Chapter 1

On our wedding day, another woman bet my groom wouldn't leave me at the altar.

He proved her wrong.

Liam dropped my hand right there on the altar steps. Turned to his groomsmen. Laughed.

"Emily's soft. I'll sweet-talk her later. She'll come running back."

His groomsmen erupted in catcalls. They called me a desperate gold digger. A girl who'd never have the spine to walk away.

Chloe sauntered up the aisle in her four-inch Louboutins. She plucked the veil right off my head. Looped her arm through Liam's. Walked out of the chapel laughing.

Every guest in the chapel stared at me.

I didn't cry. I didn't move.

I stood at the altar with the same composed expression I'd worn walking in.

But only I knew the truth. I wasn't enduring anything.

In that moment, I was carving him out of my life. One clean cut at a time.

Liam glanced back over his shoulder. Almost approvingly. He left me with one last line.

"That's the composure a future Fox wife should have. Go home and wait for me."

I watched him walk away and almost laughed out loud.

Composure?

No. I was just done with him.

Three years later.

Liam Fox showed up at my boutique with nine black Maybachs and a pink diamond ring.

"Cooled off yet?" He smiled like the last three years had never happened. "I'm here to keep my promise."

I didn't even look at him. I cradled my belly and said flatly,

"Excuse me. My husband is waiting for me at the hospital."

"Cute. You strapped on a fake silicone bump for the drama?"

Liam had one hand in his pocket. His gaze slid lazily across my stomach like he was watching a bad joke unfold.

His voice carried that smug certainty I used to mistake for confidence.

I met his eyes without flinching.

"Mr. Fox. Move."

The front of my boutique — Lambert & Co. on Madison — was sealed off by all nine of his blacked-out Maybachs. A drone hovered overhead trailing a banner across the morning sky.

MARRY ME, EMILY.

Pedestrians had started to gather. My staff stood pressed against the glass storefront. Phones were coming out. Whispers rippled around us.

Liam didn't seem to register any of it. He stepped closer and held out a bouquet of red roses.

"Three years, Emily. The tantrum's gone on long enough. Time to come home."

He looked at me with what he thought was indulgent affection.

"You know how I feel about women who throw fits. But for you—" he tilted his head "—I made an exception. I gave you three whole years."

I looked at the roses in his hand.

Three years ago, I'd been hooked up to an IV in an ER. Hives. Pollen reaction. He'd sent the exact same bouquet that day. Told me Chloe had picked them. Told me I should be grateful.

I didn't reach for the flowers.

I slid a hand over my stomach and took a small step back.

"Liam. I'm not throwing a tantrum."

I held his gaze. My voice was quiet.

"I'm married. I'm five months pregnant."

Liam laughed softly under his breath.

Then he tossed the roses into the trash can at the curb like they were used napkins.

"You'd really make up a lie like that just to get a rise out of me?"

He pulled a Tiffany-blue velvet box from his inside pocket and snapped it open.

A pink diamond. Six carats, easy.

"We didn't get to finish three years ago. I'm making it up to you now."

He didn't even kneel. He just held the box out.

"Put it on. Tomorrow we'll pick out a dress. This time, I promise — I won't walk."

He said it like he was handing me the keys to heaven.

I looked at the diamond and felt nothing.

That night three years ago, I'd peeled the dress off alone in my apartment. I'd taken a pair of scissors to the stained hem. Then I'd thrown both the scraps and the engagement ring into the fireplace and watched them burn down to ash.

From that moment on, Liam Fox was dead to me.

"I don't need it."

I stepped around him toward the curb.

Liam's brow finally creased. He reached for my wrist.

I twisted away. His hand grabbed empty air.

"Emily. Enough." His voice dropped, low and warning. "My patience has limits. Who is this performance for?"

Right then his phone buzzed.

A custom ringtone. A girl's voice — breathy, sweet, helpless.

"Liam? Did you find Emily yet? I'm not feeling so good… I'm really dizzy…"

The kind of helpless little tone that had always worked on him.

Liam's expression softened instantly. He held the phone up and pressed the voice reply.

"Take something for it, sweetheart. I'll bring her home soon."

Then he turned back to me. Harder again.

"Chloe's sick, and she's still worried about you. You need to stop being so hostile toward her."

A note of reproach crept into his voice.

"What happened three years ago was a joke. The Sinclairs spoiled her — she doesn't always think things through. You're the mature one, Em. Why hold a grudge against a girl like that?"

Sinclair.

The family his parents had spent decades trying to merge with. Chloe's father was Liam's father's biggest business partner. An alliance between their families had been the Foxes' lifelong dream.

I had been Liam's college rebellion. The girl he'd picked up at a frat party because she wasn't on his mother's approved list.

I watched him stand there — righteous, certain — and felt my stomach turn.

It was the pregnancy. But the man in front of me made it worse.

I drew in a slow breath and pushed the nausea down.

"Liam. Do you not understand English?"

I pointed to the Uber pickup zone.

"My husband is waiting at the hospital. Move."

Liam's face went cold. His eyes dropped to my stomach.

"Emily. You're really not going to stop? You'd stoop this low just to force me to apologize?"