Chapter 1

I handed my resignation to my husband, Charles, ending seven years of being the secret genius behind his jewelry empire.

I thought I was just leaving a cheater, but then I learned the horrifying truth.

My stepsister, Haylee, hadn't just stolen him; she had tampered with my medication, deliberately causing every single one of my previous miscarriages.

When I tried to escape, the nightmare truly began.

Haylee killed her own poodle and framed me for it.

To "teach me a lesson," Charles locked me in a pitch-black closet for hours, ignoring my severe claustrophobia.

He dragged me out, forced my pregnant body to kneel, and slammed my head against the marble floor until I bled.

Then, he made me dig the dog's grave with my bare hands while my own mother watched and sneered.

Lying in the dirt, broken and bleeding, I realized they thought they were destroying Charles's heir.

They were wrong.

I dialed the number of the billionaire tycoon who had been waiting in the shadows.

"Grayson," I whispered through cracked lips. "The baby is yours. Come get us."

Chapter 1

The crisp resignation letter felt heavy in my hand, a physical manifestation of the end. My fingers trembled slightly as I placed it on the polished mahogany desk, its edges a stark white against the dark wood. Seven years. Seven years of my life, compressed onto a single sheet of paper.

"Abigail, are you serious?" Sarah, my colleague and the only person who bothered to ask, looked up from her screen, her brow furrowed with concern. "You're eight months pregnant. This is a terrible time to quit."

I didn't meet her eyes. A bitter laugh caught in my throat, a dry, rasping sound that felt foreign even to me. If she only knew. If anyone only knew.

My mind replayed the last seven years, a highlight reel of carefully constructed lies and shattered dreams. Charles Howard, CEO of Howard Luxury Group, my husband. He was charming, ambitious, everything I thought I wanted. I poured my soul into his company, designing the jewelry that kept his empire afloat, always in the shadows, always "Eos," the anonymous genius. I believed in him, in us. I believed in the future we were building, even through the pain of repeated losses.

The miscarriages. Each one a tiny death, a piece of my heart torn away. Charles held me through them, his eyes filled with a manufactured sympathy that now felt like a cruel joke. He'd tell me it wasn't my fault, that we'd try again, his words a balm that soothed the raw edges of my grief, even as my body failed me again and again. He was so convincing, so perfectly heartbroken. I blamed myself, my fragile body, my inability to carry a child. The doctors had no answers, just pity.

Then, the truth had slammed into me with the force of a physical blow. Haylee, my stepsister, in Charles's office, in his arms. Their whispers carried through the half-open door, venomous words that painted a picture far more sinister than any affair. Haylee, gleefully recounting how she'd "fixed" my fertility medication, ensuring I'd never produce a Howard heir. My miscarriages were not natural. They were deliberate, calculated acts of cruelty. My children, gone because of her.

The rage that flooded me was a cold, burning fire. Not just for Charles's betrayal, but for the monstrous act Haylee had committed. They plotted to strip me of everything, leaving me barren and alone, then cast me aside. But they hadn't counted on one thing: this baby. This child, eight months strong, still safe within me. They wouldn't touch this one.

A plan solidified in my mind, sharp and clear. I wasn't just leaving. I was going to dismantle their carefully constructed world, piece by agonizing piece. I would watch them burn.

Sarah's voice reached me again, pulling me back to the present. "Abigail? Are you okay? You look pale."

I forced a brittle smile. "I'm fine, Sarah. Really." I wouldn't drag her into this. This was my fight.

With new resolve, I pushed myself up from my desk. The divorce papers were already drafted, tucked away safely. It was time for the first step. I marched towards Charles's private office, the resignation letter clutched in my hand, a declaration of war.

As I approached, I heard hushed voices inside. Haylee's syrupy laughter, followed by Charles's deeper rumble. I paused, my hand hovering over the doorknob. The scent of Haylee's cloying perfume, a scent I'd grown to despise, wafted through the crack. My stomach churned. This was it.

I pushed the door open, my gaze hardening as I stepped into the room. Charles and Haylee were standing close, their backs to me, Haylee's hand resting intimately on Charles's arm. They quickly separated, Haylee flashing a triumphant smirk. Charles, ever the smooth operator, cleared his throat, his eyes flicking to the paper in my hand.

"Abigail," he began, his voice surprisingly calm. "What brings you here?"

I held out the resignation letter, my hand steady despite the tremor deep within me. "I'm leaving, Charles."

He took the paper, his gaze scanning it quickly before a lazy smile touched his lips. "Leaving? That's not like you to be so impulsive." He crumpled the letter without a second thought. "We have the Venus Group project. You know how important it is. I need you to hand it over to Haylee."

My eyes narrowed. The Venus Group project. The crown jewel of Howard Luxury, dependent on my designs, my unique style as "Eos." Haylee, the charlatan, had already stolen my sketchbooks. Now she wanted my masterpiece.

"You really think she can handle it?" My voice was colder than I intended, laced with a derision I no longer bothered to hide. "That project requires a very specific touch. A signature."

Charles chuckled, wrapping an arm around Haylee's waist. "Of course she can. Haylee is Eos, everyone knows that now. And besides," his eyes hardened, "you haven't been yourself lately. Always distracted, always tired. Haylee is fresh, innovative." He squeezed Haylee, who preened under his touch. "She's carrying my child, Abigail. She needs to be focused on securing our future, not stressing over designs."

A sharp pain lanced through my chest, but I pushed it down. He dared to speak of a future with her, after what they had done? "Fine," I said, my voice flat. "Consider it done. I'll send over the designs."

My cold agreement seemed to surprise him. "Good," he said, a hint of suspicion in his eyes, but quickly masked. "Go home and rest. We'll finalize everything before the gala tomorrow evening." He was eager, too eager to get rid of me, to secure Haylee's false claim.

I turned to leave, a chilling resolve setting deep in my bones. He wanted the designs? He could have them. But he would pay a price far greater than any collaboration.