Chapter 1

For five years, I was the wife of Jace Sharpe, the city's untouchable "Golden Boy." I was a loyalty consultant paid ten million dollars to make him fall in love, but I was the one who ended up genuinely falling for him.

Then his old flame, Fallon, reappeared. When I told him I was pregnant with our child, his face became a mask of stone. Fallon smirked from the steps of his private jet.

"The baby has come at the wrong time," he said, his voice as cold as ice. "It must be aborted."

He had his men drag me to a clinic. As the anesthetic took hold, I heard him give a final, cruel order to the doctor: "A hysterectomy. I want to ensure there are no more... inconvenient surprises."

He destroyed my body and our child for another woman. Lying in that sterile room, my love turned to icy hatred. I reached for a burner phone I hadn't touched in years and sent a single message to a mysterious contact. The reply was instant: "I'll pick you up in fifteen days."

Chapter 1

Ellie Gilbert POV:

My name is Ellie Gilbert, and I am a professional loyalty consultant. My job, in essence, is to test the fidelity of the wealthy and powerful, a service I provide for a fee that would make most people gasp. For five years, I was the undisputed best in the business, a ghost in the gilded cages of New York's elite.

My career was born from desperation. My grandmother, the only family I had, was slowly being consumed by a rare degenerative disease. The experimental treatments that offered a sliver of hope came with a price tag that was astronomical, far beyond what my meager savings could cover. So, I leveraged my one true asset: an uncanny ability to read people, to become whatever they desired or feared most. I became a chameleon, a siren, a walking temptation. And I was damn good at it.

My final and most legendary assignment was a ten-million-dollar bet. The target was Jace Sharpe, the untouchable "Golden Boy" of a philanthropic dynasty so powerful their name was etched into the very fabric of New York City. The challenge, laid down by a group of his jaded, wealthy rivals, was simple: make the famously stoic and ascetic Jace Sharpe fall in love. Break his facade.

Against all odds, I succeeded.

The moment he proposed, on the sprawling ancestral estate of the Sharpe family, the city's elite society was stunned into silence. He stood before me, the afternoon sun glinting off his golden hair, and slid the Sharpe signet ring onto my finger. On his own wrist was the sandalwood mala bracelet he was never seen without, a symbol of his cultivated spiritualism. For me, he had removed it, a gesture that screamed commitment.

Of course, the vengeful losers of the bet couldn't let my victory stand. At our wedding, a spectacle of old money and new power, they exposed my true motives. In front of hundreds of guests, they played recordings of my initial meetings, laid out the contract, the bet, the cold, calculated nature of our entire courtship. A collective gasp rippled through the cathedral. I stood frozen, my white dress suddenly feeling like a shroud. I expected Jace to recoil, to look at me with the disgust I suddenly felt for myself.

Instead, in a shocking display of devotion that silenced everyone, he took my hand. His grip was firm, unwavering. He looked not at the crowd, but directly into my eyes, and his voice, clear and resonant, filled the hallowed space. "I knew," he declared. "I knew from the start. I willingly walked into her trap."

He then paid the ten million dollars himself, not to the men who had lost the bet, but directly into my account. He told me it was my dowry. My price.

For five years, he showered me with a love so profound, so all-encompassing, that the lines of my own game blurred and then vanished completely. I, who had entered the game for money, fell genuinely, desperately in love. I forgot the consultant and became the wife. I embraced our marriage, our life, the perfect narrative he had spun around us.

Our world shattered with the arrival of Fallon Valentine.

She blew in from Miami like a hurricane, the ruthless and unpredictable heiress of a powerful, and notoriously shady, business empire. She was all glittering glamour and razor-sharp edges, a creature of impulse and immense privilege. She wanted Jace' s help with a family business crisis, something about a hostile takeover.

Jace initially refused. "I have a wife, Fallon. My time is not my own."

But Fallon was persistent, her vulnerability a weapon. "Please, Jace. You're the only one I can trust. It's my mother's legacy. They'll destroy it."

He finally relented, but with a condition. "Three days. That's all I can give you."

Those three days stretched into a week, then two. When Jace finally returned, I drove to the private airport myself, my heart a frantic drum against my ribs. I had news, wonderful news, the kind of news that would cement our perfect life forever.

The jet door opened, and he descended the steps. He looked different. The warmth in his eyes was gone, replaced by a cool, unreadable distance.

