Chapter 1

My best friend and I gave birth on the same day.

As a joke, I suggested we arrange a match between our babies someday.

My husband, Ethan Hargrove, went dark in an instant. He looked at me with absolute seriousness.

"They're siblings," he said. "They can't marry."

I froze. I was sure I'd misheard him.

He smiled — light, unbothered, like he was commenting on the weather.

"On our wedding night, after we were done, I slipped a sleeping pill into your drink. She used her bra to cover your face. We went at it until dawn, right there beside you."

"That's the night you both got pregnant."

The world detonated inside my skull. I turned my head, stiff as a board, toward the bed beside mine — where my best friend, Vivienne Ashton, lay sleeping.

Twenty years old. I took fifteen stab wounds saving her life. She told me she would owe me forever.

Ethan shifted, blocking my line of sight without any urgency, his tone perfectly casual.

"Don't worry. Vivienne won't fight you for anything. We'll all live together. You'll still be Mrs. Hargrove."

Every drop of blood in my body turned to ice.

My phone buzzed against the mattress. A message from an unknown number.

*You may abandon the redemption of the target. Do you wish to exit here immediately?*

My gaze drifted to Vivienne's wrist.

She was wearing a strand of prayer beads.

The same prayer beads I had spent three days on my knees at a Church to obtain when Ethan nearly died in a car accident — praying until my legs gave out, begging for his life. He had never taken them off.

Until today.

When Vivienne and I had both been wheeled into our delivery rooms at the same time, he hadn't hesitated for even a second before pressing them into her hand.

Ethan calmly reached over and tucked Vivienne's arm back under her blanket. Then he turned to me and used the pad of his thumb to wipe the tears from my cheek.

"You're a mother now," he said gently. "Still crying like this?"

I slapped his hand away.

"Why her?" My voice came out cracked, raw. "She had a boyfriend! You threw yourself at her — do you have any idea how pathetic that is?"

Ethan glanced at his hand where I'd struck it, then looked back at me with something like genuine surprise.

"You still think the boyfriend she's been hiding this whole time was someone else?"

He seemed to find something funny in that. A short laugh escaped him.

"There were times you called her while we were in the middle of it. She'd be trembling, trying so hard not to make a sound." His expression turned wistful. "Honestly, I'll miss that."

I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted copper. My throat had closed up completely. I couldn't make a sound.

After a long silence, I finally managed to speak.

"Why lie to me? If you'd just told me the truth, I would have stepped aside. I would have let you go."

I would have walked away early, with at least some part of myself still intact. Not like this. Not shattered beyond recognition.

Ethan let out a quiet sigh. Something almost like pity moved through his eyes.

"What do you expect? We felt guilty."

"The night you were attacked trying to save Vivienne — the night they hurt you until you lost the baby — I was parked around the corner with her." A pause. "We got carried away. We forgot to call for help."

The last thread holding me together snapped.

I remembered that night. Vivienne and I walking back from the movies. The parking garage. The men who came out of the shadows.

I threw myself between her and them. I held on, and held on, because I knew she would go for help. I knew she would come back for me.

I believed that, all the way through.

When I woke up in the hospital, Ethan was holding me, shaking. He swore revenge, and he had delivered. I thought it meant he loved me.

Looking at him now — so calm, so unbothered — I understood for the first time that love can be performed. That I had been watching a performance for years.

If a kind stranger hadn't found me that night, I would have died.

I grabbed the ceramic soup bowl off the nightstand and hurled it at him.

It hit the floor and exploded. Broth spread across the tiles in a dark stain.

He had made that soup himself, the night before. It had peanuts in it — Vivienne's favorite. He had forgotten, or not bothered to remember, that I was allergic to peanuts.

It had all been there, all along. I just never let myself see it.

Ethan stood perfectly still, broth dripping from his hair, completely composed.

He wasn't angry. He exhaled slowly.

"Hate me all you want. I'm only asking one thing — don't blame Vivienne. She cares about you deeply. She just gave birth, and she's fragile right now. The last thing she needs is postnatal depression. Please try to understand."

I pressed my fingernails into my palms until the shaking stopped.

The incision from my delivery screamed with every breath. It was a constant, visceral reminder that he knew I needed to rest, needed calm, needed care.

He simply didn't care enough to provide it.

My phone buzzed again.

*The countdown has begun. 24 hours remaining. If no choice is made, you will lose the only chance to leave here.*

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