Four years of marriage. Three losses that had shattered us to the core.
The first time, days before my due date, I stepped on a loose screw and tumbled down the stairs. That same night, Piers fired every servant in the house, his eyes red-rimmed with fury.
The second time, at eight months, a neighbor's dog went berserk and lunged at my belly. By the next morning, Piers had made that family vanish without a trace.
The third time, a car accident nearly destroyed my ability to ever conceive again. Piers brought in a top-tier legal team and put the driver behind bars for life.
Yet none of it eased the grief that consumed him.
Every time I got pregnant, he would set up the nursery with his own hands. Every time I miscarried, I could hear him behind that closed door, choking back sobs he thought I couldn't hear.
Now I was pregnant again.
At a red light, my phone buzzed.
I glanced down casually, and my pupils contracted.
BREAKING: Stephens Corp CEO Piers Stephens critically injured!
My hands shook as I tapped through to the article. "Stephens Corp CEO gravely wounded after heroic rescue. Condition critical."
Cold washed through my entire body. A low ringing filled my ears.