Chapter 1

Camille Prescott's expression darkened, her eyes narrowing as she glared at me.

"Are you threatening me? Miles, do you have any idea how serious this is? You won't stop until you've actually driven someone to their death, will you?"

Her voice was cold and merciless, as if I were the one committing some unforgivable sin. My hands trembled, but a quiet laugh slipped from my throat anyway.

"I'm driving someone to death? The wedding's been pushed back nine times, Camille. If anyone's being driven to the edge here, it's me."

Just like in my previous life, I was returned like damaged goods, over and over again, while the rumors piled up around me.

"Miles Hartwell has to be a kept man. Why else would he put up with this kind of humiliation?"

"He's punching way above his weight and too stupid to take a hint. Thought he could marry into money, and now look at him."

"The baby probably isn't even his. Why else would she have boyfriends coming and going like that?"

I had already been seriously ill because of her, and the stress of it all hit me so hard I was throwing up, too weak to even stand on my own. But Camille never denied any of the rumors. And she never rescheduled the wedding, either.

Instead, she blamed me for not being more careful and called the pregnancy a hassle she never asked for, even though she was the one who pulled the condom off halfway through because she wanted a child.

When I confronted her about it, Camille's brow furrowed instantly, her gaze cutting into me like a blade.

"You're blaming me?"

Her tone was frigid, but her eyes drifted down to her stomach. A thin, careless smile crossed her lips.

"It's just a wedding, Miles. Is it really worth all this drama? If it matters that much to you, we'll have it after the baby's born. Same difference.

"The guys on the side don't mean anything. They're just distractions. You're the only husband I'll ever have."

She reached up and traced her fingers along my jaw, her voice softening just enough to sound almost tender.

Then her phone rang. Camille pulled her hand back and hurried out the door without a second glance.

I understood immediately. It was Bryce Whitfield, her little side piece, pulling another one of his stunts.

My heart was hammering again, that sickening wave of dread crashing through my skull, and there was no time to think. I dialed 911.

Before they wheeled me into the operating room, I saw Bryce's latest social media post.

"Works every single time! I'm telling you, if a woman really loves you, she won't let you get hurt. I barely scratched my hand and she came running."

The contrast was so brutal that even my numb heart managed to ache. I closed my stinging eyes and turned off my phone.

Two hours later, I was wheeled back out in a haze. The nurses must have thought I was still unconscious, because they made no effort to keep their voices down.

"He's that famous guy, isn't he? The groom whose wedding got postponed nine times?"

"That's him. It was all over the news. I don't know what he's holding on for. The bride obviously doesn't love him."

"They traded sighs for a moment, and then one of them suddenly pointed across the hall, her voice rising with excitement.

"Look over there. That's the Prescott heiress with some guy at the pharmacy counter, and she's fussing over him like he's made of glass."

I opened my eyes slowly, and sure enough, there was Camille. She had her arm looped through Bryce's, soothing him with more patience and tenderness than I had ever seen from her. It was like she was a completely different person, like a real lover would be.

But I had been sick on and off for an entire year, and she had never once set foot in the hospital for me.

The nurse noticed I was awake. Something like pity flickered behind her eyes, and she leaned in to ask softly, "Want me to go get her for you?"

"No."

My voice was barely there. I closed my eyes again and let the exhaustion pull me under. Some time passed before my phone suddenly rang.