Chapter 1

It was my 99th proposal to Ethan.

I stood in the living room, holding the small velvet box, my heart pounding a familiar, hopeful rhythm against my ribs. For three years, I had loved this man, and for three years, he had kept me at a distance. We lived together, we were a couple to the outside world, but he had never touched me. Not once.

He stood by the window, his back to me, a tall, imposing silhouette against the city lights. He didn't even turn around.

"Ethan," I started, my voice trembling slightly. "Will you-"

"No," he said, the word sharp and final. It cut through the air and silenced me completely.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, the bitter taste of rejection now a constant companion. 99 times. 99 rejections. Any sane person would have given up. But I was an actress, and I believed in the power of devotion. I thought if I just held on, if I just loved him enough, he would eventually see me.

My shoulders slumped. I placed the ring box on the coffee table, a small monument to my foolishness.

Later that night, I couldn't sleep. A strange noise drew me from my room. It was a low, pained murmur coming from Ethan' s study. The door was slightly ajar. I crept closer, my curiosity mixing with a cold sense of dread.

I peeked through the crack.

Ethan was sitting at his desk, his back to me. He held a framed photograph in his hands, his knuckles white. He was speaking to it, his voice thick with an emotion I had never heard from him before. It was raw, desperate, and full of a longing that was terrifying.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "You're the only wife in my heart."

My breath hitched. My mind went blank. Wife? He had never even called me his girlfriend with any real feeling.

"Even if I can't have you," he continued, his voice breaking, "my body and soul will always be yours."

He pressed his lips to the glass of the photograph, a gesture so tender and full of passion it made my stomach churn. It was a tenderness he had never shown me.

Who was she? Who was the woman who held the heart of the man I loved?

With a shaking hand, I pushed the door open a little wider, just enough to see the photograph.

My blood ran cold.

The woman in the photo was young, with a bright, almost predatory smile. I knew her. Of course, I knew her.

It was Mia.

His older brother's adopted daughter. His niece. The girl who called him "Uncle."

The world tilted on its axis. The air in my lungs turned to poison. The man I had dedicated three years of my life to, the man I had begged to marry me 99 times, was in love with his own niece. Our entire relationship was a lie, a cover, a shield for his sick, forbidden obsession.

A wave of nausea washed over me so intensely that I gagged. I stumbled back, my hand flying to my mouth as I fought the urge to vomit right there in the hallway. The sound, a choked gasp, was just loud enough.

Ethan' s head snapped up. He spun around in his chair, his eyes wide with panic as he saw me. He quickly slammed the photograph face down on his desk, but it was too late. I had seen everything.

"Ava," he said, his voice dangerously low. "What are you doing here?"

I couldn't speak. I just stared at him, the image of him kissing that photograph burned into my mind. The bile rose in my throat, and I couldn't hold it back any longer. I turned and ran for the bathroom, collapsing in front of the toilet as my body violently expelled the dinner I couldn't remember eating.

I heard his heavy footsteps behind me. He didn't come to comfort me. He didn't ask if I was okay.

He grabbed my arm, his grip like iron. He hauled me to my feet.

"Get up," he ordered, his face a mask of cold fury. "Stop this pathetic display."

He dragged me out of the bathroom, his fingers digging into my skin. I was weak, dizzy, my mind reeling from the shock.

"Mia is sick," he said, his voice clipped and devoid of any emotion. "She has a rare blood type. She needs a transfusion, and you're a match. We're going to the hospital. Now."

I stared at him, my heart turning to a block of ice. I had just discovered his disgusting secret, a secret that made our entire relationship a sham, and his first thought was not for me, not for my pain, but for her. He wanted to use my body, to drain my blood, to save the very girl he was obsessed with.

"No," I whispered, the word barely audible.

His eyes narrowed. He tightened his grip on my arm, pulling me so close I could feel the cold radiating from him.

"You don't have a choice," he snarled. "You'll do as I say."

He dragged me out of the apartment and into the cold night, forcing me into his car. I didn't fight. I didn't have the strength. All I could feel was the icy certainty that my life, as I knew it, was over. I wasn't his girlfriend. I wasn't even a person to him. I was just a convenience. A walking blood bag for his beloved niece.