I am the real heiress nobody wanted, framed and forced to marry Caleb Sterling, the crown prince of New York’s elite. When I was five months pregnant, his first love—the imposter who had stolen my life—divorced her husband and came back for him. I ran into them at my doctor’s office, my swollen belly a testament to a marriage he despised. He gave me one cold look and confirmed my worst fear. “Yes,” he said. “It’s exactly what you think.” He threw a glittering party for her at our home. I was locked in the attic. Later, when the agony in my stomach became unbearable, a housekeeper secretly unlocked the door. I called 911 and stumbled downstairs, only to be met by the sight of him smashing a glass at my feet. “Who the hell,” he roared, “gave you permission to come down here?” The shock and the terror of that night cost me my child. With the few things I owned, I vanished into the storm. When he finally found me, he grabbed my arm, his voice a raw mix of fury and disbelief. “And me?” he demanded. “You don’t want me anymore?” “No.” My biological parents tried to drag me back, warning me that a girl from nothing would never get a better chance than Caleb Sterling. I looked at their faces, feeling nothing. “And you,” I told them. “I don’t want you, either.” 1 I never expected to see Caleb Sterling and Chloe Pierce in the sterile, beige hallway of an Upper East Side obstetrics clinic. Everyone in our world knew their story. They were the golden couple, childhood sweethearts, a love story written in the stars and whispered about at galas. He had adored her, put her on a pedestal so high no one else could touch her. And then, at the peak of their romance, she’d shattered it all, leaving him for a life in Europe without a backward glance. The rumor that followed was potent: Caleb Sterling, broken by the girl he loved, had developed a particular brand of misogyny. An ice-cold wall went up. Any woman who tried to get close was met with a swift, brutal rejection. I was the exception. Not because he loved me. Not even close. I was the exception because I’d been set up. Because on one rain-slicked New York night, we’d ended up in the same bed. And because, against all odds, I got pregnant. My family, the Pierces, had all but gift-wrapped me and forced me on him. He despised me for it. A living symbol of his entrapment. But the baby, his heir, meant he had to marry me. Our eyes met across the waiting room. My first instinct, primal and immediate, was to flee. But it was too late. He was already moving toward me, his long strides eating up the space between us. I took an involuntary step back, my body already turning to leave. “Tracking me?” His voice was low, devoid of warmth. “Thea. Is this the new playbook they taught you?” His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around my neck. Not enough to choke, but enough to hold me in place, a gesture of pure ownership and contempt. His eyes were flinty, hard. “Tell me. What are you trying to squeeze out of me this time?” Panic flared in my chest, a breathless, suffocating wave. The baby fluttered inside me, a frantic pulse against my ribs. I struggled against his grip, hot tears welling in my eyes against my will. “I… I wasn’t.” He didn’t believe me, of course. He never did. In his mind, I was the master manipulator who had drugged him and crawled into his bed. A narrative I had tried to correct a thousand times, to no avail. Heads were starting to turn. Chloe drifted to his side, her perfectly manicured hand resting on his arm. “Caleb, darling. People are watching.” Her voice, as always, was the magic word. His grip loosened, and he let me go. As my gaze flickered to Chloe, he slid his arm around her waist, pulling her possessively against him. A deliberate, cruel performance for my benefit. “Yes,” he said, his eyes locking onto mine, cold and triumphant. “It’s exactly what you think.” He paused, letting the poison sink in. “Chloe’s pregnant.” “After this baby is born,” he finished, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for me, “you’re gone.” 2 The doctor said the baby’s heartbeat was weak. Unsteady. He told me to keep my stress levels down, to focus on pleasant thoughts. I nodded, a hollow space opening up inside my chest. That evening, the moment I walked through the door of the penthouse, two of Caleb’s security guards flanked me. They took my arms firmly, half-dragging me toward the spiral staircase that led to the top floor. “Don’t take it personally, Ms. Hayes,” one of them said, his tone professionally detached. “Mr. Sterling is hosting a party tonight. He doesn’t want your presence to… disrupt the mood.” They opened the door to a sparse, cold guest room, ushered me inside, and locked it from the outside. I was left alone, curled on a bed in a dark, silent room. This wasn’t the first time he’d locked me away. But it had become more frequent in the last month, ever since Chloe had divorced her European husband and returned to New York. It was as if he needed to prove to her, over and over, that his heart had never strayed, that I was nothing more than a villain, an unfortunate consequence. He had locked me up. He had let me go hungry. He had flayed me with words designed to strip me of any dignity. I’d tried to run once, but he’d dragged me back. I remembered that night, the weight of him pressing me into the mattress, his face a mask of cold fury. “Scared now?” he’d sneered, his breath hot against my ear. “Isn’t this what you wanted? A baby you schemed to have? You can die, for all I care, but not until you give me my child.” He’d leaned in closer, his voice a venomous whisper. “And think about your old director at the children’s home. Mrs. Gable. I hear she’s getting on in years, her health isn’t what it used to be. It would be a shame if something… unexpected were to happen. Accidents are so common for the elderly, aren't they?” The threat was clear. He held all the cards. My only ties to this world were a kind old woman and a group of kids in a struggling orphanage. I was utterly, completely alone. I hugged myself tightly in the darkness. I don’t know how long I was in there before the pain started. A deep, twisting agony in my stomach, like a blender tearing me apart from the inside. I stumbled to the door, pounding on it until my knuckles were raw, my voice cracking as I screamed for help. No one came. I collapsed against the door, time dissolving into a haze of pain. Then, a soft click. The door creaked open a few inches. Maria, the housekeeper, was there, her face etched with pity. “Miss Thea, quickly. You must get out.” I fumbled for my phone, my hands shaking so badly I could barely dial 911. A cold dread washed over me. I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, that I was losing this baby. Stumbling down the stairs, I was met with a wall of sound. The main hall was filled with laughter and the clinking of champagne glasses. My sudden appearance silenced the room. A hundred pairs of eyes turned to me, a sea of disgust, pity, scorn, and ridicule. Each glance was a fresh blade. Caleb’s smile froze on his face. He was sitting with Chloe, of course. The usurper, the fake heiress, tucked so closely beside him they looked like one person. Without a word, he rose to his feet. He snatched a champagne flute from a passing tray and smashed it on the marble floor at my feet. The sound was deafening, a gunshot in the silent room. “Who the hell,” he seethed, his voice trembling with rage, “told you you could come down here?” The explosion of glass left a ringing in my ears. A violent, searing cramp seized my abdomen. For a moment, the pain was so absolute, it felt like nothing at all. He started toward me, his face a blur. The world began to tilt. Then, a woman’s horrified gasp from the crowd. “Oh my god… she’s bleeding.” I looked down. A dark, crimson stain was spreading down the pale fabric of my dress, rivulets of red trickling down my legs. And strangely, inexplicably, I felt a sense of relief. My head spun. Just before the darkness took me, strong arms caught me. Caleb? Why did he look so terrified? This was what he wanted. Shouldn't he be the happiest man in the room?
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