I ran to him, my joy effervescent. "Jace! I missed you so much! And I have the most amazing news." I took a deep breath, my hand instinctively going to my still-flat stomach. "I'm pregnant."

He froze.

His face, the face I had memorized, the face I adored, became a mask of stone. There was no joy. No surprise. Only a chilling void.

My eyes fell to his wrist.

The sandalwood mala bracelet was back on.

My smile faltered. "Jace? What is it? What's wrong?"

Fallon appeared at the top of the jet's stairs, a possessive hand on the railing, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips. "He didn't tell you?" she purred. "Jace has made me a promise."

I looked back at my husband, my heart beginning a slow, painful plummet. "A promise?"

Fallon's voice dripped with condescension. "That I will be the one to bear the Sharpe family heir. Your timing is just... inconvenient."

My world tilted. The engine whine of the jet became a roar in my ears. I turned to Jace, pleading with my eyes for him to deny it, to laugh it off as one of Fallon's cruel jokes.

He looked at me, his voice as cold as the November air. "Fallon is right," he said, the words like shards of glass. "The baby has come at the wrong time."

Tears sprang to my eyes. "The wrong time? Jace, this is our baby. Our child."

"It must be aborted," he stated, not as a suggestion, but as an order.

"No," I whispered, shaking my head in disbelief. "No, Jace, you can't mean that. I won't."

His jaw tightened. "You will."

"You can't make me," I sobbed, clutching my stomach.

"I can," he said, his eyes devoid of any emotion I recognized. He gestured to two of his security men who had been standing by. "Take her to the clinic."

They moved towards me. I screamed, a raw, animal sound of terror and betrayal. "Jace, no! Please! Don't do this!"

He simply watched, his face impassive, as his men grabbed my arms. I fought, I kicked, I clawed, my pleas echoing across the tarmac, but it was useless. They were dragging me towards a black car, my heels scraping against the asphalt.

My last sight was of Jace, standing beside his jet, not even looking at me. He was looking at Fallon, a soft, reassuring smile on his face as he reached out to smooth a strand of hair from her cheek.

The world went dark.

I was taken to a private clinic, a sterile white room that smelled of antiseptic and despair. Jace arrived later, looking as pristine and composed as ever. He stood over my bed, the doctor beside him.

"You're making a scene, Ellie," he said, his voice a low murmur. "This is for the best."

"Best for who, Jace?" I spat, the tears hot on my face. "For you? For her?"

He ignored me, turning to the doctor. "Proceed with the termination."

My blood ran cold. But the true horror was yet to come. As the anesthetic began to creep into my veins, I heard his voice, a low, cruel whisper to the doctor, not meant for my ears.

"And while you're at it," Jace said, his tone casual, as if ordering a coffee, "a hysterectomy. I want to ensure there are no more... inconvenient surprises. Fallon is delicate. She can't handle this kind of stress."

The words pierced through the fog of the drugs. A scream built in my throat, but it was swallowed by the encroaching darkness. My body, my future, my very womanhood-he was destroying it all. For another woman.

When I woke, the physical pain was a dull, throbbing ache in my lower abdomen, a hollow emptiness that was more than just physical. It was a cavern carved into my soul. I was broken. Betrayed. A vessel emptied of its purpose, its hope.

Jace came to see me the next day. He brought flowers, expensive, scentless lilies that looked like ghosts.

"It's done," he said, placing them on the bedside table. "Now we can move on."

I stared at the ceiling, my eyes dry. There were no more tears left. "There is no 'we'," I said, my voice a dead rasp. "Not anymore."

He sighed, a sound of theatrical patience. "Don't be dramatic, Ellie. You're still my wife. Nothing has to change."

Everything had changed. The love I felt for him, once a blazing sun, had been extinguished, leaving behind only the black, icy vacuum of hatred. He left, promising to return later, leaving me alone in the silent, white room.

My hand trembled as I reached for my purse. Inside was a burner phone, an untraceable device I hadn't touched in five years. It held a single, encrypted contact. A lifeline.

Five years ago, just before I took the Jace Sharpe job, this contact had offered me an astronomical sum for a different assignment, one I had ultimately refused. The details were vague, the client anonymous, but the offer was a testament to immense power.

I found the encrypted message thread. My fingers, clumsy and weak, typed out a new proposal.

`I need a new, untraceable identity. The price is no object. This is my payment.`

I hit send.

The reply was instantaneous, as if he had been waiting.

`I'll pick you up in fifteen days.`