Chapter 2

An hour later, I was on the floor, curled in a ball on a ridiculously expensive white rug. The pain was constant now, a grinding, relentless agony. I was bleeding more. I knew, with a terrifying certainty, that this was not normal.

I crawled to the front door, my hands shaking as I tried the knob. Locked. Of course.

I dragged myself to the landline on the wall, the one he insisted we keep for "emergencies." I dialed 911. A busy signal. Again. And again. The storm that had rolled through earlier must have knocked out the lines.

Panic, cold and sharp, set in.

"Ethan!" I screamed, my voice raw. "Ethan, please!"

I knew he couldn't hear me. He was probably on the red carpet by now, his arm possessively around Sabrina's tiny waist, smiling for the cameras.

I tried his cell again from the landline, my fingers fumbling with the numbers. It went straight to voicemail. His voice, smooth and professional, filled the silence. "You've reached Ethan Scott. I'm currently unavailable. Leave a message."

I left a message. A desperate, sobbing plea. Then another. And another.

The front door opened.

For a second, a wave of pure relief washed over me. He came back. He heard me.

But it wasn't Ethan. It was his mother, Mrs. Scott, dressed in a silk pantsuit, her face a mask of contempt.

"What is all this screaming about?" she demanded, her eyes scanning me on the floor with disgust. "You'll have the whole of Nashville thinking we murder people out here."

"The baby," I choked out. "It's coming. Something's wrong. You have to take me to a hospital."

She laughed. A short, ugly sound. "Oh, please. The theatrics. You just can't stand it, can you? That Ethan is finally with someone of his own class. Someone who can advance his career, not drag it down into the dirt you came from."

"I'm not lying!" I cried, a fresh wave of pain making me arch my back. "Look!"

I pointed to the blood staining the white rug.

Her eyes flickered to the stain, and for a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of something else. Fear? Concern? But it was gone in an instant, replaced by that same icy disdain.

"You're trying to trap him," she said, her voice low and vicious. "Just like you trapped him with this... this mistake."

She pulled out her phone. "I'm calling Ethan. He needs to know the lengths you'll go to for attention."

I listened, helpless, as she got him on the phone. Her voice was syrupy sweet. "Ethan, darling, don't worry. I'm here. Jocelyn is just having one of her episodes. A little tantrum because she's not the center of attention."

She paused, listening. "No, no, she's fine. Just making a mess. You focus on Sabrina. Win that award. I'll handle this."

She hung up and looked down at me, a cruel smile playing on her lips.

"He said to make sure you learn your lesson."

She grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my skin, and started dragging me toward the back of the house. Toward the storm cellar.

"You want to be dramatic?" she hissed, her face close to mine. "Let's see how you like some real drama."

She wrenched open the heavy cellar door, revealing a set of steep, concrete steps leading down into the darkness. The air that rose up was cold and smelled of damp earth and mold.

"He told me to put you in here to reflect on your jealousy," she said, shoving me toward the opening.

I lost my footing. I tumbled down the steps, my body hitting the hard concrete with a series of sickening thuds. I landed in a heap on the floor below, in an inch of frigid, dirty water that had seeped in from the storm.

The heavy door slammed shut above me, plunging me into absolute darkness. The lock scraped into place.

I was alone, in the dark, in the cold water, and my baby was dying.