Chapter 1

I was nine months pregnant when my husband brought my stepsister to our bedroom and told me to sleep in the basement.

I'd just been rushed to the ER after collapsing at his company banquet—where he hadn't even noticed I was gone—and now I was standing in the doorway of our penthouse, watching Serena try on my maternity robe like she owned the place.

"Freya, don't make a scene." Dominic Ashford didn't even look at me. He was adjusting the thermostat for Serena's comfort. "She's recovering from surgery. She needs the master suite. The basement has a pullout. You'll be fine."

I stared at the man I'd been married to for two years. The man whose empire I'd helped build from a mid-tier firm into a billion-dollar corporation. The man whose child was currently kicking inside me.

"I just got discharged from the hospital," I said. "The doctor said my blood pressure—"

"Your doctor said you were stable." He cut me off, his voice flat. "Serena's doctor said she needs rest in a warm room. Stop being dramatic."

Serena, perched on my bed, looked at me with those wide, practiced doe eyes. "Freya, I'm so sorry. I told Dominic I could stay at a hotel, but he insisted. Please don't be mad at him. He's just too kind."

Too kind. That's what she always called it when he chose her over me.

I turned to Dominic one last time. "I'm your wife. I'm carrying your baby. And you want me to sleep in the basement so my stepsister can have our bed?"

He finally looked at me, and what I saw in his eyes wasn't guilt. It was irritation.

"You're always like this. Everything's a competition with you. Serena nearly died in that surgery, and all you care about is a room? Grow up, Freya."

Serena nearly died. That was what he said every time—after her fender bender, after her allergic reaction to shellfish she'd knowingly eaten, after every perfectly timed crisis that stole him from me.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to tell him that while Serena was having a minor cosmetic procedure she'd scheduled herself, I had been on the floor of a banquet hall, alone, bleeding, while his security team called an ambulance that took forty minutes because no one told them the CEO's wife was a priority.

But I'd learned something in two years of marriage to Dominic Ashford.

He would never believe me over her.

So I took my hospital discharge papers, my overnight bag, and the last shred of my dignity, and I walked toward the basement stairs.

Behind me, I heard Serena's sugary voice: "Dom, could you bring me some warm milk? The doctor said I shouldn't walk too much."

"Of course. Anything you need."

Anything she needed. Nothing I needed.

I made it three steps down before a sharp, blinding pain tore through my abdomen. I grabbed the railing, but my knees buckled. I fell.

The last thing I heard before everything went black was Serena's voice, calling out sweetly from the bedroom.

"Dom, is the milk ready?"