Chapter 1

The wind on the outdoor bungee platform was a physical assault. It howled like a banshee, tearing at my thin maternity dress and chilling me to the bone.

I huddled in the furthest corner, my knuckles turning white as I death-gripped the freezing metal railing. At eight months pregnant, gravity was already my sworn enemy. The dropping barometric pressure made my heavy belly feel like a lead anchor, dragging me down toward the abyss below.

The safety harness—a cheap, generic contraption strapped haphazardly over my swollen stomach—felt flimsy. Laughable, really. Just the feel of the rough nylon against my skin made the blood drain from my face.

Yet, my husband, Cillian Thorne, stood just a few feet away, completely oblivious to my terror.

His eyes were glued to his 'first love,' Ivy Sinclair—the woman who had insisted, with tears in her doe-like eyes, that extreme sports were the only cure for her sudden bout of depression.

Ivy leaned into him, putting on her best kicked-puppy performance. "Cillian, you're the best... You're the only one who lets me vent when the darkness takes over. You're literally the only person in the world I can trust."

Cillian pulled her into a protective hug, rubbing her back with a tenderness he hadn't shown me in years. "Don't worry, Ivy. No matter what happens, I'm right here. You don't have to be scared of anything."

They locked eyes with a sickening, sticky intensity, as if the rest of the world—and his pregnant wife—could burn to ash for all they cared.

Suddenly, a violent gust of wind slammed into the metal scaffolding. The entire platform shuddered. I stumbled, my center of gravity thrown off by the baby.

The crowd of tourists around us gasped.

"Whoa! Is she crazy? Bungee jumping with a belly like that?"

"She's heavily pregnant! She should be on bed rest, not up here in a storm... Is she hoping for a miscarriage?"

"Some women are just irresponsible. They treat their babies like accessories. When she starts hemorrhaging, she won't even have the breath to cry about it."

The malicious whispers reached Cillian. He finally tore his gaze away from Ivy and looked at me. His handsome face twisted into pure, unadulterated disgust.

"Hear that, Vesper?" he spat. "You're a nuisance everywhere you go. A pregnant embarrassment. I seriously regret bringing you along."

Ivy jumped in immediately, playing the peacemaker with a smile laced with venom. "Cillian, don't be mad at her. You know Vesper drugged your drink to trap you with this baby in the first place. Cut her some slack."

She ducked her head, her voice trembling just enough to sound fragile. "It's my fault. If my depression wasn't so crushing... If I hadn't needed this release to feel alive again... Cillian, maybe we should just go. Vesper obviously doesn't want to support me."

"No." Cillian’s voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. He gripped Ivy’s shoulders. "Ivy, I promised to make your wish come true. You are jumping today."

He turned that cold, hateful glare back on me. "Vesper, if you hadn't announced your pregnancy the day Ivy got dumped, she wouldn't even be depressed right now. Her misery is your fault. If you have a shred of conscience left, you'll jump with her."

The bystanders finally realized the dynamic: I wasn't crazy; I was being coerced. The looks they shot Cillian shifted from judgment to horror.

Even the staff member holding the clipboard looked terrified. "Sir, pregnant women absolutely cannot bungee jump. The risk of placental abruption, miscarriage... We can't be liable for—"

"She's doing this voluntarily. It's her choice," Cillian interrupted, his voice like absolute zero. He grabbed the liability waiver from the staff member and shoved it hard against my chest.

"Sign it. And jump."

Four words.

That was all it took to strip away the last of my delusions. He looked at me not as the woman who had built a company with him, not as the mother of his child, but as a bag of trash he was desperate to toss into a dumpster.

I looked down at the clipboard.

In my past life—before the blood, the pain, and the cold death on the operating table—I would have cried. I would have begged. I would have fought for his love until my last breath.

But the moment I saw that waiver, the memories of my previous death crashed over me. I finally saw the truth.

This man, the husband I had loved for years, had a heart of stone. He didn't love me. He didn't love our unborn child. He never would.

Fine.

I took the pen. My hand did not shake.

With a strange, dead calm, I signed my name: Vespera Vale.

I was done holding on. I would grant his wish. I would disappear from his world completely, just as he wanted.

I shoved the waiver back at the stunned staff member. Ignoring the glint of triumph in Ivy’s eyes, I walked to the metal edge of the platform. The drop loomed beneath us, a gray, swirling abyss waiting to swallow me whole.

Right before the plunge, I turned to look at Cillian one last time. My eyes were dry.

"Cillian," I said, my voice flat, devoid of the love that used to be there. "This baby? I'm giving it back to you."