Chapter 1

My husband thinks I have drained thirty-six million dollars from him, but every transfer leads to a woman who is not me.

So when our daughter is lying in a hospital bed and I ask for two hundred thousand, Ethan finally loses patience.

He throws a stack of payment records in my face and looks at me like I disgust him.

"Emma Lane, thirty-six million dollars in three years. How much more do you need before you're satisfied?"

I pick up the records with shaking hands and look at the recipient's name.

The name printed on every transfer is Emma Laine.

It is one letter away from mine.

So Ethan really has been sending money. Then why Sophie Wells, his childhood best friend and Grant Group's CFO, puts five hundred dollars into my account every month?

I pull up my bank statements and try to explain.

But Ethan doesn't give me the chance and calls me greedy in front of everyone.

That same night, our daughter lies in a hospital bed with a fever so high she starts convulsing.

I beg him to authorize the hospital payment first.

He hangs up on me.

"One million just went through. What kind of show are you putting on now?"

But my account balance is only two hundred thirty-seven dollars.

A second later, Sophie's Instagram Story pops up.

In the photo, she is wearing the diamond ring I never dared to buy, with a brand-new sports car parked behind her.

The caption reads:

"Three years of being chosen. Thank you, Mr. Grant, for spoiling me every month."

Ethan comments under it, "You know when to stop. Emma doesn't."

I stare at that sentence for a long time.

Then I send three years of bank statements to my lawyer.

"File for divorce. And help me find out who really pocketed that thirty-six million."

At 4:12 a.m., the ER doors open.

The doctor pulls down his mask and quietly asks why the child's father still is not here.

I push myself up against the wall, but my legs are so numb I can barely feel them.

"He's out of town," I say.

It is the last excuse I ever make for Ethan Grant.

The doctor glances at the billing sheet, and his voice drops even lower.

"We did emergency treatment, but the infection was too severe. She missed the best window for the specialty medication. You can go in and see her now."

Lily lies very still on the bed.

She is only two years and seven months old, and the backs of her tiny hands are covered in needle marks.

The nurse removes the monitor leads from Lily's chest and says softly, "She kept calling for Mommy at the end."

I bend down and press my face to Lily's cold little hand.

My phone vibrates.

Ethan sends me a voice message.

"Stop using our daughter to test my limits. One million dollars was just transferred. That's enough for ten hospital stays. Be home by tomorrow morning, or deal with the consequences."

The nurse hears it, and her fingers freeze on the edge of the white sheet.

"He doesn't know she was this sick? I called him seventeen times."

She looks at the $237 in my account and says nothing.

By the time the hospital connects me to an emergency charity channel, Lily is already in multiple organ failure.

I borrow from everyone in my contacts but still not enough.

The one million Ethan talks about never reaches my account.

At dawn, the nurse hands me Lily's death certificate.

I hold the pen over the line for the father's name for a long time.

In the end, I lower my head and write Ethan Grant.

The last stroke tears through the paper.

When my lawyer Daniel Price arrives, I have already changed Lily into the pale yellow dress she never got to wear.

Daniel drapes his coat over my shoulders and tells me he has pulled the bank records.

"The only regular payments you've received in three years are five hundred dollars a month from Grant Group's finance department."

I reply, "That makes eighteen thousand total. If I hadn't taken jobs on the side and sold my jewelry, Lily and I wouldn't even have made it this long. What about the thirty-six million?"

"What Ethan showed you isn't bank statements. It's Grant Group's internal payment records," Daniel says. "The recipient is Emma Laine. L-a-i-n-e. The account is tied to an employee proxy. The funds were split into dozens of transfers, and the trail is messy."

I cut Lily's hospital bracelet from her wrist and place it in a clear evidence bag.

"Keep digging until you trace every dollar."

My phone rings again.

Sophie's name flashes on the screen.

"Emma, Ethan asked me to remind you that the money has already gone through. If you're done making a scene with the child, you should come home."

I look at Lily, who will never open her eyes again.

"Where is that one million?"

Sophie laughs softly.

"In your account, of course. Your daughter only had a fever. Ethan already asked me. I handle the family expenses for the company, and he trusts me. I approved the two hundred thousand hospital payment too. The system shows it was paid in full, so don't try to fool him with fake bills."

I hit record and save the call.

"Okay. I understand."

"Ethan hates greedy women, Emma. You've already lost badly enough. Don't drag your child down with you."

She hangs up.

The funeral home staff rolls in a small stretcher.

When the white sheet covers Lily's face, I reach out and straighten the collar of her dress.

Then I tuck her bracelet into her palm.

After that, I send Ethan one last message.

"Three o'clock this afternoon. Southside Funeral Home. If you have time, come send Lily off."

He does not reply.

Ten minutes later, I receive a notice from Grant Group's legal department.

Ethan has requested a freeze on every account under my name, accusing me of maliciously hiding assets.

At the same time, Daniel's phone rings.

He listens for a moment, then looks up at me.

"Emma, the woman named Emma Laine died three years ago."