Chapter 1

Everyone in Seattle said my five-year marriage to tech mogul Elias Odonnell was a placeholder. I never believed them. He was the man who would delay a billion-dollar meeting for my food cravings and donate his own rare blood to save my father' s life.

The day I discovered I was pregnant, I overheard him on a call with his childhood sweetheart, Juli.

"Marrying Gemma was just the only way to get close enough to her father to cure you."

My world shattered. He brought Juli into our home, pretending she was my doctor. They tormented me, locking me in a panic room to trigger my deepest fears. Then, during a forced mountain hike, a sudden shove sent me falling from a cliff. I lost our baby.

In the hospital, I overheard the real reason he saved my life. It wasn't for me, but to keep my father emotionally stable so his "liver tissue quality" wouldn't be compromised before the harvest.

He called our dead child "a complication I've now been spared from dealing with."

With nothing left to lose, I found an unlikely ally in my father's surgeon, a man who owed my dad his career.

He came to my room and whispered, "We'll stage a fake surgery. While everyone is distracted, I'll get you and your father out of here."

Chapter 1

Gemma Bruce POV:

Everyone in Seattle said my marriage was a placeholder, a temporary arrangement until Elias Odonnell' s true love returned. I never believed them. Not for a second.

They didn' t see him the way I did. They didn' t know the man who would delay a multi-billion-dollar board meeting because I had a sudden craving for his truffle risotto, the one he' d learned to make just for me. They didn' t see him standing in our kitchen, sleeves of his Tom Ford suit rolled up, stirring the rice with a focused intensity he usually reserved for crushing his corporate rivals.

"Anything for my Gemma," he' d murmur, his voice a low rumble against my ear as he kissed my temple.

These society gossips, they didn' t know the man who, without a moment' s hesitation, donated his own incredibly rare blood to save my father, Garner Barnett, after a complicated surgery nearly took him from me. Elias had sat by my side in the sterile hospital waiting room, holding my trembling hands, his own face pale but his gaze steady and reassuring.

"He' s my father now, too," he had said, and in that moment, our bond felt absolute, forged in something far deeper than romance. It was forged in family, in sacrifice.

So when the whispers started, echoing through charity galas and exclusive country clubs about the return of Juli Duran-the brilliant scientist, his childhood sweetheart, his one that got away-I dismissed them. Our five years of marriage were a fortress. Unshakable.

That belief, that beautiful, stupid belief, shattered today.

It started with a little stick of plastic in my hand, the one I' d been staring at for ten minutes, watching the two faint pink lines solidify into a clear, undeniable positive. A wave of giddiness washed over me, so potent it made my head spin. A baby. Our baby. I clutched the pregnancy test to my chest, a laugh bubbling up from a place of pure, unadulterated joy.

I had to tell him. Now.

I practically floated down the marble hallway toward his study, the heavy oak door slightly ajar. I could hear his voice, smooth and confident, and I paused, wanting to savor this perfect moment before I changed our lives forever.

But the voice that drifted through the crack in the door wasn't the one I knew. It was tender, yes, but with a chilling undercurrent of clinical detachment.

"Don't worry, Juli. Garner trusts me completely."

My breath hitched. Juli. He was talking to Juli.

"In ten days," he continued, his tone dropping to a conspiratorial murmur, "we'll use his unique liver tissue for your experimental regeneration therapy. It's foolproof."

The air in my lungs turned to ice. My father' s liver tissue? The words didn't make sense. They were puzzle pieces from two different boxes, violent and wrong when jammed together. I pressed my eye to the narrow opening, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

Elias was seated at his desk, a laptop open in front of him. On the screen was Juli Duran' s face-ethereal and fragile, even through the pixelated video call. And Elias was smiling at her. Not his polite, public smile, but the soft, private one I thought he reserved only for me.

"Of course, I only love you," he said, his voice a caress. "Marrying Gemma was just the only way to get close enough to her father to cure you."

The pregnancy test slipped from my numb fingers. It clattered against the marble floor, the sound deafening in the sudden, roaring silence of my mind.

