Chapter 2

There was a heavy, sickening thud. Her stomach had connected with the solid wood coffee table. A sharp, strangled cry tore out of her, and she crumpled to the floor, clutching her abdomen, pale sweat breaking across her forehead.

The hem of her white dress began to darken.

"Vivian!"

My heart lurched into my throat. I rushed to her and dropped to my knees.

"Mara." Her voice was barely there. "I'm sorry. This baby... it shouldn't be here."

She was still crying even as she said it.

Then came the crash behind me — something shattering.

I spun around.

My mother stood in the doorway, her face drained of all color, a broken cup at her feet.

My stomach dropped. She had a heart condition. She couldn't handle shocks like this.

But she had heard everything.

The next moment, her hand flew to her chest. Her breathing turned sharp and ragged.

Before I could move, her eyes rolled back. She collapsed straight down.

"Mom!" I screamed, catching her as she fell.

I grabbed my phone and dialed 911.

The ambulance arrived within minutes and rushed both Vivian and my mother to the hospital. I sat in the back, staring at nothing, feeling like I was sinking through the floor.

At the hospital, the doctors worked on them separately. Then a doctor came out and told me: my mother had suffered an acute myocardial infarction and needed to be admitted for monitoring. Vivian was showing signs of threatened miscarriage and required bed rest.

I had barely processed that when Elliot came striding through the doors.

He didn't look at me once. He went straight to Vivian's bedside.

"How are you?" he said, his voice low, urgent. "Are you okay?"

Vivian opened her eyes. When she saw him, she started crying again.

"Don't blame Mara," she whispered. "This isn't her fault. I'm the one who did wrong."

Elliot turned to look at me then. His eyes were ice.

"This has nothing to do with you," he said. "The only narrow-minded one here is you."

"Are you serious?" My voice cracked. "She walked into the coffee table herself. I didn't touch her."

He let out a short, contemptuous laugh. "If you hadn't come home and made her feel unwelcome, she wouldn't have ended up like this. Mara, I never thought you'd be this cruel — you can't even extend grace to your own sister."

"That is not what happened—"

I raised my voice, but it came out hollow. The nurses and patients nearby were all watching. I felt each stare like a pin.

Elliot stepped forward and grabbed my wrist. "I don't care what happened. You are going to apologize. Right now."

I wrenched against his grip. "Why should I apologize for anything?"

The absurdity of it was suffocating. He was the one who had done this. He was the one who had slept with her. And I was supposed to stand here and apologize because their child had gotten hurt?

Vivian's crying grew louder, pleading with us both to stop.

Then her hand shot out and grabbed the fruit knife from the bedside tray.

Before either of us could react, she drew it across her wrist.

"Vivian!"

Elliot and I both lunged forward at the same moment.

Blood welled from the cut instantly, soaking into the white bedding. A nurse came running at the sound, prying the knife from Vivian's hand and pressing gauze against the wound.

"Stop taking it out on Mara," Vivian said, her voice barely a thread. "Please, Elliot."

Elliot's fury turned back toward me. "Happy now?"

I stood there, the room tilting around me.

Fighting the urge to be sick, I pulled out my phone. I needed to reach my divorce attorney. I unlocked the screen — and Elliot snatched it out of my hand.

He glanced at the screen, and a cold smile crossed his face.

"You think you're in any position to talk about divorce?"

He grabbed my wrist and pulled me out of the room, down the corridor to the far end of the hall.

"Your father's estate property," he said, keeping his voice low and even. "And the company shares. I need them transferred to Vivian's name. Soon."

I stared at him. "Those are my father's assets. They have nothing to do with you or Vivian."

"Is that so?" He took out his phone, found a video, and held the screen in front of my face.

The footage was grainy, poorly lit. But the image was unmistakable. A young woman — me — clothes torn, face twisted with fear and desperation.

It was from that night. Eight years ago.

The air left my lungs.

I hadn't known. I'd never imagined he'd been holding onto something like this.

He turned the phone back toward himself, expression unchanged.

"I found the evidence that let your father die with his name intact. I can just as easily post this anonymously and have people spinning their own version of the story — that you wanted it, that you went looking for it." He tilted his head slightly. "How do you think that ends for you?"

I was shaking. The tears came without permission.

He pressed on. "Sign the estate over to Vivian as compensation. Walk away quietly. In return, I'll have her carry the baby to term and give it to you to raise. She finishes her degree. We put this behind us." He let a beat pass. "Or don't. Your choice."