Chapter 4

When consciousness returned, the room was empty.

No Lucas.

No Damien.

Just machines and silence.

I stared at the ceiling and let myself remember when things were different.

I met Damien Carter when I was fifteen and stupid enough to believe in fairy tales.

He was the senior with the devastating smile who helped me pick up my dropped books in the hallway, who made my heart forget its rhythm, who became my reason for everything.

I studied until my eyes burned to get into his college.

I took an entry-level job at his father's company just to be near him.

Five years of friendship before he finally kissed me on New Year's Eve, tasting like champagne and forever.

"I've loved you since the day you dropped those books," he'd whispered against my lips. "I was just waiting for you to grow up."

Our wedding was small—just Lucas, a few friends, and promises we meant.

Our first year of marriage was stolen kisses and lazy Sunday mornings, his fingers tracing patterns on my skin while he whispered about the babies we'd have, the life we'd build.

"Three kids," he'd said, his hand splayed across my flat stomach. "Two girls and a boy. The girls will have your eyes, and the boy will have my stubbornness."

I'd laughed and kissed him and believed every word.

Then Vivienne Laurent came back from Paris.

Damien's childhood friend.

His first love.

The one that got away.

Everything changed the night she called him from the airport at midnight.

I was seven months pregnant, tired and uncomfortable, but Damien was already grabbing his keys.

"I need to pick her up. Her flight just landed."

"It's midnight. Can't she take an Uber?"

His eyes went cold. "She's my friend, Aria. She needs me."

He left me at a highway rest stop ninety minutes from home.

"Take an Uber," he'd said, pulling away before I could protest. "This is important."

That was the first time.

The first time he called me "an uneducated orphan with no manners" was three weeks later.

Vivienne had come for dinner—again—and I'd politely suggested maybe we could have one evening alone.

"Your jealousy is showing," Damien had said, his voice dripping with contempt. "Vivienne grew up with class. Maybe if you hadn't been raised by no one, you'd understand basic hospitality."

The words cut deeper than any knife.

I'd grown up with parents who loved me until a drunk driver took them away.

I'd raised myself and Lucas with nothing but determination.

But to Damien, I was just an orphan who didn't deserve his patience.

The first time he chose Vivienne over me was when they decided to start a company.

"We need a legal entity," Damien had explained, sliding papers across the dinner table. "You'll be the registered owner. Lucas has the business expertise, Vivienne has the connections, and I have the technical knowledge. You'll just sign where we need you to."

No shares.

No voting rights.

No say in anything.

Just my name on documents I didn't understand, making me legally responsible for a company I had no part in running.

"It's just a formality," Damien had assured me. "Trust me."

I'd signed because I loved him.

I'd signed because I was pregnant and wanted to keep the peace.

I'd signed because I still believed my husband wouldn't hurt me.

When I told him about the pregnancy, his face had gone blank.

"Are you sure it's mine?"

The question had stolen my breath.

"How can you even ask that?"

"I don't know, Aria." His eyes were stranger's eyes. "Can I?"

Now, lying in this hospital bed with an empty womb and a shattered heart, I finally understood.

Vivienne had been poisoning him against me from the start.

The door opened.

Damien walked in with Vivienne on his arm, her temple decorated with a small, theatrical bandage.

And I realized that rock bottom had a basement.