Chapter 1
I was on my way to meet my husband, Quentin, at his office, gripping two things in my hands: the pregnancy test I had just taken at the hospital–two unmistakable lines–and the keys to the mansion I’d painstakingly prepared as a surprise gift for
him.
During the drive, I had rehearsed countless ways to break the news. Should I show him the test and present the keys now? Or would it be more romantic to reveal it all at dinner?
But my carefully planned moment unraveled the second I reached his office door. Just as I lifted my hand to knock, voices floated through the closed door.
“Iris doesn’t need to know, Simon,” Quentin
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said, his tone calm yet firm. “The past is behind us. It’s over.”
My hand froze mid–air, my heart skipping a beat. What were they talking about?
Simon’s response landed like a blow to my chest. “You took her mother’s organ -without telling her–and used it to save Delilah Starling’s sister. You lied to Iris, Quentin. Her mother died because of it. What do you think she’ll do when she finds out?”
The world tilted beneath me. The air crackled, leaving me breathless.
Delilah Starling.
The name triggered a sharp pang in my stomach.
Delilah–Quentin’s first love.Delilah–the
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woman Gareth Lawson, my former fiancé, had walked out on me for. Delilah–the one. Quentin had never let go of.
I pressed myself closer to the door, straining to hear every word, my pulse roaring in my
ears.
“I did what I had to do,” Quentin said, his voice chillingly emotionless. “Delilah needed me. Her sister needed me. Iris’s mother was already dying. It was the logical choice.”
“So you killed her?” Simon shot back, his words cutting the air like broken glass.
“I saved Delilah’s sister,’ Quentin corrected coldly, unbothered by the accusation. “And I married Iris. Isn’t that enough?”
“Enough? You’ve lied to her for five years, Quentin. Five years of pretending to love her.
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Iris adores you! She doesn’t deserve this.”
“Iris means nothing to m
Quentin said with a chilling finality. “I’ve repaid her–given her a comfortable life, a husband she can depend on. I’ve done my duty. But if she ever finds out…” He paused and shrugged, his tone deliberately indifferent. “Then so be it. I’ll cut her loose without a second thought. As long as Delilah is happy, nothing else matters.”
The
pregnancy test slipped from my trembling fingers, hitting the floor with a hollow thud I barely registered.
I couldn’t breathe. My chest felt like it was caving in. For five years, he’d treated me like I was his entire world–showering me with affection, care, and devotion. I’d believed it all. Every smile. Every touch. Every word.
I thought he loved me. I thought I meant,
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something to him.
But I was wrong.
Tears blurred my vision as I turned sharply, flung the keys into a nearby trash bin, and bolted down the hallway.
Everything around me became a smear of color as the tears came faster. My chest felt like it was imploding, and I couldn’t seem to get enough air. I didn’t stop until I reached my car, collapsing into the driver’s seat. My hands clamped down on the steering wheel, my knuckles white.
I started driving, but my vision was clouded by tears. My thoughts ran in wild, chaotic circles, every word Quentin had said replaying in tormenting clarity. My mother had died–not because of chance, not because of fate–but because Quentin had
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made a deliberate choice. He’d sacrificed her for Delilah. He had killed her.
The headlights came too fast. My foot hit the brakes too late. The impact jarred me forward, and then everything went black.
When I woke, the world was sterile and bright. The sharp scent of antiseptic tickled my nose, and pain pulsed fiercely throughout my body.
I blinked against the harsh light of the hospital room, and then my gaze fell on him.
“Iris,” Quentin said, his voice hoarse with emotion. He was seated beside my bed, gripping my hand as though it was the only thing anchoring him. His eyes were bloodshot, his face pale and unshaven.
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“What happened?” he rasped. His voice wavered with raw vulnerability. “Why were you driving like that? Do you have any idea how close you came to dying?”
I stared at him, my mind caught somewhere between reality and the suffocating memories of his words.
He looked at me like I was his everything. His expression brimmed with pain, worry, and–if I hadn’t known better–love. He was so convincing.
I forced a weak smile, summoning every ounce of strength I had. “I’m fine,” I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper.
Relief washed over his face in waves. He leaned over and kissed my forehead tenderly, his whispers brushing against my skin.
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“I love you, Iris. I don’t know what I’d do without you. You mean everything to me.”
And I let him have his lie.
I let him believe I hadn’t heard the truth behind that office door. I let him cling to the illusion of me as the trusting, devoted wife he had so carefully constructed.
But deep within, something sinister had taken root.
Quentin Brooks had stolen my mother’s life. He had shattered my trust. He had destroyed my love for him.
He had taken everything from me.
Now, I was going to take everything from him.
