Chapter 1

A cloth bag, rough and smelling of mildew, was ripped from my head.

Light, harsh and unforgiving, stabbed at my eyes.

I blinked, vision swimming, the world a blur of green and brown. Trees, too many trees, pressed in on all sides.

My hands were bound tight behind me, the rope biting into my wrists.

Panic, cold and sharp, clawed its way up my throat.

I was on the ground, damp earth seeping through my thin dress. My belly, round and heavy with our child, pressed uncomfortably against the uneven terrain.

Days from my due date.

Where was I?

How did I get here from our Bay Area home?

Then, a voice, amplified, crackled through hidden speakers, "Ethan, shouldn't you be at the hospital with Sarah? What's Chloe got you doing out here at this 'safari park'?"

Ethan. My husband.

His laugh, that familiar, indulgent sound I once loved, echoed through the trees, "Chloe insisted on seeing this... 'performance art.' Sarah thinks I'm tied up in a board meeting. Bless her naive heart, her water broke, and she still urged me to 'take care of business' first."

My blood ran cold.

Performance art?

My water broke? He knew?

No, this couldn't be. This was a nightmare.

I twisted, trying to see, trying to find a way out.

A security camera, glinting high in a tree, caught my eye.

Help. I needed help.

I thrashed, trying to make myself visible, trying to signal.

My voice, when I found it, was a ragged whisper, "Ethan! Ethan, help me!"

The amplified voice returned, but it was Ethan' s now, cold, devoid of any warmth, "She's being a bit aggressive, isn't she, darling?"

Chloe's simpering reply, "Oh, Ethan, she startled me."

"Administer the shock," Ethan commanded, his voice flat.

Before I could process, a jolt, agonizing and fierce, shot through my body.

My muscles seized, my back arched, a scream torn from my lungs.

The world went white, then black, then a sickening wave of red.

I felt a warm gush between my legs, more than just water.

Blood. My blood and the waters of my womb, staining the forest floor.

Another voice, unfamiliar, boomed from the speakers, "The bets are coming in hot, gentlemen! Will the pregnant prey survive the night?"

Ethan's voice, colder than I' d ever heard it, cut through the haze of pain, "Ten million dollars says the pregnant woman doesn't make it through the night."

The words hit me harder than the electric shock.

Ten million. On my life. Our child' s life.

From my husband.

The man I loved, the man I built a life with from nothing.

The man who, eight years ago, cried as he slipped a simple, custom-made silver locket around my neck. It cost less than a hundred dollars, engraved with a tiny, unique symbol of the pier in Santa Monica where we had our first date.

That locket was still there, under my dress, a cold weight against my skin.

"Look at that ring she' s probably still wearing," a sneering voice said over the speaker, one of Ethan's 'friends'. "That cheap thing he gave her back in the day. Chloe gets the real diamonds, eh, Ethan?"

Ethan chuckled, a hollow sound, "Chloe's for spoiling. Sarah' s always been understanding; a platinum card keeps her happy enough."

Understanding.

I understood now.

The business trips, the late nights, the growing distance.

Chloe.

He' d had Chloe for five years. Five years of lies.

The locket felt like it was burning into my skin.

The pain of his betrayal was a living thing, writhing inside me, eclipsing the physical torment.

My naivete. He was right about that.

I had believed in our shared journey, from his struggling coder days to this.

Tech billionaire.

And monster.