Chapter 2

Six months ago, when Nora's mother had finally lost her battle with cancer, she had called Sebastian's personal line. It rang twelve times before his assistant picked up.

"Mr. Cross is in a meeting with Ms. Lane. Can I take a message?"

Nora had sat in the hospital corridor with her mother's hand still warm in hers and said, "Tell him my mother passed away."

The assistant had murmured condolences. Sebastian never called back. He never mentioned it. Two days later, when Nora returned to the mansion with swollen eyes, he'd walked past her in the hallway and said, "There's a charity gala Friday. Iron my suit."

She'd ironed his suit. She'd attended to every invisible duty he assigned her for three years because the contract bound her — and because some pathetic, stubborn part of her believed that if she stayed long enough, he'd see her.

He never did.

Now, standing outside the mansion gates with one suitcase and a baby in her belly, Nora called the only number she had left.

"Aunt Margot?"

Margot Sinclair — her mother's estranged older sister — answered on the second ring. "Nora? What's wrong?"

"Can I stay with you for a while? I left Sebastian's house."

There was a pause. Then: "I'll send a car. Don't move."

Margot had never approved of the surrogacy contract. She'd begged Nora not to sign it, but Nora's mother had needed treatment that cost more than Nora could earn in a lifetime. Sebastian's offer had seemed like salvation.

Margot lived in a modest townhouse on the other side of the city. When Nora arrived, Margot took one look at her and pulled her into a fierce embrace. Nora didn't cry. She was too tired to cry.

Over tea, she told Margot everything — the contract, Isabelle, the pregnancy, Sebastian's demand that she abort.

Margot set her cup down carefully. "And the baby?"

"I'm keeping it." Nora's hand settled over her stomach. "It's the only thing in three years that's actually mine."

Margot studied her for a long moment. Then she opened a drawer and pulled out a thick envelope. "Your mother asked me to give this to you after she was gone. She said you'd know when the time was right."

Nora opened the envelope. Inside was a letter, a photograph, and a set of legal documents. The photograph showed a young woman standing before a building with a sign that read Hartwell & Ashford Architecture. The woman looked exactly like Nora.

"That's your mother," Margot said quietly. "Before she married your father, before the Sinclair family stripped everything from her — she was Eleanor Hartwell. The eldest daughter of the Hartwell family."

Nora's hands shook. "What?"

"The Hartwells are one of the founding families of this city, Nora. Your grandfather disowned your mother when she eloped with your father. But before he died, he changed his will." Margot pointed to the legal documents. "He left everything — the company, the estate, the trust — to his firstborn's firstborn child."

Nora looked up. "That's me."

Margot nodded. "That's you. You're the sole heir to the Hartwell fortune. Your mother hid it to protect you, but she always intended for you to claim it."

The documents were dated, notarized, and airtight. Nora read them twice, her mind racing.

Three years as Sebastian Cross's invisible surrogate. Three years of being told she was nothing.

And all along, she'd been worth more than he could imagine.

She placed the documents back in the envelope and looked at Margot. Her voice was steady. "I need a lawyer. A good one."