Chapter 3

The man’s words haunted me long after he left that night.

What would it take for you to keep your child?

I hadn’t answered. Because what could I say? Keeping this child meant facing a world that had already chewed me up and spat me out. It meant finding food when I could barely afford to eat, shelter when doors closed in my face, and protection when the shadows of betrayal followed me everywhere.

But the question clung to me like smoke.

Four months in prison had been enough to strip me down to bones and shadows. Four months of cold meals, of whispers behind bars, of women who had already surrendered to bitterness. I had fought tooth and nail to keep my belly safe from the fights, from the hunger, from the constant threat of losing what little I had left.

Sometimes I would wake in the night, clutching my stomach, terrified that the life inside me would simply give up too. That this tiny heartbeat would stop because I wasn’t strong enough.

But somehow, against all odds, I made it.

So when the guards came and told me the judge had called me in, I braced myself for more bad news.

Instead, I found myself standing in a quiet courtroom, hands trembling as the judge read through a file. His voice was cool, detached, like I was just another name on a list.

“You’ve served four months,” he said at last, glancing up at me. “Good behavior. Clean record inside. The court has decided to release you early.”

The words hit me like a blow.

Free.

The women I had shared a cell with would have cheered. Some would have cried. But all I felt was a hollow ache. Because what good was freedom when the outside world was no safer than the inside?

“Do you understand?” the judge pressed.

I forced a nod. My throat was too dry to speak.

He signed the papers, his pen scratching against the silence, then pushed them toward me. “You’re free to go.”

Free.

I walked out of the courthouse clutching the stamped release document like it might dissolve in my hands. The sun was too bright, the air too sharp. People bustled past me, their lives moving forward while mine had been stuck in place.

I didn’t know where to go.

But before I could take more than three steps, a hand caught my elbow.

I spun, startled, ready to jerk away.

It was him.

The man from that night.

In the daylight, he looked even sharper, every line of his face carved with precision. His eyes were darker than I remembered, deep and searching, like they could cut through skin and bone straight into my thoughts.

His gaze dropped to the paper in my hand, then lower—to the curve of my swollen belly.

“So it’s true,” he said quietly.

My chest tightened. “What’s true?”

“That you’re carrying a child. Adrian Cole’s child.”

My lips parted, but no words came out.

“You’re planning to give the baby up,” he continued, his tone low but certain. “Why?”

My nails dug into the release paper. “Because I don’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice.” His voice didn’t rise, but there was an edge to it. A conviction that made me look away. “It just costs more than you’re willing to pay.”

My throat ached. He didn’t understand. Nobody ever did.

Before I could argue, a ripple of noise swept across the street. Shouts. Laughter. The flash of cameras.

I froze.

Because I knew that voice.

It belonged to my Adrian. Well he wasn’t mine anymore.

He stepped out of a sleek black car, his arm steady around Eloise’s waist.

My cousin’s waist.

She glowed in a gown that shimmered under the sunlight, her smile dazzling as microphones thrust toward her.

“Mr. Cole, is it true the engagement will be announced this week?”

“Miss Hart, how long have you and Adrian been together?”

Their voices cut through the air like knives. And then…

Adrian pressed a kiss to Eloise’s hand.

The cameras went wild. Reporters jostled for space, shouting questions, their flashes exploding in bursts of white light. Eloise leaned closer, her laughter ringing out like bells. “Yes, the rumors are true,” she said sweetly. “Adrian and I are getting married.”

The words slammed into me, knocking the air from my lungs.

They’re getting married.

He had promised me freedom. He had promised he’d come for me. He had sworn I wasn’t alone.

And yet, here he was—holding my cousin like she was his entire world.

A cruel sound escaped me, part laugh, part sob. My chest burned so fiercely I thought my ribs might crack.

I had survived prison. I had survived betrayal. But nothing could have prepared me for this sight.

The man beside me followed my gaze, his jaw tightening. “Them?” he asked, his tone unreadable.

I couldn’t speak. My whole body shook.

Because in that moment, I realized something. Neither Adrian nor Eloise knew about the child growing inside me.

This wasn’t just betrayal. This was erasure. They weren’t just abandoning me—they were rewriting the story so I had never mattered at all.

Eloise smiled at the cameras, her hand splayed across Adrian’s chest like she had won some great prize. Adrian looked down at her with the same devotion he had once turned on me.

My breath came in shallow bursts. My vision blurred, not with tears this time, but with something sharper.

I was rage filled.

If they thought prison had broken me, they were wrong.

This was only the beginning.

I turned sharply, my steps uneven but furious. I couldn’t stay there, couldn’t watch another second. My pulse thundered in my ears, each beat etching a vow into my bones.

One day, they would regret this.

One day, Adrian and Eloise would know what it meant to steal everything from me.

I didn’t notice the man had followed until his voice cut through the storm inside me.

“You don’t have to face this alone.”

I stopped, whirling on him. “Why do you even care?”

For a moment, he only looked at me. His eyes searched mine, deep and steady. Then, with the same calm that unsettled me before, he said—

“Because I want you to marry me.”

The world tilted.

“What?” My voice cracked.

“Marry me,” he repeated, his tone even, almost businesslike. “Not tomorrow. Not next week. But soon. You need protection. Your child needs stability. And I…” His gaze flickered briefly, something unspoken in his eyes. “…I need an heir.”

My knees nearly buckled. An heir. My child.

I stared at him, torn between fury, fear, and a strange flicker of something I couldn’t name.

This man wasn’t offering kindness. He wasn’t offering pity. He was offering a deal.

And I didn’t know whether to run—or to say yes.