Chapter 1
For 6 years, I thought I had a family.
My adopted sister, Selena, hired men to ruin me. When her crimes came to light, my parents and Karl, my Alpha and bonded mate, stood firmly by my side.
They held me when I broke down. They told me I was safe. They made me believe I was loved.
I trusted them. I handed over the evidence and let them handle everything.
They told me Selena died in a car crash while on the run. I believed them.
Until the 6th year of my marriage. I had just finished another agonizing fertility treatment when I ran into Selena. The same Selena who was supposed to be dead.
She was holding a five-year-old boy's hand, nestled against Karl's chest, laughing in that sweet, flirtatious way of hers.
"Karl, thank God you and Mom and Dad destroyed that footage and helped me fake my death. Otherwise, Ella would've sent me to prison for sure.
"And to make sure our son stays the only heir, you've been slipping her contraceptives every single day. Watching her go through all that pain, those awful treatments, all because she couldn't get pregnant... you really went to all that trouble for me.
"But as long as the three of us are happy together, I can rest easy."
That was when I understood that the family I thought I had was nothing but a massive lie, carefully built by my parents and my husband.
6 years of blaming myself. 6 years of suffering, agonizing over why I couldn't give Karl a child. It had all been a sick joke. One they designed.
My parents. My husband. Selena.
They had been the real family all along.
I was just the fool they'd kept around for 6 years.
Desperately, I gripped the silver knife and carved Karl's mate mark out of my neck—the mark that was supposed to mean loyalty.
Family. Love. I didn't want any of it anymore.
This love was soaked in lies and filth.
I was done.
……
The needle finally came out, dragging a sharp, tearing pain through my lower abdomen.
I leaned against the hospital corridor wall, my legs barely holding me up.
For 3 years, I'd endured this torture countless times, all to give Karl an heir.
The doctor said if I didn't conceive this time, my body would be completely wrecked. I wouldn't be able to handle any more fertility treatments.
Clutching my cramping lower abdomen, I crossed the corridor toward the parking lot to wait for Karl.
Near the pediatric emergency entrance, a woman's laughing voice drifted around the corner.
"Back then, if you and Mom and Dad hadn't gotten rid of that surveillance footage and faked that car crash death certificate, Ella would've put me behind bars for sure."
My foot froze mid-step.
That was Selena's voice.
My adopted sister. The one who had supposedly "died in a car crash" 6 years ago. She had hired thugs to assault me and left me for dead. After I escaped, I handed the evidence to my parents and Karl. They told me she died while on the run.
Yet Selena was still alive.
I pressed myself against the wall and peered around the corner.
Selena was nestled against Karl's chest.
My husband, the man who had always been such a clean freak, didn't push her away. One hand was wrapped around her waist, the other ruffling the hair of a little boy, about 5 years old.
Selena held the boy's hand, her voice syrupy and sweet. "You've been running yourself ragged these past few years, keeping it all from Ella. Can you and Mom and Dad make it to Max's birthday party in 3 days?"
Karl looked down at the child, and I saw something I'd never seen on his face before—a father's tenderness.
"Max comes first. Don't worry. In 3 days, I'll tell Ella I'm going to the memorial park to pay respects to you. And so are Mom and Dad."
The little boy threw himself at Karl's legs, shouting, "Daddy!"
Karl bent down and scooped him up.
They looked like the perfect little family.
The cramping pain in my lower abdomen surged upward in waves.
Selena wasn't dead.
Not only was she not dead—she'd given Karl a five-year-old son.
5 years old.
6 years ago, I had just married Karl.
My own parents. My husband.
They had banded together to hide a woman who tried to destroy me, right under my nose, for 6 whole years.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was my mother.
"Ella, the butler said you went to the hospital for a fertility procedure today. Why didn't you tell us before you go? Where are you now?"
Her voice sounded urgent.
I stared at the family of three not far away, cold sweat beading on my back.
She wasn't worried about my health at all. She was afraid I had wandered around and stumbled onto the monstrous lie they'd buried for 6 years.
I gripped the edge of my phone so hard my knuckles went white.
"I just finished the treatment. I can barely walk."
An audible sigh of relief came from the other end.
Not long after I hung up, a figure ran toward me from the end of the corridor.
It was Karl.
The moment he spotted me, he stopped dead. His gaze flicked briefly toward the pediatric wing, then he strode over.
He pulled me against his shoulder, his tone accusatory. "Why didn't you tell me you were doing the procedure?"
He studied my face, searching. "Why do you look so pale? What's wrong? Did you run into someone you know?"
Playing along, I rested my head against his shoulder so he couldn't see my face.
"No. I'm just in a lot of pain. I want to go home."
The tension in Karl's back melted away instantly. He stroked my hair again and again, his touch gentle.
"My fault for being too busy. Come on, Mom and Dad made soup for you. They're both waiting at home."
On the drive back, Karl kept my cold fingers wrapped in his warm palm.
He smiled and told me funny stories from the office. His voice was soft, his attention meticulous.
I turned my head and watched the cityscape rush past the window.
Silently, I pulled my hand out of his grip.
