Chapter 1

I sat in the velvet-lined chairs, the auction paddle slick with sweat in my trembling hand. I was about to bid on a vintage Patek Philippe for my husband Jackson. He stood a few feet away with my best friend, Taylor.

Suddenly, a deafening shriek echoed above us. The massive, three-ton crystal chandelier tore free from the ceiling.

"Jackson!" I screamed, reaching for the man who promised to protect me.

The chandelier crashed down, pinning me under razor-sharp glass. My vision blurred, but I forced my head to turn. Through the smoke and the screaming crowd, I saw him. He was holding Taylor against his chest, his hands frantically checking her face for scratches, completely oblivious to my destruction.

Three of his massive, suited bodyguards rushed toward the wreckage, reaching down to lift the heavy brass off my bleeding body.

"Stop!" Jackson’s roar deafened the room. The guards froze. "Leave Alynna! Get Taylor out! Now!"

The guards instantly abandoned me, forming a protective wall around Taylor as Jackson carried her out the grand doors.

The darkness swallowed me whole.

I woke up to the sterile, suffocating smell of bleach and iodine. The rhythmic, frantic beeping of a heart monitor filled the silence. I slowly opened my eyes, the blinding white ceiling of the Harley Street hospital coming into focus.

My body was a canvas of absolute, tearing agony. Every nerve ending screamed in protest as I tried to move.

A doctor in a crisp white coat stood beside my bed.

"Where is my husband?"

The doctor looked down at his clipboard, avoiding my eyes. "Miss... you suffered severe trauma. But by some absolute miracle, the glass missed your vital organs. And it missed your womb."

The room stopped spinning. My breath caught in my throat.

"You are eight weeks pregnant," the doctor said softly.

Pregnant.

A fragile, desperate warmth bloomed in my chest, cutting through the agonizing pain. A child. Jackson and I were going to have a family. The horrifying memory of the auction hall began to fade, replaced by a foolish, desperate hope. He had panicked. He had just made a split-second mistake. When he found out about our baby, he would fall to his knees and beg for my forgiveness.

The heavy wooden door of the hospital room suddenly swung open.

Jackson walked in.

"Jackson," I sobbed, reaching a trembling, bruised hand toward him. "Jackson, we're having a baby. We're—"

He didn't take my hand. He didn't even look at my bruised face.

Jackson stopped at the foot of my bed, his face a mask of cold, calculating ice. He reached into his inner pocket, pulled out a thick, gold-embossed document, and threw it directly onto my lap.

"What is this?" I breathed, my fingers shaking as I picked up the heavy paper.

It was a marriage certificate. But my name wasn't on it.

Jackson Eala and Taylor Sterling.

"I am not your husband, Alynna," Jackson said, his voice a low, terrifying rumble that vibrated through the quiet room. "I never was."

The air vanished from my lungs. "What are you talking about? We stood at the altar. We signed the registry..."

"You signed a prop," Jackson sneered, his lip curling with absolute disgust. "The priest was a hired actor. The registry was a fake. You are nothing to me."

My heart shattered into a million jagged pieces. Three years of loving him. Three years of cooking his meals, nursing him through fevers, and building a life together. It was all a meticulously crafted, terrifying lie.

"Why?" I choked out, tears spilling hot and fast down my cheeks. "If you loved Taylor... why did you pretend to love me?"

Jackson took a slow, deliberate step toward the bed. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

"Because Taylor is dying," Jackson stated coldly. "She has severe, end-stage kidney failure. She needed a transplant, but her blood type is incredibly rare. We searched the entire globe. You were the only perfect match."

My blood ran completely cold. The late-night vitamins he insisted I take. The mandatory, extensive health screenings he forced me to undergo every single month. He wasn't protecting my health. He was protecting his harvest.

"You kept me around to be a spare part," I whispered, the sheer, absolute horror of his betrayal suffocating me.

"You were an incubator for the organ that will save the woman I actually love," Jackson corrected smoothly. He turned to the doctor, his eyes dead and hollow. "The chandelier caused enough trauma to justify an emergency procedure. Prep her for immediate organ extraction."

"No!" I shrieked, my hands flying protectively over my flat stomach. "Jackson, please! I'm pregnant! I'm carrying your child!"

Jackson didn't flinch. He didn't show a single ounce of remorse. He looked at my stomach, and then he looked directly into my terrified eyes.

"Take her kidney," Jackson commanded the trembling doctor, his voice a lethal, unyielding vow. "And don't use anesthesia. It might harm the baby, and I still need an heir."