Chapter 1

Stella's POV

It was 4 AM, and I was on my knees again, scrubbing blood off the kitchen floor.

The glass shards from the wine bottle Nathan threw were still scattered across the tiles, catching the dim light from the stove. My hands shook as I wiped, and the cleaning solution stung the fresh cuts on my fingers.

I didn't cry anymore. Crying meant noise, and noise meant Nathan woke up angry.

Three years ago, I thought I knew what love was. I was wrong.

I met Nathan at the coffee shop where I was working—pretending to work, really. My father didn't know I was there. William Carter, CEO of Carter Tech, probably would've had a heart attack if he knew his MIT graduate daughter was pulling espresso shots in Brooklyn.

But I wanted something real. Something that wasn't about the family name or the trust fund or the board meetings.

Nathan was different, I told myself. He ordered black coffee, left generous tips, and actually looked at me like I mattered. When he asked me out, I said yes without hesitation. When he proposed six months later, I said yes again.

My father tried to stop the wedding. "He's using you, Stella," he said. But I was twenty-four and stupid and so sure I was proving everyone wrong about true love.

So I married Nathan Pierce without telling him who I really was. I thought if he loved me as "just Stella," it would mean something pure. Something untouchable.

I finished scrubbing and stood up slowly, my knees aching. The clock on the microwave blinked 4:47 AM. Nathan expected breakfast at 6:30 sharp.

By the time he walked into the kitchen, I'd made everything perfect. Eggs over easy, toast with the crusts cut off, coffee in his favorite mug. I even put on the blue dress he said he liked once, two years ago.

Nathan looked at the plate and his face twisted. "What the hell is this?"

"Breakfast," I said quietly. "I made your favorite—"

He picked up the plate and threw it against the wall. Eggs and ceramic exploded everywhere. "You call this breakfast? My mother's dog eats better than this."

The hot coffee came next. He "accidentally" knocked the mug toward me, and the liquid splashed across my arm. I bit down on my lip hard enough to taste blood, trying not to scream. The burns bubbled up immediately, angry and red.

"Clumsy," Nathan muttered, grabbing his briefcase. "Clean this up. And for Christ's sake, Stella, try to be useful for once."

The door slammed behind him, and I was alone with the mess again. I ran cold water over my arm, watching the skin blister. In the bathroom mirror, I barely recognized myself anymore. The woman staring back had hollow eyes and bruises hidden under carefully applied concealer.

My phone buzzed. It was an unknown number, but I knew who it was. Marcus, my father's butler, had been trying to reach me for weeks using different phones. I deleted the voicemail without listening. I couldn't face them. Couldn't admit that everyone was right about Nathan.

The day dragged on in its usual pattern. I spent fifty dollars—my entire weekly allowance from Nathan—on groceries. He controlled every bank account, every credit card. Said I didn't need money since he "provided everything." At the checkout, I had to put back the tampons because I was twelve cents short.

By evening, I'd almost convinced myself today would be different. Nathan had been gone for hours, which usually meant he was in a good mood when he came back.

Then I heard the key in the lock, followed by voices. Plural.

Nathan walked in with a woman I'd never seen before. She was beautiful in that polished, expensive way—designer suit, perfect hair, the kind of confidence that comes from never being hit.

"Stella, this is Victoria," Nathan said casually, like he was introducing a coworker. "She's staying with us tonight."

The words hit me like a physical blow. "Staying? But we only have one bedroom—"

"You can take the couch." Nathan's tone made it clear this wasn't a discussion.

Victoria smiled at me, and there was something cruel in it. "Thanks for having me, Stella. I hope it's not too much trouble."

I stood there, frozen, as Nathan guided Victoria to our bedroom—my bedroom—his hand on the small of her back. The door closed, and I heard her laugh at something he said.

I made dinner like a robot. Steak, medium rare, with roasted vegetables. Through the kitchen door, I could hear them in the dining room, talking like old friends. Like more than friends.

"Remember Paris?" Victoria said. "That little café near the Seine?"

"How could I forget?" Nathan's voice was warm. Warmer than he'd ever sounded with me.

When I brought out the food, Victoria looked at her plate and wrinkled her nose. "The steak's a bit overdone, isn't it? Nathan likes his medium rare."

"It is medium rare," I said, but my voice was so small it barely counted as speaking.

Nathan cut into his steak and frowned. "She's right. You can't even cook a decent meal, Stella."

I ate standing up in the kitchen, chewing food that tasted like dust. When I finally gathered the courage to peek through the door crack, I saw Nathan's hand covering Victoria's on the table, his thumb stroking her knuckles.

I ran to the bathroom and vomited.

Kneeling there on the cold tile, I finally noticed what I'd been trying to ignore for weeks. The nausea. The missed period. The way my breasts were tender and swollen.

With shaking hands, I dug out the pregnancy test I bought three days ago and hid behind the cleaning supplies. Two minutes later, I was staring at two pink lines.

I was pregnant.

For the first time in months, I smiled. A real smile. Maybe this changed everything. Maybe a baby was what we needed. Maybe Nathan would remember the man he pretended to be when we first met.

That night, I lay on the couch listening to sounds I couldn't unhear coming from my bedroom. I pressed my hands against my stomach, whispering to the tiny cluster of cells inside me.

"It's going to be okay," I promised. "Tomorrow everything changes."

In the morning, I put on makeup to hide the dark circles under my eyes. I made Nathan's favorite breakfast. My hands were steady as I set the table.

Victoria came out first, wearing Nathan's shirt and nothing else. "Morning, Stella. Sleep well?" The smirk on her face made my stomach turn.

Nathan followed, and before he could say anything, I blurted it out.

"I'm pregnant."

The words hung in the air like shattered glass.

Nathan froze, his coffee cup halfway to his mouth. Victoria's smile vanished.

"What did you say?" Nathan's voice was very quiet. The dangerous kind of quiet.

"I'm pregnant," I repeated, trying to inject some hope into my voice. "We're going to have a baby, Nathan. I know things have been hard, but maybe this is—"

His fist connected with my stomach before I could finish the sentence.

I was on the floor, couldn't breathe, couldn't think, just white-hot pain exploding through my body. Nathan was standing over me, his face twisted into something inhuman.

"You stupid bitch," he said. "You think I want a kid with you?"

Victoria was laughing. Actually laughing.

I curled into a ball, arms wrapped around my stomach, and felt something warm spreading between my legs. Blood. I was bleeding.

"My baby," I whispered. "Please, Nathan. Please, the baby—"