Chapter 2

I watched Dominic step out of the car, adjusting his cufflinks like it was any other night. Meredith clung to his arm, her red dress catching the porch light.

She was stunning — she always had been. Tall, polished, old money. Everything I wasn't.

"Carry me inside, Dom. My heels are killing me." She pouted, tilting her chin up at him.

He actually smiled. Dominic Ashford — the man who hadn't smiled at me once in seven months of marriage — smiled at her and scooped her up like she weighed nothing.

I floated behind them as they entered the foyer. Meredith kicked off her heels, and he set her down gently on the sofa.

She pulled him by his tie until he was leaning over her. "Stay with me tonight," she murmured.

He hesitated. For one brief, stupid second, my dead heart dared to hope he was thinking of me.

"Let me check on Elara first. She called earlier — sounded off."

Meredith's eyes hardened, but she masked it instantly with a wounded look. "You always choose her over me. I know she's carrying your baby, but do you have to keep reminding me? You know how much it hurts that I can't give you children."

The guilt hit him immediately — I could see it wash over his face. He sat beside her and cupped her cheek.

"You know that's not true. The surrogacy was my family's idea. You're the one I—" He stopped himself, jaw tightening.

"The one you what?" Meredith pressed, eyes wide and innocent.

He pulled away. "I'll be quick."

I followed him up the stairs. His footsteps were unhurried — he checked his watch twice, clearly annoyed at the inconvenience.

When he reached the master bedroom, he pushed the door open without knocking. "Elara, I swear to God, if this is another one of your—"

He stopped. The bathroom door was open.

From where he stood, he could see the blood. It had spread across the white marble floor in a dark, creeping stain.

My body lay curled on its side, one hand still resting on my belly.

For three full seconds, Dominic didn't move. Then he rushed forward and dropped to his knees.

His hands hovered over me, shaking. "Elara? Elara!"

He pressed his fingers to my neck. No pulse.

He pressed harder, as if force could bring me back to life. "No. No, no, no—"

He pulled out his phone and dialed 911, shouting our address. Then he tried CPR, his palms pressing down on my chest with a desperation I'd never seen from him before.

I stood in the doorway and watched. I wanted to feel something — satisfaction, vindication, sadness.

But I just felt hollow.

Meredith appeared behind me. Well, behind where I was standing — she walked right through my soul without knowing it.

"Dominic, what's going—" She saw the blood and screamed.

But I noticed something. Before Dominic turned around, before his attention shifted — Meredith's scream came a beat too late.

Her eyes had already scanned the scene, calculated, and decided on the appropriate reaction. She wasn't shocked. She was performing.

"Oh my God, is she — Dom, is she dead? The baby—"

Dominic's face was white. "Call Dr. Henson. Now."

Meredith fumbled with her phone, but I saw her fingers move to a different contact first. She sent a quick text before dialing the doctor.

I drifted closer and read the screen: "It's done. She's gone."

My soul went cold. Colder than death had made me.

Meredith hadn't just stolen my husband. She'd made sure I'd never survive long enough to keep him.