Chapter 2

A new wave of cold washed over me when David spoke again, his voice dropping even lower, laced with a chilling seriousness.

"That' s why it' s so important that Sarah never, ever gets pregnant."

The words were a death sentence to the tiny, secret life inside me. The joy that had filled me just minutes before curdled into pure horror.

"I' ve been careful," he continued, and I could picture him swirling the drink in his hand, his face thoughtful and calculating. "I' ve been switching out her birth control pills with placebos for years. Low-dose ones. Just enough to mess with her system, to make her think she has fertility issues. It' s better this way. No accidents, no complications. Thomas is my only heir. That' s non-negotiable."

My hand flew to my stomach. He had been poisoning me. Slowly, methodically, for years. The doctor' s visits, the confusing test results, the quiet tears I shed thinking I was broken, that I couldn' t give him the one thing he said he wanted most... it was all him. He had orchestrated my pain, my feelings of failure, all to protect a life I never even knew existed.

"Jesus, David," Liam whispered, his shock palpable even through the door. "You need to end this. You have to tell her."

"And what? Wreck everything?" David' s voice was sharp. "No. You will not say a word about this to anyone, do you understand me? What Rebecca and I have is a business arrangement. What I have with Sarah is... separate. And it will stay that way."

The conversation inside faded as a memory flooded my mind, so clear and painful it made my vision swim. It was our second anniversary. We were in Paris, standing on a balcony overlooking the city lights. David had wrapped his arms around me from behind, his chin resting on my shoulder.

"One day, we' ll bring our kids here," he' d whispered into my ear, his voice thick with emotion. "A little boy with your eyes and a little girl with my smile. We' ll tell them this is where their story really began."

I had cried, happy tears, believing every single word. I held that memory like a precious jewel. Now, it was just a shard of glass, cutting me from the inside out. All of it was a lie. A performance for his "sweet, trusting" mistress.

And Rebecca. The woman who had taken my place. The irony was sickening. I remembered her now, clearly. She had come to a gallery event my family' s foundation was hosting. She was shy, dressed in worn-out clothes, her portfolio clutched in her hands. She spoke of her dream to be an artist, but her family was poor, and she couldn't afford a proper education.

I had felt for her. I had personally championed her case, convincing the board to grant her a full scholarship. I had given her a chance. David had been there that night. He had scoffed quietly, saying she was "unimpressive" and "wasting our time."

He had been playing me even then. He had made me fund his secret wife' s ambitions while pretending to despise her. He let me pave the way for the woman who would be the mother of his heir, while he secretly ensured I would never be one.

My legs felt weak. I had to get out of there. But I couldn' t move. I was rooted to the spot, trapped by a morbid need to see the truth with my own eyes.

The study door opened. I flattened myself against the wall in the shadows of the hallway as Liam walked out, his face pale and grim. He didn' t see me. A moment later, a woman emerged from the study.

It was Rebecca.

She looked different now. Gone was the shy, insecure artist. This Rebecca was wearing a designer dress, her hair perfectly styled. She radiated a confidence that was almost arrogant. She turned back to David, who stood in the doorway.

"Was that really necessary?" she asked, her voice cool and smooth. "Telling Liam everything?"

David reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. It was a gesture he did for me a thousand times. Seeing him do it for her made me want to be sick.

"He' s my oldest friend. He needed to understand the stakes," David said softly.

"Just make sure he keeps his mouth shut," Rebecca said, her eyes hard. "And make sure she never becomes a problem."

She leaned in and kissed him, a possessive, confident kiss that was nothing like the gentle ones he gave me. It was a kiss between partners, between co-conspirators.

He kissed her back.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, a sudden, jarring buzz in the suffocating silence. I pulled it out, my fingers numb. It was a text from David.

Thinking of you, my love. Finishing up some work. Will be home soon. Can' t wait to hold you.

The hypocrisy was so blatant, so absolute, it was almost laughable. He was standing right there, with his wife, after confessing his monstrous deceit, and he was sending me love notes.

Something inside me snapped. The heartbreak, the shock, it all burned away, leaving behind a cold, hard core of something else. It was a decision.

I wouldn't just leave him. That was too easy. He would find me, charm me, lie to me again. He thought I was sweet and trusting. He thought I was easy. He was about to find out how wrong he was.

He wanted me to never be a problem. He wanted me to disappear.

Fine. I would disappear.

I slipped out of the house as silently as I had entered. My mind was racing, no longer with happy dreams, but with cold, clear plans. I got into my car and drove, my hands steady on the wheel. I didn' t go home.

Instead, I pulled my phone out again, my fingers flying across the screen, not to text David back, but to dial a number I hadn' t used in years. It was a contact from a past life, a life before David, a life where I learned that sometimes, the only way to survive is to vanish completely.

The line picked up on the second ring.

"I need your help," I said, my voice low and even. "I need to fake my death."