Chapter 1
The woman my husband always loved and I were both poisoned by kidnappers.
He held the only antidote. He chose her.
I was the one who spent a year in a coma.
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When I finally woke up, his first words to me weren’t I’m so glad you’re back, or I missed you. They were, “We need a divorce. Claire’s pregnant.”
I looked at this stranger, this cruel man I supposedly married, and asked the only question that came to my mind.
“I’m sorry, who are you?”
1
The fact that I woke up at all was, according to the doctors, a miracle. They used that exact word: “a medic- al miracle.” A parade of specialists, titans in their fields, cycled through my room, running tests, peering into my eyes, and murmuring in disbelief as they confirmed my vital functions were returning.
According to their charts, I should have been a ghost in a machine for the rest of my life. A permanent resid- ent of that silent, twilight country between living and dying.
In the two months of grueling physical therapy that followed, my parents visited me exactly once. There was no joy on their faces, no tearful relief. Instead, they cornered a doctor in the hallway and asked, with hushed urgency, if I could still get pregnant.
When the doctor confirmed that I could, their expressions curdled into something ugly and disappointed.
They never came back after that.
I thought I should feel the cold sting of heartbreak, but there was nothing. A person who has already lost all hope has no room for such luxuries.
My brother, Leo, came to pick me up on the day of my discharge.
“Claire’s been having a rough time,” he started, his eyes fixed on the road. “Her heart’s been acting up, you know, the stress of it all. So, don’t be mad at Mom and Dad for not visiting more. You know how fragile she’s always been…”
He trailed off, noticing the blankness of my expression. He mistook my apathy for a silent protest, and his voice hardened with impatience. “For God’s sake, Ava, can you just for once not be jealous of your own sist-
er?”
His volume spiked, and I flinched, genuinely confused. “What? Sorry, I was watching that dog. Look at it, crying its eyes out. It’s ridiculous.”
On the sidewalk, a husky the size of a small person was howling, a crowd of laughing onlookers gathered
1/7
14:27
around it.
I couldn’t have cared less about what Leo was saying.
He realized he’d misread the situation but offered no apology. He just plowed ahead. “Claire’s health isn’t great. She’s been under a lot of stress this past year. So when you get home, just… try not to start anything
with her.”
“Okay.”
I cut him off before he could finish. The condescending tone in his voice was like sandpaper on my nerves, and I just wanted him to shut up.
His brow furrowed again. “What are you planning now?”
I met his gaze in the rearview mirror. “Why would you ask me that?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it, lost for words.
“You know what? Maybe don’t come home just yet,” he finally said, sighing. “Claire moved back in for a bit. The Prescotts’ house has plenty of space, you should go there. You and Carter need to talk. If it’s really over
between you two, just end it properly.”
I just stared, a complete blank.
Just then, a sharp rap on the window made me jump.
It was Carter Prescott.
A man I’d known practically my whole life.
Leo got out of the car. I saw their mouths moving, a brief, tense exchange. Then Leo opened my door.
“Good, Carter’s here for you,” he said, all false brightness. “You should go with him. Whatever is going on between you two, you need to sort it out yourselves.”
Carter, however, looked like he had zero patience for a long conversation. He got straight to the point.
“We need a divorce. Claire’s pregnant.”
I blinked.
Maybe he expected hysterics. A screaming match. Sobbing. The kind of raw, messy scene he was clearly bracing for.
But I just felt… nothing. A strange detachment, as if I were listening to gossip,about a stranger.
The coldness in Carter’s eyes intensified.
“Look, I know I owe you,” he said, his voice clipped. “Name your terms for the divorce. Anything you want, within reason, it’s yours.”
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14.27
“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice laced with genuine confusion, “who are you? Are you my husband? That’s imposs- ible. I have a boyfriend. His name is Ethan.”
I was starting to get angry now.
This wasn’t funny. Not at all.
I was in love with someone. Ethan was kind, he was gentle-he was everything this cold, arrogant stranger in
front of me was not.
