Chapter 1

Five years ago, a doctor in a sterile white coat told me I would never have children.

His words were flat, matter-of-fact, delivered after the car crash that had shattered my pelvis. The other driver, a woman named Willow Greene, walked away with barely a scratch.

She had been obsessed with my husband, Ethan Hayes. The police called it a deliberate act.

I remember lying in the hospital bed, the world a blurry haze of pain and grief. Ethan was a rock. He was the brilliant tech mogul, the man who could solve any problem. He held my hand, his grip firm, his jaw tight with a fury I had never seen before.

"She will pay for this, Olivia," he promised. His voice was cold steel. "I will make sure she rots in a place so dark she forgets the sun."

And he did. He used his immense wealth and influence, the full weight of Hayes Industries, to crush her. Willow Greene was sentenced to a long prison term. Ethan told me he had personally ensured every appeal would fail. He was my protector, my avenger.

He sat by my bedside and wiped away my tears. "We don't need a child," he whispered, his forehead pressed against mine. "I only need you. Your happiness is all that matters. I swear, I will spend the rest of my life making you happy."

He posted his devotion on every social media platform. "My wife is my world. My everything." The world saw him as a saint, the billionaire who stood by his broken wife.

And he kept his promise. For five years, he wrapped me in a cocoon of luxury and affection. He commissioned a custom-built smart home on the coast, a glass and steel marvel where every light, every temperature, every song was tailored to my mood. He bought me the entire art collection I once admired in a gallery, filling our walls with color and beauty. He fulfilled every whim before I even knew I had it.

I was the luckiest woman in the world. I believed it. I lived it.

Then, the miracle happened.

Two blue lines on a plastic stick.

I stared at it, my heart pounding against my ribs. I took another test. And another. All positive.

I was pregnant.

Dr. Chen, my fertility doctor, called it a one-in-a-million chance. A medical marvel. My body had healed in a way no one thought possible.

I felt a joy so pure and overwhelming it brought me to my knees. My life, our life, was finally complete. The last broken piece had been mended.

I wanted to tell Ethan in a special way. He was speaking at a major tech conference downtown. I decided to surprise him, to see the look on his face when I told him we were finally going to have the family we thought was impossible.

I slipped into the back of the enormous, packed auditorium. He was on stage, a master of his domain, captivating the audience with his vision of the future. He was handsome, charismatic, perfect. My husband.

"And now," he said, his famous smile lighting up the giant screens, "I want to bring out the visionary behind our new flagship app, 'Serenity.' A woman whose brilliance is matched only by her spirit. My wife, Willow Greene."

The name hit me like a physical blow.

It couldn't be.

But it was.

The same Willow Greene walked onto the stage. She looked radiant, confident. And she was pregnant. Very pregnant. At least five months along, her hand resting protectively on her swollen belly.

Ethan beamed, putting his arm around her. They looked like the perfect couple.

The air left my lungs. The room started to spin. My phone buzzed with a notification, a news alert about the conference. It linked to a popular blog. The headline read: "Tech's Hottest Power Couple: Willow Greene's Viral Love Story with the Mysterious 'Mr. H' is a Fairytale Come True."

My fingers trembled as I clicked the link. It led to Willow's online book, a serialized romance that had gone viral. It detailed her passionate, five-year affair with a powerful, mysterious man she called "Mr. H."

It described how Mr. H used his influence to get her released early from prison after her "legal troubles."

It described their secret meetings, their passionate nights in hidden apartments.

It described the custom-built smart home he designed for his other woman, a pale imitation of the one I lived in. It described the art he bought her.

Every detail, every grand gesture Ethan had made for me, was a distorted echo of his life with her.

The book ended with their greatest joy: the child they were expecting. Their son.

The life I thought was mine was a lie. My perfect marriage was a cruel, meticulously crafted deception. I wasn't his wife; I was his alibi.

After the conference, my body moved on autopilot. I followed them. From a distance, in the cold, anonymous dark of my car, I watched them. I saw him open the door of a sleek black car for her. I saw him lean in and kiss her, a deep, lingering kiss full of a passion I hadn't felt from him in years. I saw him place his hand on her belly, his face transformed with a look of pure, paternal love.

A love he had never shown me.

That night, Ethan called me.

"Hey, honey. The conference ran late, it was a huge success. I'm exhausted. I miss you."

His voice was warm, loving, and completely fake.

I stood in the center of our smart home, the monument to his lies, and felt nothing but a vast, cold emptiness. The miracle inside me felt like a curse. This child was not a symbol of our love. It was the final, twisted joke in a five-year-long prank.

My hand went to my flat stomach.

Then I picked up my phone and called Dr. Chen's office.

"Hello," I said, my voice eerily calm. "I need to schedule an appointment with the doctor."

"Of course, Olivia. Is everything okay?"

"Yes," I lied. "I a-am fine, I need... for a termination."

The silence on the other end of the line was deafening.

I looked at the priceless paintings on the wall. They looked cheap. Fake. Just like everything else.