My world didn't just crack. It atomized.

The risotto. The late-night talks. The way he held me after a nightmare. The blood donation.

A lie. A five-year, meticulously crafted lie.

My mind reeled back to the night we met. A fire had ripped through my art studio, consuming four years of my work, my soul, hung on those pristine white walls. Elias had emerged from the smoke and chaos like a guardian angel, pulling me from the collapsing structure just before the roof gave way. He didn't just help me rebuild; he funded the entire project, asking for nothing in return.

And then, when my father' s health began its steep decline, Elias was there again. He paid for the endless stream of specialists, the experimental treatments, the mounting bills that would have otherwise drowned us.

"I can't let anything happen to the man who raised the woman I love," he had vowed, his eyes so sincere they stole the air from my lungs.

I had been so hesitant at first. I was just an artist, a woman who lived in a world of canvas and color. He was Elias Odonnell, a tech mogul whose name was synonymous with power and wealth. We were from different universes. But he had been so persistent, so gentle, so utterly convincing. His unwavering support for my father was what finally broke down my walls. He hadn't just won my heart; he had earned my trust by saving the most important person in my life.

And it was all for this. To gain access to my father. To harvest him like a crop. I wasn't his wife. I was a key. A tool. A means to an end.

A raw, guttural sob tore from my throat, but I choked it back, my hand flying to my mouth. I couldn't let him hear me. I couldn't let him know I knew.

My knees gave out, and I sank to the floor, curling into a tight ball outside his study. The cold marble seeped through my clothes, a perfect match for the frozen wasteland that had just replaced my heart.

Protect Dad. The thought was a single, sharp command cutting through the fog of my agony. I had to get him out.

My hands trembled as I pulled out my phone, my fingers fumbling with the screen. I ignored the banking alerts, the social media notifications-the detritus of a life that no longer existed. I opened my browser and typed in a search that felt insane: "Secluded off-grid properties for sale Oregon."

My entire savings, the money I had carefully squirreled away from my art sales, wouldn't be much, but it had to be enough. A small cabin, a plot of land where no one could find us. A place where the name Odonnell meant nothing.

Nine days. I had nine days.

The search results blurred through my tears. I found one-a small, rustic cabin on five acres, solar-powered, well water. The listing said "cash offers only." I transferred every penny I had without a second thought.

It was done. A confirmation email pinged.

Now for the hardest part. I scrolled to my father' s contact number, my thumb hovering over the call button. I had to get him to leave everything behind, to trust me without question.

"Gemma? Sweetheart, is everything okay?" His warm, familiar voice was a balm and a torment.

"Dad," I whispered, my voice cracking. "I need you to listen to me very carefully. Pack a bag. The most important things only. I'm coming to get you. Don't tell anyone. Not a soul. Do you understand?"

"Gemma, what's going on? You're scaring me."

"Please, Dad. Just trust me. I'll explain everything later, I promise. Just... be ready."

Before he could ask another question, a shadow fell over me. The scent of expensive cologne and cold ambition filled the air. I looked up, my blood running cold.

Elias stood there, his phone in his hand, a strange, unreadable expression on his face. He' d ended his call. He must have heard me.

"Who are you talking to, Gemma?" he asked, his voice deceptively soft.

I scrambled to my feet, shoving my phone into my pocket. "No one. Just... just a friend." My heart hammered so hard I thought it might break through my ribs. He knew. He had to know.

He took a step closer, his eyes not on my face, but on the floor. He bent down and picked up the pregnancy test. He stared at it for a long moment, his expression shifting from confusion to something that looked terrifyingly like possessive delight.

He looked back at me, and his lips curved into that familiar, gentle smile. But now, I could see the steel beneath it.

"You should have told me sooner," he murmured, his voice a silken trap. He reached out, his hand gently landing on my stomach, a gesture that would have made me weep with joy an hour ago.

Now, it felt like a brand.

His smile was a cage, and I had just realized the door had locked behind me.