Chapter 1
"The baby is gone!"
While I was hemorrhaging in the hospital, my husband, the head of a mafia family, was having dinner at an upscale restaurant with his first love.
When the call finally went through, she was the one who answered.
"Don't scare him."
Then the line went dead, and his phone stayed off all night.
For three years of marriage, I played dumb. I played the dutiful wife. I pretended I was good for nothing.
He thought I was nothing more than an office worker's daughter.
He thought I had married far above my station by becoming his wife.
He thought I couldn't live without him.
But there was one thing he didn't know.
I slipped off my wedding ring and dialed a number I hadn't called in three years.
He didn't know this either.
My name was Serena Blackwell, the sole heir to one of Asteria's most powerful underworld dynasties.
They thought I had lost?
No.
The game had only just begun.
The day after the divorce papers were signed, the entire mafia family was brought to their knees.
---
My phone vibrated while I was lying on the ultrasound table in the OB-GYN exam room.
A tiny, blurry outline appeared on the screen.
The heartbeat was fast and strong.
"12 weeks. The baby is developing very well," the doctor said with a smile.
My eyes stung a little.
My husband, Adrian Delorme, had spent the past three years telling me to wait. He said we could have a child once he had secured his position as head of the Delorme family.
Last year, he finally agreed. I had tried for six long months before I got pregnant.
I wanted to tell him the good news right away.
But when I picked up my phone, I saw the message he had just sent.
Adrian: Isabella is back. I'm picking her up at the airport.
Isabella Montclair was his first love, the woman everyone considered his equal and believed was truly suited to him.
I stared at the screen, typed a reply, then deleted it.
In the end, I sent only one word.
Serena: Okay.
By the time I left the hospital, the sky had gone dark.
The digital screen at the bus stop was scrolling through the evening news.
I glanced at it without thinking.
"Adrian Delorme, Head of the Delorme Family, Appears at Airport to Welcome Montclair Family Heiress Isabella Montclair Home"
The photo showed them walking side by side out of the arrivals hall.
He was wearing the dark gray coat I had bought for him.
Her hand was looped through his arm, and her smile was composed and graceful.
They looked perfectly matched.
When I got home, I ate dinner alone.
The TV was on, but I kept straining to hear any sound from the front door, footsteps, a key turning in the lock, anything.
At 11:00 p.m., I saw Isabella's i********: update.
She had posted a photo of a candlelit dinner and a glass of red wine. The caption read:
Home at last. Thanks to someone for picking me up.
The location was Le Jardin Vesper, the most expensive fine-dining restaurant in the city.
I had mentioned that restaurant for three years, but Adrian had never taken me there once.
My phone lit up again. It was another message from Adrian.
Adrian: I won't be home tonight. She's having trouble with jet lag. Don't wait up.
I didn't reply.
