Chapter 1

The night I miscarried and nearly bled to death, I was trapped inside an apartment with the door bolted shut.

And my godfather-turned-husband was at the hospital, kissing his mistress.

He'd cut the water, the electricity, the phone line. He'd even tried to force me to kneel before Rowena and apologize.

He called it a little lesson—because I, his "vicious wife," had dared to compete with his mistress for his affection.

But what he didn't know was this:

That night, he killed his only heir with his own hands.

…

…

It was just past nine months into the pregnancy when a sharp, plummeting pain tore through my abdomen. My pants were already soaked through with dark red.

Something was horribly wrong. I grabbed the bathroom doorframe for support and called out to Colby, who sat by the window.

"Colby, I'm bleeding. Take me to the hospital."

He was on a phone call, brow furrowed, murmuring something in Italian. After he hung up, he walked straight to the entryway and picked up the hospital bag I'd packed for labor.

"Rowena's gone into labor. It's an emergency. She'll need these first."

I stared at him in disbelief.

"I'm bleeding, Colby. Our baby might be coming!"

He picked up my phone from the coffee table, slid it into his suit jacket along with the building access card.

"Your due date isn't for another two weeks. You heard me on the phone just now, didn't you? This is another one of your pathetic little tricks to compete with Rowena. It's cheap."

"Stay home. Don't bother me."

Then the door slammed shut behind him, the deadbolt sliding into place with a sound that was dull and final.

I dragged myself to the door, gripped the handle with both hands, and pressed down with everything I had.

It didn't budge.

He'd locked it from the outside.

Another contraction hit—the pain exploded from my lower spine outward—and then a warm rush of liquid coursed down my inner thighs, splattering against the oak floor.

My water had broken.

He'd taken my phone. Gritting my teeth, I crawled toward the landline on the side table by the couch—I remembered, I remembered there was still—

The instant my fingertips touched the receiver, I saw it. The phone cord had been snipped cleanly from the jack.

A neat cut. Deliberate.

I had no time to process it. The contractions were coming closer together now, the stabbing pain blurring my vision. I slid down the wall inch by inch until I collapsed on the floor.

Survival instinct drove me to summon one last breath and crawl toward the balcony.

I shoved open the glass door. December night air rushed in, so cold it sent my entire body into spasms.

We lived on the second floor. The balcony overlooked the apartment building's parking lot.

"Help! Is anyone there? Call an ambulance!"

Nothing. Empty.

Colby had reassigned every single bodyguard to protect Rowena—his mistress, about to give birth.

No one answered my screams.

Every avenue of outside help had been sealed shut.

All I could do was stumble back inside. The baby seemed to sense the danger, kicking frantically, each strike sending white-hot pain through my organs, my vision going black in waves.

Suddenly my knees buckled and I crashed to the floor beside the coffee table, my arm sweeping the crystal fruit bowl off the surface. Shards exploded across the floor, mingling with the blood pooling beneath me. A scene of utter devastation.

The spike of sharper pain jolted a brief moment of clarity back into my mind.

I cannot die here.

My palm groped across the floor and closed around the sharpest piece of glass I could find.

I have to find a way out.

I have to save my baby.

That's when the red light on the ceiling-mounted surveillance camera blinked on.

"Serena, are you done with this little tantrum?"

Colby's voice—low, cold, detached—ricocheted off the walls of the empty room, dripping with condescension.

I tilted my head back and fixed my gaze on that blinking red dot.

He actually had the leisure to check the home security feed.

I raised my blood-soaked hand toward the lens, making sure he could see it clearly.

"Colby, I'm bleeding. I really am going into labor. Please—save our baby…"

"Cut the crap."

A scoff. Contemptuous and impatient.

"This again."

"Last time you used red ink to fake bleeding. What is it this time? Food coloring?"

"Rowena is in so much pain she's about to pass out, and you're holed up at home putting on this little sob show."

"Serena, you are truly a disappointment."

My body was convulsing with pain. I didn't have the strength to argue.

Watching the blood pool into a dark puddle beneath me, soaking through my nightgown, all I could do was beg.

"Colby, for the sake of our child."

"Call me an ambulance."