Chapter 1

The morning I went into labor alone, my husband was holding another woman's hand on a red carpet, announcing their engagement to the world.

I watched the livestream from a hospital bed, contractions ripping through me, while Damian Cross told a hundred cameras that Serena Maxwell was "the only woman he ever loved."

We'd been married for two years. I was carrying his twins. He didn't even know.

"Push, Mrs. Cross," the nurse urged.

I gripped the bedsheets and pushed—not just the babies out, but every ounce of love I'd ever wasted on that man.

Six hours later, I held my son and daughter for the first time. They were perfect. They were mine. And Damian Cross would never know they existed.

"Ms. Vivienne, your brother is on the line," my assistant, Rachel, whispered from the doorway.

I hadn't used my real surname in three years. To the world, I was Vivienne Lane—a nobody, a placeholder wife Damian's grandmother had chosen to secure the Cross family inheritance. But my real name was Vivienne Ashford, youngest heir to the Ashford empire, the largest pharmaceutical conglomerate in Europe.

I'd hidden my identity to be with Damian. I'd loved him so desperately that I abandoned my inheritance, my family name, and my dignity.

What a fool I'd been.

"Put him through," I said.

"Viv? I just saw the news. That bastard—" My older brother, Sebastian Ashford, was seething.

"It's over, Seb. I'm coming home."

Silence. Then: "It's about damn time. Grandfather's been holding your seat on the board. The company needs you."

I looked down at my newborn twins—my son, Leo, and my daughter, Nora. They had Damian's dark eyes. But they would carry my name.

"Book me a flight to London. First thing tomorrow."

"What about the divorce?" Seb asked.

"I've already signed the papers. Damian wanted me gone months ago. He just didn't have the guts to say it while Grandmother was alive."

Old Mrs. Cross had passed away six weeks ago. She was the only person in that family who ever treated me like a human being. The moment she died, Damian stopped pretending.

He moved Serena into our guest house. He told me to "be understanding" because Serena was "going through a difficult time." He cancelled our anniversary dinner to take her to Paris.

And when I told him I had something important to share—something that would change everything—he cut me off.

"Whatever it is, it can wait. Serena needs me right now," he'd said without even looking up from his phone.

So I never told him about the pregnancy.

Rachel walked in with discharge papers and a phone. "The divorce is finalized, Ms. Ashford. Also, your brother transferred the penthouse in Mayfair to your name. And…" She hesitated.

"What?"

"Damian's office just sent over a settlement offer. He's giving you two hundred thousand dollars and a used car."

I almost laughed. Damian thought I was a penniless nobody. He had no idea that the "worthless" wife he just discarded was worth more than his entire company.

"Reject it," I said. "I don't want a single cent from him."

That night, I boarded a private jet with my twins and disappeared from Damian Cross's life completely.

He'd realize what he lost soon enough. But by then, it would be far too late.