Chapter 1

The priest' s voice was low.

He spoke of Abigail Hayes, née Vance.

A life cut short.

No mention of children.

Just empty words about a young woman gone too soon.

Ethan Blackwood stood near the polished casket.

His face showed nothing.

A blank mask.

This was Abby' s funeral, a quiet affair for a daughter of old New England money, a family known for service, now fading.

Months earlier, the air in the Blackwood mansion was always cold.

Abby knew it was their anniversary.

Ethan would be home.

He had to be.

It was an obligation, written into their prenuptial agreement, a document as cold as their marriage.

She waited in the formal dining room.

The table was set for two, a single white rose in a crystal vase.

Her chef, bless him, had tried.

Abby smoothed the silk of her dress.

She felt the familiar ache deep in her bones. Leukemia. Aggressive.

She hadn' t told Ethan. Why would she?

The sound of the front door echoed.

Ethan' s voice, sharp and impatient, carried through the hall.

Then another voice, light, musical. Isabelle Moreau.

Abby' s breath caught.

Ethan walked in, Isabelle clinging to his arm, radiant and smiling.

He looked at Abby, then at the table.

"We have a guest, Abigail."

Isabelle' s eyes, a striking blue, scanned Abby.

"Oh, Abby, darling. I hope you don' t mind. Ethan insisted I join. He said you wouldn' t be feeling up to much."

Ethan' s gaze was like ice.

"Isabelle is sensitive to germs. Try not to... contaminate her. You look pale."

The words hit Abby like stones.

Contaminate.

Her illness, a secret shame he now weaponized without even knowing its name.

Later, after Isabelle had picked at her food, chattering about her latest shopping trip, Abby found Ethan in his study.

The room smelled of expensive whiskey and his disdain.

"Ethan, we need to talk about Gregory."

Her brother-in-law, Ellie' s husband. His political career was crumbling.

Blackwood Industries was squeezing him, a slow, deliberate strangulation.

"Your sister needs help. Your grandfather' s legacy funds are next."

Ethan didn' t look up from his papers.

"Gregory Thompson is a fool. And your grandfather, Senator Vance, orchestrated this disgusting marriage. He drove Isabelle away years ago. This is the price."

His voice was flat, devoid of emotion.

"He forced me. You all did."

Abby felt a wave of dizziness.

"Isabelle left on her own, Ethan. Years before... before us."

"Lies. Your family has always been manipulative."

He finally looked at her, his eyes filled with a hatred that stole her breath.

"Your suffering is a small price for what your family did."

The effort of the confrontation left Abby weak.

A deep cough rattled her chest.

She pressed a hand to her mouth, tasting blood.

She needed to see Ellie.

The next day, Abby drove to Ellie' s modest suburban house.

It felt a world away from the Blackwood mansion.

Ellie opened the door, her smile too bright.

A bruise, faint but visible, colored her cheekbone.

"Abby! What a surprise."

Inside, the house was quiet.

Ellie' s hands trembled as she made tea.

"How are you, really?" Abby asked, her voice gentle.

Ellie' s composure broke.

Tears streamed down her face.

"Gregory... he' s been... difficult. The pressure from his campaign failing."

She touched her cheek. "It was an accident."

Abby knew it wasn' t.

Then, Ellie' s voice dropped to a whisper.

"I' m pregnant, Abby."

A small, fragile hope in her eyes.

"Don' t tell anyone yet. Especially not Gregory. He... he wouldn' t be happy."

Ellie hugged her tightly.

"You can always stay here, you know. With me."

Abby held onto her sister, the warmth a stark contrast to the chill in her own life.

That evening, Ethan and Isabelle were in the main living room.

Abby passed the doorway, unseen.

Isabelle was curled on the sofa, Ethan' s arm around her.

He was smiling, a genuine smile Abby hadn' t seen directed at her in years.

He whispered something, and Isabelle laughed, tilting her head back.

He leaned in and kissed her, a long, tender kiss.

Abby' s heart clenched.

It was a brutal confirmation of everything she already knew.

The Blackwood Charity Gala was the event of the season.

Abby knew she had to be there.

One of her grandfather' s oldest charities, a literacy program for underprivileged children, was about to be hostilely taken over by a Blackwood subsidiary. It would destroy his legacy.

She found Ethan near the champagne fountain, Isabelle radiant beside him in a glittering gown.

Abby walked towards them, her steps heavy.

This was her only chance.

She sank to her knees before Ethan, the cold marble floor chilling her through her thin dress.

Gasps rippled through the nearby guests.

"Ethan, please," she whispered, her voice trembling. "The Vance Literacy Program. It was my grandfather' s life. Don' t let your company destroy it."

Ethan looked down at her, his expression unreadable.

Isabelle' s eyes gleamed with triumph.

"My dear Abby," Ethan said, his voice carrying clearly. "Perhaps you' re looking for a new role? Isabelle needs a new personal assistant. Someone... dedicated."

Isabelle laughed, a light, cruel sound.

"Oh, Ethan, you' re terrible! But Abby, while you' re down there... I' m in the mood for some music. Play something for us. Something... melancholic."