sounds against his lips, but he ignored them completely. His large hand, all sharp knuckles and long fingers, slid down to her waist.

Just then, the black phone lying beside her buzzed.

Stanley's phone.

He paused, his hand releasing her neck.

She quietly let out a breath of relief.

If she wasn't mistaken, whoever was calling him at this hour had to be his childhood sweetheart—the one he'd loved but could never have—Northport's rising star, Kira Vale.

A month ago, Chloe had met Kira in person and added her on social media.

But that meeting had left a bad taste in her mouth. She'd gotten a clear sense of exactly what kind of person Kira was.

That day, Kira had put on a warm, friendly act, claiming she wanted to share stories about Stanley's past so that Chloe, as his wife, could understand her husband better. In reality, every story was about how good Stanley had been to her, and all the wonderful memories they had shared together.

Chloe had felt uncomfortable listening, wondering if she was just being petty. Then Kira dropped this line: "Chloe, I hope telling you all this doesn't make you suspicious about me and Stanley. You're not mad, are you?"

Chloe had laughed.

And then, today.

Ten minutes ago.

She'd posted something sweet about her marriage on social media—visible only to Kira.

Stanley hesitated for a split second, then reached for his phone and got out of bed to take the call.

The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Even though he'd lowered his voice, she caught every word Kira said.

"Stanley, you have to come help me! Some stalker fans have cornered me!"

The desire that had clouded his face moments ago vanished instantly, replaced by sharp concern. "Where are you?"

"I've had some free time lately, and I was worried you weren't taking good care of Chloe, so I came to Harborcrest today. I didn't expect those crazy fans to recognize me—they've got me trapped and won't let me into the hotel!"

His brow furrowed deeper. "I'm on my way."

He hung up and turned to Chloe, his tone suddenly serious. "A friend ran into some trouble. I need to step out. Get some sleep."

Chloe sat up. "What friend? It's so late..."

Stanley's eyes curved slightly as he pinched her cheek. "Just someone I'm close with. When a friend's in trouble, you help."

Chloe nodded like the understanding wife she was supposed to be, but grabbed his hand. "Promise you'll come back early? I'm scared being alone in the hotel."

"I will."

His voice was lazy, but his hands moved fast—he nearly put his T-shirt on inside out.

Chloe watched in silence, a dull ache spreading through her chest.

Rationally, she knew she'd used Kira as a tool to protect the baby growing inside her.

Emotionally, seeing how fast Stanley moved for another woman... that first flutter of feeling she'd had for him curdled into something sour and disappointed.

After he left, she let herself relax for a while and scrolled through her phone.

Sleep wouldn't come.

Half an hour later, she refreshed her social feed and saw Kira's new post.

With you, I feel safe.

The photo was a selfie taken inside a car. But in the bottom right corner, plain as day, was a man's hand holding a bottle of water.

Stanley's hand was easy to recognize—he had a heartbeat line tattooed on his ring finger, and he was wearing his wedding band.

Several mutual friends had already commented.

Damn, Stanley really does drop everything for you.

Kira had replied with a playful slap emoji.

It's the middle of the night and you're with Stanley? What are you, the other woman?

Kira's reply: Get lost!

These were all Stanley's close friends commenting.

But one comment at the bottom caught Chloe's attention.

Professor Dudley: You're with Stanley?

Professor Dudley.

Full name: Ervin Dudley. Her graduate advisor.

Back at school, she'd only heard rumors that Professor Dudley came from money and was the unattainable crush of every rich girl on campus.

It wasn't until before her wedding, when she saw the Dudley family portrait, that she realized Ervin was actually a Dudley heir—Stanley's cousin. Among their generation, he ranked third.

Kira had replied to Ervin too. Twice, even.

Of course not! He came to Harborcrest with Chloe. Besides, Ervin, she can see your comment—don't make her overthink things, okay?

Also, why are you still up so late?

Everyone else kept replying to Kira, but Ervin didn't respond.

Chloe narrowed her eyes, thought for a moment, then replied to the earlier comments: Not overthinking anything.

The second she posted, a new message popped up.

Ervin Dudley: You're still awake?

The cold glow of the phone screen lit up Chloe's face. She instinctively straightened her spine.

Even though she'd graduated—even though she was married now—the name Ervin Dudley still carried weight. Like a thesis defense title flashing on a projector screen, it made her tense up out of reflex. He was a senior she deeply respected.

"Yeah, I slept too much during the day," she typed quickly, then added a cute cat sticker.

Ervin: You're pregnant. You should be resting properly. Where's Stanley? Out drinking again?

She sent another sticker before replying: I don't think he's drinking. He said a friend needed help with something, so he went out.

What about you? Why are you still up?

About a minute passed before Ervin's next message came through.

He sent a location pin—a hotel in downtown Harborcrest.

What a coincidence. I'm here on business. Just got to the hotel.

A coincidence indeed. Everyone seemed to be converging on Harborcrest today.

While she was lost in thought, another message popped up: Get some sleep.

But Chloe couldn't sleep.

Her heart was a mess.

When Stanley left, she felt awful. If he came back, she'd feel just as troubled.

She'd already figured it out. Stanley couldn't just drag her to a hospital for an abortion. Bringing her to a couple-themed hotel tonight—he probably planned to cause a miscarriage through sex.

A cruel, underhanded move.

But knowing it was cruel didn't change how she felt. Emotions didn't listen to reason.

She would work on pulling back the feelings she'd only just started to let grow. But she wasn't there yet. Stanley still affected her.

She clenched her fist and sent Ervin a message: Is there any way, without hurting the baby, to give me some kind of virus? Something that'll make me sick for a week or two? Preferably contagious.

A second later, Ervin's video call request popped up.

The ringtone startled her so badly she nearly dropped her phone.

The moment she answered, the man on the other end was removing his glasses. Light caught the delicate chain, glinting off the bridge of his nose.

His features resembled Stanley's, but there was something entirely different about him—colder, more severe.

"Ervin..." She raised the phone to eye level instinctively, like she was holding an imperial decree.

His voice was calm, but she caught a hint of gentleness underneath. "What's going on?"

Chloe's ears burned. The words she couldn't bring herself to say rolled around in her throat several times before finally tumbling out. "It's just—it's that... Stanley wants to—to do that with me. But I'm worried it'll hurt the baby. I said no, but he won't listen. It's really hard to deal with. You're a doctor—can you help me think of something?"

Ervin's gaze froze. His expression turned grim.

Chloe bit her lip and lowered her eyes, her thoughts racing.

It was embarrassing. But she genuinely needed help.

After a long pause, Ervin spoke. "Where are you? I'm coming."

"Not far! I'm in the city center too!"

She sent him her location.

About ten minutes later, the doorbell rang.

She got up to answer it. Ervin stood in the doorway—white shirt, dark slacks, handsome and refined. Mature.

She let him in awkwardly and stood in front of the cabinet displaying adult products, twisting her fingers. "Ervin."

She'd tried to block his view, but he'd already seen.

His brow furrowed. "Don't stay here tonight. Come to my hotel."

Chloe blinked. "Huh?"

His tone was firm. "Get your coat. We're leaving now."

"But—"

"Don't worry," he cut in. "I'll call Stanley later and tell him you had stomach pains. That Grandfather sent me to get you."