Chapter 1

For fifteen years, I gave up my dream of being a mother for my husband. He was the heir to a billion-dollar empire, and he carried a family curse-the women they loved died in childbirth. I accepted it, for him.

Then, his dying grandfather demanded an heir. To save his inheritance and "protect" me, he hired a surrogate. A woman who looked exactly like a younger version of me, who he promised was just a clinical arrangement.

The lies started immediately. He began spending every night with her, claiming she needed "emotional support." He missed our anniversary. He forgot my birthday.

Chapter 1

For fifteen years, Kelsey Jensen's camera had documented every angle of their perfect New York love story-every angle except the one she was forbidden to create.

Her husband, Bennett Randolph, the handsome heir to a billion-dollar empire, loved her too much to risk it. He carried a family curse, he'd explained, a tragic legacy where the women they loved-his mother, his grandmother-died in childbirth. It was the one shadow in their sprawling penthouse overlooking Central Park, the unspoken reason for the empty rooms.

"I can't lose you, Kels," he would say, his voice strained, his hand gripping hers tightly. "I won't."

And for years, Kelsey had accepted it. She loved him enough to sacrifice her own deep-seated desire for a family. She poured her creative instincts into her photography, nurturing her subjects and their stories through her lens.

Then came the ultimatum.

Bennett's grandfather, the formidable patriarch of the Randolph dynasty, was dying. From his hospital bed, surrounded by the scent of antiseptic and old money, he delivered his final command. His father, a grim-faced man who rarely showed emotion, stood by his side, echoing every word of the dying patriarch.

"I need an heir, Bennett. The Randolph line doesn't end with you. Get it done, or the company goes to your cousin." His father, his face etched with a desperate anxiety, clutched his arm. "Don't let this family die with us, Bennett. I couldn't bear it."

The pressure changed everything. That night, Bennett came to Kelsey, his face a mask of agony. He told her he'd rather forfeit the entire Randolph fortune than risk her life. Kelsey's heart ached with love for him. But the next evening, his father arrived, his eyes red-rimmed and his voice trembling on the edge of hysteria. He spoke of duty, of legacy, of the shame of a barren bloodline, his performance culminating in a veiled threat to end his own life if Bennett let the family name wither away.

Trapped and broken, Bennett finally relented. "A surrogate," he said to Kelsey later, his voice carefully neutral. "It's the only way."

Kelsey, who had long given up hope, felt a flicker of it ignite. "A surrogate? Really?"

"Yes," he confirmed. "A purely clinical arrangement. Our embryo, her womb. You'd be the mother in every way that matters. We just bypass the risk to you."

He assured her he would handle everything. A week later, he introduced her to Aria Diaz.

The resemblance was immediate and unsettling. Aria had the same dark, wavy hair as Kelsey, the same high cheekbones, the same shade of emerald green in her eyes. She was younger, maybe a decade younger, with a raw, unpolished beauty that was a stark contrast to Kelsey's sophisticated grace.

"She's perfect, isn't she?" Bennett said, a strange light in his eyes. "The agency said her profile was an excellent match."

Aria was quiet, almost timid. She kept her eyes down, murmuring her responses. She seemed overwhelmed by the opulence of their apartment, by them.

"She is just a vessel, Kels," Bennett whispered to her later that night, pulling her close. "A means to an end. Our end. You and I, we're the parents. This is for us."

Kelsey looked at her husband, the man she had loved for more than half her life, and she chose to believe him. She had to. It was the only way to get the family she had always dreamed of.

But the lies started almost immediately.

The "IVF cycles" required Bennett to be at the clinic. He started missing dinners, then entire evenings.

"Just supporting Aria," he'd say, texting late into the night. "The hormones are making her emotional. The doctors said it's important for the surrogate to feel secure."

Kelsey tried to be understanding. She clung to the explanations like a lifeline, refusing to see the truth that was fraying the edges of her perfect life.

Their wedding anniversary arrived. For years, they'd had a standing tradition: a trip, just the two of them, to a new city to get lost in and photograph. He canceled at the last minute.

"Aria's having a bad reaction to the medication," he said over the phone, his voice rushed. "I have to be here. I'm so sorry, Kels. I'll make it up to you."

He forgot. He forgot the one promise he had sworn to always keep. She spent their anniversary alone, the silence of the penthouse deafening.

Her birthday was worse. She waited for hours at the restaurant he'd booked, a single candle flickering on a small cake the waiter had brought out in pity. He never showed. A text message appeared after midnight.

[Emergency at the clinic. Don't wait up.]

She walked home, feeling utterly lost and defeated, letting the cold, drenching rain soak through her coat, each icy drop a fresh wave of despair. The next morning, she woke with a raging fever. She called Bennett. The phone rang and rang, then clicked to voicemail. She took a cab to the hospital, alone.

When she returned home two days later, weak and drained, the apartment was just as she had left it. He hadn't come home. He hadn't even called to see if she was alive. As she collapsed onto the living room sofa, her hand slipped between the cushions and brushed against something soft and unfamiliar. It was a piece of lingerie, a cheap scrap of black lace. It wasn't hers.

At that moment, she heard his voice from the balcony, low and intimate. He was on the phone.

She froze, her blood turning to ice. That's when she heard it.

"I'm planning a wedding for you in Europe after the baby is born," Bennett was saying, his tone full of a passion she hadn't heard in years. "A secret one, in Lake Como. We'll fly in your favorite flowers from Holland. It will cost a hundred million, a hundred times grander than my first one. You deserve it. You deserve everything."

A wave of nausea washed over her. She stumbled back, knocking a picture frame off an end table. It shattered on the marble floor with a deafening crash.

The conversation on the balcony stopped. The door flew open, and Bennett stood there, his face a mask of panic when he saw her.

"Kelsey! What are you doing out here?"

Kelsey straightened up, the shock giving way to an icy calm she didn't know she possessed. She looked at her husband, the man who was planning a secret wedding with her surrogate, and she forced a smile.

"I just got home," she said, her voice steady.

She held up the piece of black lace. "I found this in the sofa. I was wondering who it belonged to."

For a split second, he looked trapped. Then, a smooth, practiced mask slipped over his features. "That must be yours, Kels," he said, his voice dripping with false concern. "You're always losing things."

The lie was so blatant, so insulting, it stole the breath from her lungs. She had made one rule when this all began: Aria was never to set foot in their home. He had sworn on his father's grave to honor it.

Just then, his tablet, left on the coffee table, lit up. A new message from Aria.

[I'm wearing that little number you like so much. The one you couldn't get me out of fast enough last night. Hurry back.]

His phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID and his face tightened. "It's the office," he lied, already moving toward the door. "An emergency with the new merger. I have to go."

He walked out, leaving her alone with the shattered glass and the shattered truth.

She walked into her studio, the one place that was still hers. She picked up the phone and dialed a number she knew by heart. A number she hadn't called in years.

"Amelia," she said, her voice a ghost of itself. "It's Kelsey. I need you to make me disappear."