Chapter 1

After the wedding, I had a C-section to give Ronan Carmichael a son and nearly died on the operating table. He stayed by my side for three days and nights, eyes bloodshot the entire time.

"Honey, we're never doing this again. That was too painful."

I thought I'd finally found where I belonged, so I settled in for a quiet life with him.

Then our son, Micah, turned three and was diagnosed with acute leukemia.

I was desperate to donate my own bone marrow, only to discover that our blood types weren't even a match. I stumbled to the hospital in a daze, and through the crack in the door, I heard Desmond Carmichael's voice.

"Ronan, have you lost your mind? You're harvesting bone marrow from your own son!"

Ronan's voice was perfectly calm. "Annette's illness can't wait any longer. She needs a full dose in one go, or she won't make it. As for the kid, Daphne and I are both healthy. We can always have another one."

The child I nearly died bringing into this world was nothing more than a living supply of spare parts, raised from the start for the woman Ronan actually loved.

Fine. If he loved her that much, I would personally send both lovebirds to their graves together.

…

The words kept bleeding through the door, each one driving into my chest like a shard of ice. My nails dug so deep into my palms they drew blood, and a cold that had nothing to do with the air spread through me until I could feel it in every limb.

So the child I nearly died bringing into this world was nothing more than a living supply of spare parts, raised from the start for the woman he actually loved.

But after my C-section hemorrhage, he stayed by my side for three days and nights. His eyes were raw and red from exhaustion. He held me, and his voice shook.

"Babe, we're never doing this again. That was too painful."

I thought that was love. Now I realized he was just terrified that his precious donor's mother might die on him.

Outside the room, Desmond's footsteps faded down the hall, a silent endorsement of his brother's insane plan. Then the door handle turned.

I wiped my tears, lay back down, and forced myself to look weak, as if I'd just woken up.

"Daphne, you're awake?"

Ronan walked in carrying a bowl of broth, and his eyes held that same tenderness that used to captivate me completely. He scooped up a spoonful, blew on it carefully, and brought it to my lips.

"Don't worry about Micah. The doctor says it's just a common childhood bug. He'll be fine in no time."

I opened my mouth and swallowed, but every spoonful made my stomach turn. He noticed how pale I'd gone and pressed his hand to my forehead, brow furrowed with concern.

"Still feeling sick? This is my fault. I should've taken better care of you and Micah.

"Daphne, once he's better, let's try for a daughter too. A son and a daughter would be the perfect little family."

His voice was warm with longing, like he was painting some beautiful future he could already see. I grabbed his sleeve and held on tight, tears falling before I could stop them.

"Don't cry, honey." He set the bowl down and pulled me into his arms, rubbing slow circles on my back.

"Please don't cry. You're breaking my heart."

Yes. My heart was breaking all right.

He'd made sure of that himself, piece by piece.