Chapter 2

After that, Chelsea went from the woman who would've given me the world to a Hawthorne Bay heiress with a nonstop parade of boy toys.

And I became the city's biggest joke.

As things heated up outside, I silently ran my fingers over every tear in the clothes before scrubbing away the filth.

Her love for me had once burned just as hot.

Now I watched it all wash down the drain.

I stood there for a long time.

Only when they were finally done did I grab the papers and walk out.

"Chelsea, Nash's clothes are washed and ironed. Now sign."

The second I stepped forward, my foot came down on an unopened condom.

The same one I'd given them last night.

I stared at it.

Something slammed into my forehead.

I winced and looked up.

Chelsea lounged against the headboard with a sneer.

"What's wrong, Rowyn? Jealous? You can't give me a kid. Plenty of other guys can."

Nash lifted his head from her chest and shot me a smug look.

"Don't worry, Chelsea. I got tested. I'm crazy fertile. Nothing like Rowyn. He's useless in bed and even killed his own kid."

All the color drained from my face.

I stared at Chelsea in disbelief.

The hate in her eyes only got worse.

Chelsea still blamed me for her first miscarriage.

But she was the one who'd insisted on messing around with an escort. How was that my fault?

She swore I'd drugged her.

Now the half-empty pill bottle rolling across the floor was somehow more proof I'd tried to keep her from having a baby.

She had no clue they were my cancer meds.

I gave a bitter smile and looked down at myself, already wrecked by chemo.

She didn't know I'd been terminal for three years.

Or that I didn't have much time left.

Then again, Chelsea probably didn't give a damn anymore.

An angry shout snapped me out of it.

Nash stormed over, ripped the clothes from my hands, and scowled.

"Chelsea, look! Rowyn's jealous I can get you pregnant, so he trashed my clothes on purpose."

I let out a tired breath.

"You two obviously did that last night—Chelsea, let go!"

Her hand suddenly closed around my throat.

Her voice turned ice-cold.

"Rowyn, he's doing what you should be doing as my husband. What are you so mad about? Apologize. Beg him to forgive you."

For years, I'd swallowed my pride and let her humiliate me.

But I was done.

I lifted my chin. "You're the one who should apologize, Chelsea!"

The words barely left my mouth before she kicked me hard in the stomach.

I dropped to my knees, pain ripping through me.

Something warm trickled between my legs.

That kick might've ruptured one of the cancerous cysts.

Screw the papers.

I tore free from Chelsea and struggled to my feet.

"Let me go! I need a hospital!"

Another brutal kick slammed into me.

Chelsea glared down at me. "Why do you need the hospital? To watch your dad die in the hallway?

"You're not going anywhere until Nash forgives you.

"You let my dad die because you were scared I'd use my IPO money on his cancer treatment. So why the hell should I show Frederick any mercy?

"Feel helpless, Rowyn? Good. You deserve it. Stay here and beg."

Her eyes were full of hate.

Like she wanted me dead.

Maybe she was right.

Maybe I deserved it.

I bit down hard on my lip.

And just like that, something inside me finally let go.

I forced myself up, but my legs gave out. I crumpled to the floor like a dead leaf.

"I get it. Nash, Chelsea... I was wrong."

Something flickered across Chelsea's face.

Then she laughed coldly.

"Keep begging until Nash is happy."

She walked off with her arm hooked through his.

I followed them around the house, waiting on them hand and foot.

When they messed around in the tub, I stood there holding their clothes.

When Chelsea threw on an apron and made Nash breakfast, I stood beside her with the dishes.

Every time they messed around somewhere else, I cleaned up after them, picked up their clothes, and even let them use me as a footrest.

I was basically their servant.