Chapter 1

"Elara, are you sure about this?" Dr. Peterson asked, his voice gentle. "Inducing labor at seven months, then the nephrectomy... it's a lot for your body."

I clutched Ethan' s hand tighter. His skin was clammy, his face pale. "He needs my kidney, Doctor. The tests confirm I'm the only match. Without it..." I couldn' t finish the sentence. The thought of losing Ethan, my Ethan, was unbearable. He was my world.

"We'll do everything to ensure the baby is stable before we proceed with your surgery," Dr. Peterson assured me.

Ethan squeezed my hand. "You' re saving my life, Elara. Our life. I love you so much." His voice was weak, filled with a sincerity that melted my resolve.

"I love you too, Ethan," I whispered. "Let's do it." This was for him, for our future. A small sacrifice for the man I loved more than life itself.

The induction was a blur of pain and anxiety. When our tiny son was finally born, they whisked him away before I could even hold him. Exhaustion pulled me under, the anesthetic dragging me into a hazy sleep.

I drifted in and out of consciousness. The room was dim. Voices. Muffled at first, then clearer.

"...still alive, Mr. Knight. He's premature, but he's fighting. Should we transfer him to the NICU?" It was a doctor, his tone professional but hesitant.

Ethan' s voice, cold, devoid of the warmth I cherished, cut through the haze. "No. Discard it."

Discard it? My baby? My son? My heart seized. No, I must have misheard. The drugs... they were making me imagine things.

Then, another voice, familiar, slick. Jake Miller, Ethan' s best friend, his shadow. "Damn, Ethan, you' re a cold bastard. One kid a year to make her suffer for Chloe, man, that' s brutal!"

Chloe? Ethan' s childhood fiancée who had killed herself? What did she have to do with this? With me?

Ethan chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. "She deserved it. Chloe killed herself because Elara stole that art scholarship. She took Chloe' s future, so I took hers, piece by piece."

My blood ran cold. Stole? I had won that scholarship fair and square. Chloe...

Jake' s voice dripped with sadistic pleasure. "Remember how she cried after that 'hiking accident'? Or the 'car crash'? Masterful, my friend. Pure evil genius. Even that mugging, right at the start, getting her to trust you. Those guys earned their pay."

The hiking trip in the Rockies. The blizzard. My fall. The first baby I lost.

The car accident. Shielding Ethan. Losing our second child.

The mugging. Ethan, my hero, saving me from those thugs in that dark alley after my first solo art show. That was how we met. How I fell for him.

It was all... a lie?

A different doctor, his voice smooth, obsequious, "Mr. Knight, since you're not actually ill, about Mrs. Knight's kidney... should we still proceed with the harvest?"

Jake laughed again, a harsh, ugly sound. "Hell yes! And while you're in there, Doc, might as well do a full hysterectomy. Ethan's got that big engagement gala coming up. Can' t have her thinking she can trap him with another brat after he publicly dumps her. A barren, broken artist. Perfect finale."

Ethan' s voice was calm, chillingly so. "Do it."

The world tilted. My breath caught in my throat. Every loving word, every tender touch, every shared dream – a meticulously crafted illusion.

He hadn' t saved me that night; he had set a trap. His love wasn't a haven; it was a cage built on vengeance for a crime I never committed. The scholarship... Chloe... my babies... my kidney... my womb...

The "rescue." I saw it now. Ethan, appearing like a knight in shining armor. His concern, his gentle care. It was all designed to make me dependent, to make me love him, so he could destroy me slowly, exquisitely. My naivety, my trust, had been my downfall.

My three children. Gone. Not by accident. By his design. Each loss, a calculated strike in his twisted game of revenge. The grief that had hollowed me out, year after year, was a source of amusement for him and Jake.

I lay there, paralyzed by the horror, the absolute devastation of his betrayal. The man I loved, the man I was willing to die for, was a monster. And I had willingly walked into his slaughterhouse.

He feigned concern when he came back into the room later, his face a mask of worry. "How are you feeling, my love?"

I wanted to scream, to claw his eyes out. But a cold, terrifying clarity settled over me. I had to survive this. I had to know... about my son. "The baby... our son... is he...?" I managed, my voice a weak tremor.

His expression softened into practiced grief. "He didn't make it, Elara. I'm so sorry." He stroked my hair. His touch felt like fire.

He was still lying. He had ordered my son to be discarded. Discarded. Like trash.

He even took me to a small, private garden on the hospital grounds a day later, a place he said he' d found to mourn our "lost children."

He pointed to a newly planted rosebush. "For them," he' d said, his voice thick with false emotion. I wept, genuine tears of grief for the children I now knew he had murdered, while he held me, his embrace a viper' s coil.

The rage was a living thing inside me, but I buried it deep. I would play his game, just a little longer. I needed to get out. I needed to live. And then, I would make him pay. The gala. He planned a public humiliation. I would plan my own exit. A permanent one.