Rule Number 1: Never fall in love with him

MAYA

I stared at the pregnancy test in my trembling hands, watching the two pink lines blur through my tears. Six years. Six years of being the perfect wife to Damien Cross, the coldest billionaire in New York City, and this tiny plus sign was supposed to be my victory.

I pressed a hand against my flat stomach, hope fluttering like a desperate bird in my chest. Maybe now he would finally look at me the way he looked at his business deals, with actual interest. Maybe now he would love me.

The bedroom door slammed downstairs. I quickly hid the test in my pocket and rushed to the mirror, fixing my messy hair and wiping my tears. Damien hated it when I looked weak.

"Maya!" His voice boomed through our mansion. Cold. Always so cold.

I hurried downstairs, my heart pounding. "I'm here. How was your trip to..."

The words died in my throat.

Damien stood in the foyer, but he wasn't alone. A beautiful woman with perfect red lips and a tight black dress clung to his arm. But that wasn't what made my world tilt sideways.

A little girl, maybe five years old, peeked out from behind Damien's leg. She had his sharp green eyes, his dark hair, his proud chin.

"Maya," Damien said, his voice flat. "This is Veronica. And this is Lily. My daughter."

The room spun. I grabbed the staircase railing to keep from falling. "Your... what?"

"I got Veronica pregnant seven years ago, before I married you," Damien continued like he was discussing the weather. "The child is mine. DNA test confirmed it. They'll be living here from now on."

My laugh came out broken, almost crazy. "You're joking. Tell me you're joking."

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Damien's eyes were ice. They had always been ice, but I had spent six years trying to melt them. What a stupid girl I'd been.

Veronica smiled, sweet as poison. "I hope we can all get along. After all, Lily needs a proper home with her father."

"Daddy, I'm hungry," the little girl whined, and something in me shattered completely.

I had given everything to this man. Six years of trying to be perfect. Six years of hoping. Six years of loving someone who looked at me like I was furniture. And now he brought his secret child and baby mama into our home like I was nothing?

"Get out," I whispered.

Damien raised one eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"I said, get out!" I screamed, surprising myself. I never screamed. Good wives didn't scream. "Both of you! This is my home too!"

"Actually," Veronica said, examining her nails, "Damien bought this house before you married. Legally, it's his. You have no claim to it."

The pregnancy test in my pocket felt heavy as a stone. I thought about telling him. Thought about using my own baby as a weapon to fight back.

But then little Lily looked up at me with Damien's cold eyes and said, "Are you the maid? Mommy said Daddy's wife is just a maid who doesn't get paid."

Something inside me broke so completely I knew it would never be fixed.

"Sign these," Damien said, pulling papers from his briefcase. "Divorce papers. I'll give you two million to leave quietly. That's generous considering you brought nothing to this marriage."

My hands shook as I took the papers. Two million dollars. Like six years of my life could be bought. Like my love was a business transaction that failed to profit.

I looked at the man I'd loved since I was twenty-two. The man I'd married at a small ceremony because he said he hated big weddings. The man who'd never once said he loved me, but I'd convinced myself that actions spoke louder than words.

What actions? He was never home. Never touched me unless he needed stress relief. Never looked at me like I mattered.

"I'll sign," I said quietly. "But not for two million."

Damien's jaw tightened. "Don't be greedy, Maya."

"I don't want your money at all." I ripped the papers in half. "I'll have my lawyer draft new ones. Fair ones. And then you'll never see me again."

I turned and walked up the stairs with my head high, even though everything inside me was screaming. I packed one suitcase. Just one. I didn't want anything from this house, this marriage, this life.

When I came back downstairs, Veronica was already sprawled on my favorite couch, Lily playing with toys on my Persian rug.

"One more thing," I said at the door. I pulled out the pregnancy test and placed it on the entry table. "Congratulations. You're going to be a father again."

Damien's face went pale. "Maya..."

But I was already out the door, calling an Uber to my best friend Sophie's apartment. I didn't cry in the car. Didn't cry when Sophie opened the door and hugged me tight. Didn't cry when I signed the divorce papers three days later.

I didn't cry at all anymore.

That old Maya who cried was dead.

Two weeks after the divorce was finalized, I sat in a doctor's office, numb.

"I'm so sorry," the doctor said gently. "The stress likely caused the miscarriage. It was very early, but..."

I stood up. "Thank you for telling me."

I walked out into the bright afternoon sun and finally let myself feel it. The loss of everything. My marriage. My baby. My stupid, silly dreams of love.

My phone buzzed. I looked to find an unknown number.

"Maya Winters? You've been selected for a special opportunity. Reply YES to learn more."

I almost deleted it. It must probably be spam or a scam, but something made me type: "YES."

My phone immediately rang. I answered.

"Congratulations, Ms. Winters," a robotic voice said. "You have been chosen to participate in THE SURVIVAL GAME. Please proceed to the address being sent to your phone. You have one hour to comply. Refusal means immediate consequences."

"What? I didn't sign up for any..."

But the line was dead. A text popped up with an address across town. An abandoned warehouse district.

I should have ignored the message; instead, I found myself getting in another taxi, heading toward the address. Maybe because I had nothing left to lose, so what could go wrong?

We finally arrived at the warehouse, and the driver immediately drove off like he was scared of something. He couldn't wait for me to even pay him. 

I looked over to see a black bus sitting in the parking lot, engine running. Its door hung open like a mouth waiting to swallow me.

"Hello?" I called out. "Is someone there?"

"Get on the bus!" A masculine voice said from inside, and I reluctantly did. 

Inside, twelve people sat in seats, all looking care free and their eyes buried on their phones. And in the very back seat, partially hidden in shadows, sat a man in an expensive suit.

Even in the dim light, I would recognize him anywhere.

Damien Cross, my ex-husband. He was staring at me with wide, shocked eyes.

"Maya?" he whispered. "What are you doing here?"

Before I could answer, a crackling speaker came to life above us.

[WELCOME TO THE SURVIVAL GAME]

[Congratulations, you are all dead! But considering the greenhouse effect, hell is on recycle mode right now, so you are being sent to dead worlds, as entertainment! Please, provide the fanciest death you can, for the audience!]

“What audience?!” Damian asked, but nobody, well, no dead body on the bus is in a mood to answer him.

Oh, this is bad. This is so bad.

[The game will begin in a few hours, but before then, I urge you to sit comfortably and enjoy a smooth ride.]

Just then, the bus was covered with fog, and the soft tune of "Hush Little Baby" began to play. My eyelid grew heavier as I tried to stay awake, but it was no use. Everything immediately turned dark.