Chapter 1

My sister was wearing my apron. Cooking in my kitchen.

Smiling at my husband.

The divorce papers were still warm in my hand.

I'd signed every page without reading the terms—because what was the point?

Callum had already replaced me before my suitcase left the hallway.

He looked at me and said, "Seren, don't make this harder than it needs to be.“

My hand froze on the suitcase handle.

"You know this marriage was never real."

Never real.

Three years of waking at 5 a.m. to prepare his meals. Three years of attending galas on his arm, smiling while socialites whispered "plain" and "charity case" behind my back. Three years of managing his household, his elderly grandmother's care, his entire domestic life — so he could focus on building his empire.

Never real.

I wanted to scream. Instead, I straightened my spine.

"You're right. It wasn't."

I didn't want his money. I didn't want his penthouse. I didn't want anything that smelled like him.

Amber leaned against the kitchen island, watching me with those wide, innocent eyes she'd perfected since childhood.

"Sister, don't be sad. I'll take good care of him. You know I've always been better at… keeping men happy."

She let the sentence hang, her fingers brushing Callum's arm.

He didn't pull away.

My throat burned, but I refused to cry. Not here. Not in front of them.

The contract had been simple: Callum needed a wife to satisfy his dying grandmother's final wish. I needed money for my mother's medical treatment. Two years, then a clean divorce with a generous settlement.

But Grandma Rose didn't die. She recovered. And she loved me — genuinely, fiercely. So the contract extended. One more year, Callum said. For Grandma.

I agreed because somewhere during those two years, I had made the fatal mistake of falling in love with my own husband.

I hid it well. He never noticed. He was too busy noticing Amber.

My sister visited often, always needing help — a broken car, a lost wallet, a twisted ankle at the worst possible moment. And Callum, who couldn't be bothered to remember my birthday, would drop everything to rescue her.

"She's your family," he'd say. "Of course I'll help."

Family.

Amber had slept with my college boyfriend. She'd stolen my scholarship application and submitted it under her name. She'd told our dying mother that I refused to visit, when she was the one who changed the hospital's visitor list.

But Amber had angel eyes and a trembling voice, and no one ever believed me.

I dragged my suitcase to the door.

"Seren, wait." Callum's voice stopped me. "Grandma's 80th birthday is next Saturday. She'll ask about you. I need you to attend — as my wife. One last time."

I turned back slowly.

He stood there, tall, sharp-jawed, devastating — with my sister tucked against his side like she belonged there.

"After that," he added, "we'll announce the divorce."

One last performance. One last humiliation.

"Fine."

I stepped into the elevator, and the moment the doors closed, my phone buzzed.

A message from an unknown number:

[The test results are in. Congratulations, Ms. Seren. You're pregnant. 8 weeks.]

The floor tilted beneath my feet.

I was carrying Callum Hale's child.

And he just gave my bed to my sister.