Chapter 1

I' d lost count of the times I cleaned up Liam Bradford' s messes, it was a familiar routine, like breathing. A hushed call to a discreet pharmacy for a morning-after pill, a quiet wire transfer to someone who suddenly needed to disappear, these were the currencies of my life with him. The Bradfords, Boston's old-money royalty, had taken me in from the foster system, and Liam, their heir, was my complicated, long-standing... something. Fiancé-in-waiting, maybe. Emotional punching bag, definitely.

This time, it started with the alumni gala, a glittering affair I hadn't attended. Liam went, reconnected with Sophia Hayes, his high school sweetheart, the one he always talked about with a misty, faraway look. Weeks later, the call came. Not from Liam, but from his mother, Eleanor. Her voice was clipped, cold.

"Ava, the penthouse. Now."

The penthouse was supposed to be ours, Liam' s and mine, after the wedding we never quite scheduled. I walked in, and the air was thick, suffocating. Sophia was there, artfully tear-streaked, clutching her stomach. Liam stood beside her, looking pale but resolute. This wasn't a mess I could quietly fix with a pill or a payoff.

Sophia' s voice, though trembling, carried a note of triumph.

"Liam, you have to choose."

She looked from him to me, her eyes narrowed.

"It's her, or me and our babies."

Babies. Plural. My stomach twisted.

Liam didn't even look at me, his gaze fixed on Sophia.

"It's Sophia," he said, his voice flat, devoid of the warmth he sometimes faked for me.

He turned to me then, his expression unreadable, or maybe I just didn't want to read it.

"Sophia is pregnant, Ava. Twins."

He said it like he was discussing a business merger, not the demolition of my life.

"She'll carry them to term, of course."

He then outlined his plan, each word a fresh stab. Sophia would live here, in our penthouse. She'd have the babies. I would be their godmother, a supportive, smiling presence in the background.

"After Sophia and the children are settled, perhaps at the countryside estate, we can proceed with our wedding," he continued, as if this was a minor logistical hurdle. "Family expectations, public image, you understand."

I understood. I always understood. I was the girl from the foster system, the one they'd polished up, the one who should be grateful for any scraps of Bradford attention.

Then, the final, casual cruelty. He picked up a small, antique locket from a side table, a delicate gold thing he' d given me years ago. It was supposed to symbolize our future, our unbreakable bond. He tossed it, a careless flick of his wrist, towards a waste bin overflowing with discarded party napkins.

"Sophia is different," he said, his voice cool. "This situation requires a more permanent solution than a pill, wouldn't you agree?"

The implication hung in the air, heavy and vile, referencing all the times I' d handled his previous indiscretions.