Chapter 1

The room fell silent the moment the words left my mouth.

The ingratiating look on Adrian Haynes' face instantly stiffened. He whipped around and stared as I, Sylvia Larson, slipped the gifts back. Disbelief flashed across his face before his expression darkened.

"What the hell's gotten into you, Sylvia? Summer just gave birth, and she's still recovering. What's with the snide remarks? Did the car accident knock something loose in your head?

"Summer's been through enough. As her best friend, you should've supported her when she decided to be a single mother by choice. Why are you trying to upset her instead?" Adrian kept his voice low, but his tone was thick with barely restrained anger.

The barrage of accusations instantly painted me as a mentally unstable woman. Summer Cortez was even quicker to react. Her eyes reddened, and she slumped weakly against the headboard as tears streamed down her cheeks.

"Don't blame her, Adrian…" Summer sniffled, her voice thick with hurt. "Sylvia's just jealous that I get to have an adorable baby without having to put up with stinking men. After all, I'm not like her.

"Her whole world revolves around men. She doesn't even have a life of her own." Summer pretended to dab at tears that weren't even there with a tissue as she spoke, perfectly maintaining her persona as an independent woman who despised men.

The sight of the two despicable cheaters before me made my stomach churn with disgust.

I'd spent two weeks in the hospital after the car accident. Adrian only visited me twice during that entire time, claiming he was too busy with work.

As it turned out, his so-called work was to wait on Summer hand and foot at the postnatal retreat.

I let out a cold laugh. There was no point in arguing with them. Instead, I quietly pressed the record button on the phone in my pocket.

"Alright then," I said. I fixed Adrian with a cold stare before continuing, "Since you all seem to think I've lost my mind, I won't get in the way of your happy little family of three anymore."

With that, I turned around and strode toward the door.

"Sylvia! What the hell are you talking about?" Adrian shouted furiously from behind me.

Just as I was about to step out of the room, the baby, Noah Cortez, blew another raspberry in the cradle as he waved his chubby little hands in the air.

Once again, Noah's childish voice rang out clearly in my ears. [Daddy's so scary. Just yesterday, he used Aunt Sylvia's credit card to pay the remaining 60 thousand dollars on Mommy's bill.]

I instantly stopped in my tracks. What did he mean by that?

I forced myself not to look back as I walked straight out of the postnatal retreat. Once I was inside the car, I rolled up the windows and took a deep breath. Then, I pulled out my phone and opened my banking app.

I entered my password and tapped on the statement for my supplementary credit card. One transaction after another flashed across the screen in red. Each one of them stung my eyes.

The first entry was dated September 12th with a 42-thousand-dollar payment at the Chanel boutique in Lunavia Plaza. The next was on September 15th, which covered the remaining 60 thousand dollars at Harmonium Postnatal Retreat.

Then came the charge of almost 19 thousand dollars spent at an imported baby goods boutique on September 18th. Altogether, the charges added up to 121 thousand dollars. Every single one of these transactions was made on the supplementary credit card I'd given to Adrian.

Back then, he'd claimed that his company had cash flow problems and needed a spare credit card. I had handed it over without a second thought, but never did I imagine that he would use my money to support his mistress and their illegitimate child.

I stared at the figures on the screen, my fingers turning white from how tightly I gripped the phone. Then, I dialed the bank's customer service hotline without a moment's hesitation.

"Hello, how may I help you today?" the representative asked.

"I'd like to report the supplementary credit card ending in 7892 as lost and have it deactivated immediately," I said.

"Certainly, ma'am. Once the card has been deactivated, it will no longer be able to process any transactions."

"Alright," I replied.

I'd barely hung up when my phone began buzzing nonstop. Every notification was a WhatsApp message from Adrian.

"Sylvia, are you done throwing a tantrum?" he texted.

"Why did you deactivate the card? I'm paying for Summer's postpartum meals. How am I supposed to buy her supplements now?"

"Hurry up and reactivate the card!" he demanded.

"Have you seriously lost your mind? If you're sick, go see a doctor instead of acting like a psycho!"

More than a dozen messages from Adrian flooded my screen. Every one of them dripped with entitled demands. He was living off my money, yet he was acting like he was the one calling the shots.

I stared at the messages coldly and took screenshots of them all before blocking Adrian's contact on WhatsApp.

Just like that, the world fell blissfully silent.

Then, I tapped on another WhatsApp profile. It belonged to Elaine Mullins, the nurse from the postnatal retreat. I'd added her when I visited Summer before.

"Elaine, could you help me keep an eye on the two people in that room for me?" I texted.