Chapter 1

Eight times, I had felt the flutter of life inside me, a secret joy shared only with Aidan. And eight times, he had taken it away, whispering that our love was too fragile.

This ninth time, a faint blue line on a plastic stick, I promised myself would be different. But then, he walked in with Gisele Vaughn, his arm possessively around her, announcing she was the new Mrs. Rosario.

My heart stopped. The house staff fawned over her, their words cutting me like tiny knives. Aidan, once my protector, now accused me of drama, of trying to make Gisele uncomfortable. A wave of nausea hit me, the pregnancy test in my pocket a block of ice.

He turned to Gisele, his voice softening, calling me emotional. I was just the ward, the child he was responsible for. But what about the whispered promises, the nights he held me like I was everything? Was it all a lie?

Gisele' s cruel whisper confirmed it: Aidan had spent a decade making me fall in love with him, just to destroy me, to make my father feel the pain of losing a child. He called my lost babies "mistakes," "unwanted little accidents."

The truth shattered me. He had used me, a pawn in his revenge. My love, my pain, my children-all meaningless. I had to escape, to protect this last, fragile life.

Chapter 1

Eight times.

Eight times, I had felt the flutter of life inside me, a secret joy that belonged only to me and Aidan.

And eight times, he had taken it away.

He would hold me, his voice a soft poison in my ear, telling me it wasn't the right time, that our love was too fragile for the world. I believed him. I loved him enough to endure the hollowing ache that followed each loss, a pain that became a familiar, ugly part of me.

This was the ninth time.

A faint blue line on a plastic stick. A secret I held tight in my chest, a fragile hope I was terrified to speak aloud. This time, I promised myself, would be different.

I was waiting for him in the grand living room of the Rosario estate, the house that had been my home since I was sixteen. My parents, his mentors and friends, had moved abroad for business, entrusting me to Aidan Rosario, the decorated war hero they' d treated like a son. He was my guardian. My everything.

The sound of his car in the driveway sent a jolt through me. I smoothed down my dress, my hand instinctively covering my still-flat stomach.

The heavy oak door swung open, but it wasn't just Aidan who walked in.

He had his arm around a woman, a beautiful, statuesque blonde with a smile that dripped venom. Gisele Vaughn.

My heart stopped.

"Kloe," Aidan' s voice was cool, devoid of the warmth I craved. "Come say hello to Gisele."

I felt my feet move, a puppet on his strings.

He pulled Gisele closer, his hand possessive on her waist. "From now on, you will address her as Mrs. Rosario."

Mrs. Rosario. The name echoed in the cavern of my chest. It was a title I had dreamed of, a future I had bled for.

I knew who Gisele was. Years ago, before Aidan had ever looked at me, he' d been infatuated with her. She was the society princess he could never have. Until now.

The house staff, who had always treated me with a distant respect, were fawning over Gisele.

"Mr. Rosario, you and Miss Vaughn make such a perfect couple."

"A match made in heaven."

Their words were tiny, sharp cuts against my skin. I stood alone, an invisible ghost in my own home. My eyes burned, and I blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall.

"Kloe."

Aidan' s voice was a whip crack.

"What are you doing just standing there? Your eyes are red. Are you trying to make Gisele uncomfortable on her first day?"

The accusation hit me like a physical blow. A wave of nausea, sharp and acidic, rose in my throat. I swayed, my hand flying to my mouth as I fought the urge to be sick.

The pregnancy test in my pocket felt like a block of ice. I also had the official report from the doctor, tucked away in my purse, confirming it. Six weeks. A new life, a new hope he was about to extinguish.

Aidan didn't even look at me. He turned to Gisele, his voice softening into that gentle murmur he once used only for me.

"Don't mind her. She's always been a bit dramatic, gets emotional easily."

My role. I was the dramatic, emotional ward. The child he was responsible for. That was all I was to him in public.

But what about the nights? The whispered promises in the dark, the way he held me like I was the only thing that mattered? Was all of that a lie?

I remembered the day I first met him. I was ten, a shy girl hiding behind my mother's dress. He was eighteen, a haunted boy whose family had been killed in a military operation gone wrong. An operation my father had commanded. My parents, wracked with guilt and compassion, took him in.

He was quiet and withdrawn, but I, with a child' s simple kindness, broke through his walls. I brought him snacks, I sat with him when he stared into space for hours. I made him a part of our family.

He became my protector. When bullies at school cornered me, he appeared like a shadow, his presence alone enough to make them scatter. He taught me my homework, he remembered I hated onions, he knew I liked my hot chocolate with extra marshmallows.

My childhood crush slowly, inevitably, blossomed into a deep, all-consuming love.

When my parents moved abroad, leaving me in his care, our world shrank to just the two of us. I was a moth drawn to his dark flame. I followed him around, my eyes full of an adoration I couldn't hide. But I was terrified to confess, scared of shattering the fragile peace of our life together.

Instead, I did something permanent. On my eighteenth birthday, I went to a tattoo parlor and had his name, Aidan, inked in delicate script over my heart. A permanent brand.

He found it one night when I fell asleep on the couch. I woke to his fingers tracing the letters, his eyes dark and unreadable. I thought his sharp intake of breath was a sign of love returned. I didn' t understand the cold, calculating glint that I now see was always there.

That night was the first of many. For years, we lived a double life. The responsible guardian and his quiet ward by day, passionate, secret lovers by night.

He never let me cover the tattoo, but he marked me in other ways, with bruises on my skin that I would hide under long sleeves, calling them marks of his passion.

"When will you marry me, Aidan?" I would ask, my voice small in the aftermath of our lovemaking.

"Soon, Kloe. When the time is right," he would always say, his voice a soothing lie.

But the time was never right. Not after the first pregnancy, or the second, or the eighth. He never told my parents. He never wanted the child.

And now I knew why.

He never intended to build a future with me. He just wanted a placeholder, a toy, until his true love was ready to take her rightful place.

My stomach churned again, a violent, painful cramp. I needed to get out of there. I needed to call my parents.

I turned and walked away on shaky legs, ignoring Aidan' s sharp call of my name.

In the solitude of my room, I pulled out my phone.

"Mom?" My voice broke.

"Kloe, sweetie! Is everything okay? We were just talking about you. I was going to call and ask if you' d finally reconsidered coming to live with us in Paris."

"I have," I whispered, the words a lifeline. "I want to come. As soon as possible."

"Oh, darling, that's wonderful news!" my mother cried with joy. "What happened? Did you and Aidan have a fight?"

"We broke up," I lied, the words tasting like ash. "It's over."

I had to protect myself. I had to protect this new life.

I hung up and clutched the doctor's report in my hand. The paper crinkled under the force of my grip.

"It's a miracle you're pregnant again, Miss Davidson," the doctor had said, his voice full of gentle wonder. "After so much trauma to your body, this little one is a real fighter."

A fighter. My baby.

This wasn't just his child. This was my child. The only piece of family I had left in this house.

I knew, with a terrifying certainty, what Aidan would do if he found out. He would take this one from me, too. He would do it with that same cold, detached apology, and then he would marry Gisele, and I would be left with nothing but an empty womb and a shattered heart.

No more.

I wouldn't let him. I would run. I would hide. I would protect my child, my fighter.

"I love you, Mom," I whispered into the silent room. "I'll see you soon."

I would get the visa processed. I would pack my bags. I would leave Aidan Rosario and the ruins of my life behind. I would start over. For my baby.

I had to.