Chapter 1

My husband, Christian Conti’s hand was still on my stepsister Emma's belly.

That one picture stabbed my eyes raw.

"Rory, don't be mad at Christian." Emma lay back on the bed, wearing that harmless, innocent smile.

"The doctor said I'm not in great shape. Christian was just scared something would happen to me and the baby, so he kept it from you."

I let out a soft laugh. Yeah, "not in great shape". Emma was paralyzed. I honestly didn't think Christian could even bring himself to do it with her.

Emma heard that laugh and kept going, voice sweet as syrup:

"We're doing this for you. You're the Donna of the Conti family. How can you sit in that seat without having a child of your own?"

"Those capos and partners are all watching you. The second people outside smell an empty heir's chair, they'll pounce like dogs."

Then she patted the back of my hand like we were sisters sharing secrets.

"Once the baby's born, we'll register him under your name. He'll call you Mom, okay?"

On the side, my father cleared his throat and put on his elder's authority.

"Rory, Emma is carrying my only son, also the Conti family's only Don heir."

Christian started to persuade me too. He finally lifted his hand off Emma's belly.

"Emma's already inconvenient as it is, and she's still willing to take on the burden for you, for the Conti family. And you're not even grateful? You're pulling a dead face for whom, exactly?"

The way he looked at me was like I was a "failed family member," not his wife.

Then he walked toward me.

He reached for my hand, but I stepped away.

His arm froze in midair.

"Rory, we've been married all these years. Do you not get it?"

"Everything I'm doing is for you, for us. I can't let people gossip behind our backs that the Conti family's Donna can't even give the family an heir."

I stared at him, lips parting, but not a single word came out.

When Christian saw I still wouldn't budge, his patience snapped. He yanked at his tie, irritated.

"Fine. Enough drama. I already had the nanny prepare dinner. Let's celebrate."

"You're the Donna. You should at least show some goodwill."

He turned to help Emma up, gentle in a way I'd never once seen from him.

"Emma. What do you feel like eating? I'll have the nanny make it for you."

Emma leaned into his arms, whining like a spoiled kitten:

"I want pumpkin soup. And I want you to feed me yourself."

"Okay," he said softly. "Whatever you want."

They flirted like I wasn't even there, like I was just a piece of furniture.

I stood there, so extra it was almost funny.

Then the family doctor, Mr. Henry, walked in with his medical kit.

He was all smiles as he pulled an exam report from his briefcase.

"Christian, Ethan, congratulations."

He said it to my husband and my father.

Then he handed the report to Christian and announced it loudly, like it was a blessing to the room:

"This pregnancy is very stable. From the ultrasound, it looks like a boy! Congratulations. Your family finally has an heir!"

Christian leaned down and kissed Emma hard. My father's face flushed bright red with excitement.

Mr. Henry turned to me, his smile carrying a neat little slice of pity.

"Rory, don't take it too hard."

"If your belly can't produce one, having Emma give you a child works just the same."

The laughter and congratulations in that room felt like needles stabbing straight into my ears.

I gripped my phone so tightly my fingertips dug into flesh.

Christian held up the report and walked right in front of me.

"Rory, look. Isn't he adorable? From now on, he is our child."

My father rushed to add, "But, Rory, the baby will be under your name, yes… but he'll also have to call Emma 'Mom.'"

They were the same as always and so sure I would say yes to anything they asked.

Just like the day of my mother's funeral, when my father brought home a stepsister only half a year younger than me.

He claimed she was his late friend's daughter, even though her face looked ninety percent like his.

Just like when Christian said he wanted a child, and I tried countless folk remedies.

Even though I told him before we married, my body didn't get pregnant easily and I couldn't keep pumping myself full of injections and pills.

But I did it anyway, because seven years ago, beside my mother's hospital bed, I swore an oath.

I would support the White family with my weak father. I would pave Christian, a man who had nothing, a bright road forward.

To my mother, my father was love, and the Conti family was grace.

They were the obsession she couldn't let go of, even at the end.

But to me, it was just a promise.

And now the seven years were up.

I looked around and realized there was nothing here worth holding on to anymore.