Chapter 3

Sarah's POV:

Marcus didn't come home that night, and I stayed up until morning sorting through photos from when I was a girl.

I was the youngest Romano daughter, and the hardest to handle.

The DeLuca and Romano families had been allies in New York for decades, so I'd known from a young age that I would marry Marcus someday.

On our wedding day, he vowed, "Sarah, you'll never have to bow your head to anyone. If I ever betray you, you can cut off my ring finger."

I laughed.

"I don't think I'll ever get the chance to use that promise."

I thought my life would stay that perfect forever.

Until Rachel showed up.

Rachel was a waitress at a private club Marcus often visited. One day, she spilled a drink on him.

He found out afterward that she was a sophomore film student at NYU.

At least, that was the version he told me.

At first, it was easy enough to accept what he did for her.

He paid her tuition and rented her an apartment.

Then he found her a reliable agent to take her to auditions.

Before long, Rachel signed with DeLuca Media.

She no longer had to compete with dozens of girls for a single role at open auditions.

Even so, having her around never really bothered me. As far as I was concerned, he was just sponsoring her.

Then one day, I left my prenatal appointment with an ultrasound picture in my hand, excited to send it to Marcus.

A gossip reporter stopped me and played me a video.

In front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of a private house in the Hamptons, Rachel threw her arms around Marcus and kissed him hard.

Then he pressed her up against the window, and their naked bodies moved together again and again.

"Ten million dollars, Mrs. DeLuca. I'd say that's a fair price."

I covered my stomach on instinct and leaned against the cold hospital wall, gasping for air.

A passing nurse saw that something was wrong. She helped me sit down and gave me oxygen for half an hour before I finally pulled myself together.

Back outside, I stuffed the ultrasound picture into my bag and headed to Rachel's apartment.

When she opened the door, she was still wearing a low-cut silk nightgown. The moment she saw me, her face went white.

"Sarah—"

I slapped her. It wasn't until her head snapped to the side that I realized my hand was shaking.

"I know how it looks, but it's really not what you think. That house isn't mine. I was just there for work. The paparazzi picked the angle on purpose. That's how they make money. Nothing you're imagining has ever happened between Marcus and me."

Even now, that snake was trying to talk her way out of it.

"So you're saying the paparazzi delivered you to my husband's house in the Hamptons?"

Her lips moved.

"Those opportunities came because Marcus thought I had potential. I never asked him to..."

"Don't."

I cut her off.

"You could tell me you want to be famous. You could tell me you like him. You could even tell me to my face you want to take him from me. At least I'd respect your nerve."

I took a step closer.

"But don't stand here and treat me like an idiot. He was fucking you up against that window. That's not a camera angle."

Rachel cried even harder, dropping to her knees and clutching my hand as she begged, "I wasn't trying to steal your husband. I know you've been married for years, and I know you don't like me, so I've always tried to stay out of your way. Sarah, I just haven't been as lucky as you. I don't have anything. I'm just a girl from the projects. I only wanted to hold on to the one chance I finally got."

That actually made me laugh.

"So riding my husband was your way of holding on to that chance?"

I raised my hand again.

That was when the door burst open. Marcus took one look at the blood at the corner of Rachel's mouth and pulled her behind him.

"Sarah, you need to calm down."

I reached for her hair, but Marcus stopped me. In the struggle, I slipped and fell.

Something warm and red trickled down between my legs, and terror washed over me.

"Sarah, see this little dot here? That's your baby."

Just a few hours earlier, with the doctor encouraging me, I'd said a soft hello to the baby on the screen. No. I can't lose this tiny life so soon.

...

When I came to, I was lying in a hospital bed. Marcus's eyes were bloodshot.

"Sarah, babe, we'll have another baby."

I closed my eyes and turned my face away. Tears ran down my cheeks into my ears.

"I'll end Rachel's contract. She'll be out of that apartment tonight. And I won't see her again."

"Get out."

He didn't leave. Instead, he took out a folding knife and pressed the blade to his ring finger, just above his wedding band.

"I still remember our wedding vows."

"Marcus, don't be crazy."

Maybe losing the baby had wrecked my judgment. I was desperate to convince myself that he still loved me.

If he knew he'd done wrong, if he was scared of losing me too, maybe we could start over.

And for a while after that, he really was good to me.

That was why, later, when a traitor inside the DeLuca family set up the ambush in Philadelphia, I threw myself in front of him without a second thought.

I pressed his gun down so he'd save his last bullet to defend himself, then pushed him away.

Only later did I find out that in my second year of captivity, my parents' private jet went down in the Atlantic.

By the time I made it back to New York, the Romano family no longer existed.

I packed the last photo album, sealed the box, and put a shipping label addressed to Australia on it. Just then, my phone buzzed.

Rachel had texted me a photo of her pregnancy test results, along with a few messages.

"Marcus and I are having our third baby."

"I've never forgotten that slap you gave me. One day, I'm going to make you watch while I take your title."

I didn't reply. I just blocked her number, forwarded the messages to my lawyer, and told him to draft the divorce papers as soon as possible.

She really was stupid, thinking this would get to me.

Once I'd finished with the files, I locked the drawer, lay down on the guest bed, and fell into a deep sleep before sunrise.

Half asleep, I felt the mattress sink behind me. A hand slipped under the blanket and settled on my waist.

Before I could turn over, familiar body heat pressed against me, along with the smell of cigars and whiskey.

It was Marcus.