"I'm okay." His voice was barely a thread. "I'm sorry. You're pregnant... I didn't want you to worry."
Tears splashed onto the steering wheel. I couldn't speak through the sobs.
Even now, even like this, he was comforting me.
"Sweetheart, I'm about to go into surgery. I need a million dollars for the operation."
The line went dead.
I didn't stop to think. I was about to transfer the money when the location screen, still open on my phone, made me freeze.
On the map, two pins sat nearly on top of each other.
Which meant that call had come from the villa just ahead.
How could he possibly have surgery here?
My fear peaked. I threw the car door open and ran.
I had to see with my own eyes that he was safe.
But the moment I reached the villa's entrance, I heard Piers Stephens's voice. And he was laughing.
"One fake news story, and the last million is about to land. All her assets are yours now. We can take our baby and finally be a real family of three."
Through the gap in the half-open door, I saw Piers Stephens with his arms around a woman. Not a scratch on him.
The world tilted. My first instinct, pathetically, was to make excuses for him.
Could there be some misunderstanding?
Then he leaned down and kissed her on the lips, and every pitiful illusion I'd been clinging to shattered.
The woman let out a soft, satisfied hum. "She's still so easy to fool. Last time she literally saw me run her down, and you told her she was remembering it wrong, and she actually believed you!"
Every drop of blood in my body turned to ice.
That voice. I would know it if I were dead.
My stepsister. Julie Harding.
A crushing ache spread through my chest. I stared at Piers, unable to comprehend what I was seeing.
He knew better than anyone what Julie Harding had done to me.
"This miscarriage should be my turn," Julie pouted, her voice dripping with petulance. "You handled the first two. I should get the next two. That's only fair!"
Piers pinched her nose and smiled. "Whatever you want."
I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted blood, swallowing the scream clawing up my throat.
Every miscarriage had been orchestrated. Every single one.
The bone-deep agony of losing my children was nothing more than a scoreboard in their sick little game.
During the car accident that caused my third miscarriage, I had seen Julie. I knew I'd seen her.
But when I woke up, Piers swore my memory was scrambled from the trauma.