Chapter 1

The thin blue line appeared, stark against the white plastic.

Ava Miller stared at the pregnancy test, a stillness settling over her.

A tiny, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips.

She picked up her phone.

Mr. Peterson' s number was already on speed dial.

"Mr. Peterson," Ava said, her voice calm, even. "It' s Ava Hayes. Ava Miller, soon, I hope."

"Mrs. Hayes," the lawyer' s voice was cautious. "What can I do for you?"

"I need to finalize the divorce papers," she stated. "I believe Ethan is agreeable to an uncontested process."

She remembered trying to talk to Ethan weeks ago, the unsigned divorce papers light in her hand.

He' d been on the phone with Chloe Vance, his voice syrupy sweet, a tone he never used with Ava.

"Ethan, we need to discuss this," she had said, holding out the documents.

He' d waved a dismissive hand, his eyes still glued to his phone screen, a smile playing on his lips for Chloe.

"Just handle it, Ava. I don' t care about your trivial matters. Chloe needs me to pick up some rare tea she can only get downtown."

Trivial matters. Their marriage.

His words, sharp and careless, now served her purpose.

"He indicated he doesn' t wish to be bothered with the details, Mr. Peterson," Ava continued, her voice smooth. "He said to 'just handle it' ."

Mr. Peterson paused. "Well, if he' s truly non-responsive and has verbally agreed... we can proceed under the assumption of an uncontested divorce after the mandatory waiting period. I' ll need to serve him notice, of course."

"Of course," Ava agreed. She knew Ethan. Notices from lawyers, especially about her, would be dismissed as more trivialities, especially if Chloe was demanding his attention.

She hung up, a small, genuine smile finally gracing her features.

She ran a hand over her still-flat stomach, then carefully wiped down a small, worn silver locket on her nightstand – a locket that wasn't Ethan's.

Downstairs, the clatter of breakfast preparations was punctuated by hushed voices.

Maria, the head housekeeper, was talking to one of the newer maids.

"Mr. Hayes was out with Miss Vance again last night. Charity gala. Mrs. Hayes stayed home."

"She always stays home," the new maid whispered back. "Does he even see her?"

"He sees Miss Vance," Maria said, a note of disapproval in her voice. "Poor Mrs. Hayes. So quiet, so devoted. And for what?"

Devoted. Ava almost laughed. If they only knew.

Her mind drifted, as it always did, to Caleb.

Ethan' s identical twin. Her Caleb.

The world saw Ethan Hayes, wealthy, arrogant, dismissive.

Ava saw a vessel, a perfect, living replica of the only man she had ever loved.

She had married Ethan Hayes for one reason only: to have Caleb' s child.

And now, she had.

Caleb. Kind, artistic, loving. The exact opposite of his brother in every way but appearance.

They had met in college, a whirlwind romance that felt like a lifetime.

His laughter, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, the feel of his hand in hers.

Then, the accident. A drunk driver, a rainy night, during their senior year at NYU.

One moment he was there, vibrant and full of life, sketching her in his worn notebook.

The next, he was gone.

The world had shattered. Grief consumed her, a black hole threatening to swallow her whole.

For years, she had merely existed.

Then, the idea, desperate and wild, had taken root. Ethan.

A child that would look like Caleb, laugh like Caleb, perhaps even share his gentle soul.

A living echo.

Ethan had been easy to persuade into marriage.

His family, influential on the East Coast, had been pressuring him to settle down.

Chloe Vance, his long-time obsession, was conveniently "studying abroad" – a euphemism for chasing acting gigs in Europe with his funding.

"I don' t love you, Ava," Ethan had said, blunt and cold, during their pre-nuptial discussion. "This is a convenience for both of us. My family gets off my back, and you... well, you get whatever it is you want from this."

"I understand," Ava had replied, her voice betraying nothing of the fierce, desperate hope thrumming beneath her calm exterior. "No love. I accept."

He' d looked at her then, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes – perhaps surprise at her easy acquiescence – before shrugging it off.

He truly believed she was obsessively in love with him.

His arrogance was a shield, blinding him to the truth.

He saw her quiet demeanor as submissiveness, her careful attention to his preferences – which were, uncannily, often Caleb' s preferences too – as adoration.

He paraded Chloe in front of her, made Ava fetch things for Chloe, prepare dishes Chloe craved.

Ava endured it all, a ghost in her own marriage, her focus singular.

The public humiliation at parties, where Ethan would dote on Chloe while Ava stood by, a forgotten accessory, meant nothing.

Let them whisper. Let them pity the poor, neglected Mrs. Hayes.

Ava didn' t care about public opinion.

Her life had narrowed to a single, burning purpose: conception.

Every interaction with Ethan was a means to that end.

He misinterpreted her every action, her every carefully chosen word, seeing only what his ego wanted to see.

He was so consumed by his own infatuation with Chloe, he couldn' t imagine Ava not being equally consumed by him.

It was a tragic, ironic parallel.

Now, the positive test confirmed it.

Her objective was met.

Her transaction with Ethan Hayes was nearing its completion.

She would have Caleb' s child.

And then, she would disappear from Ethan' s life as if she had never been there.