Chapter 1

My husband accused me of putting his assistant in the hospital.

He claimed the AC I turned on, despite her protests, caused her to collapse from severe cramps. I was eight months pregnant and the office was dangerously hot, but he still blamed me. To "make it up to me," he invited me to a party at an exclusive club.

I woke up on the floor of a glass-walled freezer.

Outside, my husband, Austen, stood with his arm wrapped around a perfectly healthy Deb. He raised a glass to the city's elite, toasting to "cooling down" his hot-headed wife.

They watched as his men stripped me to my underwear and forced my bare knees onto a floor of ice. They poured buckets of freezing water over my head and my pregnant belly until I felt a warm trickle between my legs.

I was bleeding. I was losing our baby.

While I lay there, Austen pounded on the glass, screaming at me to apologize, to tell him I forgave him so he wouldn't have to be the monster.

He sneered that I was all alone, that my father was dead and no one was coming to save me.

Chapter 1

The air in Austen Nolan's office was thick and hot, sticking to my skin like a second layer. At eight months pregnant, the heat felt suffocating, a heavy blanket pressing down on me and my unborn child. I walked over to the thermostat, my hand reaching for the cool setting.

"Please don't."

The voice was soft but firm. I turned to see Deb Noble, my husband's personal assistant, standing by her desk. She had a pained look on her face.

"I'm on my period," she said, her voice a little shaky. "The cold air makes my cramps unbearable."

I looked at her, then at the sealed windows of the high-rise office. The sun baked the glass. I could feel sweat trickling down my back. My baby was my priority.

"It's over eighty-five degrees in here, Deb. It's not safe for me."

I turned back to the AC unit and switched it on. A blast of cool air rushed out, and I took a deep, grateful breath. Deb said nothing else, just watched me with an expression I couldn't quite read.

That evening, Austen came home. He didn't kiss me or ask about the baby. He walked straight into the living room where I was sitting and stood over me, his face a mask of anger.

"What did you do to Deb?" he demanded.

I looked up at him, confused. "What are you talking about?"

"She's in the emergency room," he said, his voice rising. "The cold air you blasted at her today caused severe cramps. She collapsed at her desk in pain. All because you couldn't handle a little warmth."

My jaw dropped. The sheer absurdity of his accusation stunned me.

"A little warmth? Austen, it was dangerously hot in your office. I'm carrying your child. I was worried about overheating. Deb's cramps are not my responsibility when my baby's health is at risk."

I stood up, facing him. The height difference between us felt smaller when I was angry.

"She told me she was on her period. That's it. For that, you're blaming me for her being in the hospital? Does that even make sense to you?"

He stared at me, his anger seeming to waver. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture he used when he was trying to appear reasonable.

"You're right," he said finally, his tone softening. "Of course, you and the baby come first. I overreacted. I was just worried about Deb."

He stepped closer and put his hands on my shoulders, his touch feeling strangely cold.

"I'm sorry, Izzy."

I wanted to believe him. For the past few months, our relationship had been strained, full of a tension I couldn't name. He had become distant, ambitious in a way that felt sharp and unfamiliar. I had hoped the baby would bring us back together.

"It's just... this pregnancy is hard enough," I said, my voice softer now. "I need your support, not your accusations."

"I know," he said, pulling me into a hug. "And you have it. You always have it."

He held me, but the hug felt hollow, a performance for an audience of one. I leaned against him, trying to find the man I married, but he was nowhere to be found. I just felt the coldness of his ambition.

Still, I told myself I was being paranoid. I was pregnant and emotional. I had to trust him. I had to believe in the life we were building.

"I love you, Izzy," he whispered into my hair.

"I love you too," I replied, but the words tasted like a lie on my tongue.