Chapter 1

My due date came early. My husband Stellan Draven wasn't picking up. Again.

I took a cab to his hospital. The driver tried to talk me out of it—too far, too across town.

I told him my family worked there. I needed them.

Ten hours in labor before Stellan showed up.

"Ariadne's in labor too. I have to do her C-section. A resident will help you."

Ariadne. My parents' adopted daughter.

I grabbed his sleeve. "Stellan, I'm your wife."

He pulled away. "That's exactly why I can't stay. People will talk."

Then my parents walked in and held me down.

"Ariadne's baby is Stellan's. He kept it from you to protect your pregnancy. Just let him deliver his own child."

I stared up at the surgical light. Everything went white.

Then a tiny body was pressed into my arms.

I held her close. Pressed my lips to her wrinkled little face.

"It's just you and me now, baby. We don't need any of them."

...

I came out of the delivery room.

No flowers. No hugs. No family.

Just my phone screen, lit up with a new message from my mother, Vivienne Kane:

[Odessa, your father and I won't be coming by. We don't want people at the hospital talking about special treatment.]

A couple of nurses walked past me, chatting. Their voices drifted over.

"Miss Moreau had her baby today too. Mrs. Kane sent out a hospital-wide email telling everyone to look after her."

"And she had two huge bouquets of white roses delivered to the room. Heard they were flown in from Holland."

"She's not even their real daughter, but they treat her better than one."

I closed my eyes slowly.

This hurt worse than labor.

The head nurse recognized me and called Stellan.

"Dr. Draven, don't worry—I'll make sure your wife gets a private room."

His voice came through the receiver. Cold. Measured.

"Just follow hospital policy. Put her wherever she's supposed to go. Don't bend the rules for me."

"It's not fair for her to get special treatment while everyone else deals with less."

I nearly died giving him this child. And he kicked me aside like garbage.

I pressed my face against Evelyn's hot little cheek. Tears ran down without a sound.

After a whole runaround, I ended up on a temporary cot at the end of a hallway.

Fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Carts rattling past. Visitors talking too loud.

Stellan came striding by my cot in his white coat, chart tucked under his arm.

Evelyn started crying. A tiny sound, weak, like a kitten.

His step faltered for just a second. But he didn't stop. He kept walking.

The interns trailing behind him whispered to each other:

"Why's Dr. Draven in such a rush today?"

"Duh. I heard Mrs. Draven's waiting for him in the VIP suite. He went to the director himself to get that room."

But I was right here. Curled up on this cot so narrow I couldn't even turn over.

So who were they calling Mrs. Draven?

Ariadne?

For her, the proud, untouchable Stellan Draven actually went and begged.

The stitches on my lower belly seeped blood. A sharp sting cut through me.

I couldn't let myself keep thinking.

Evelyn was still crying in my arms. She was hungry.

But I needed to eat before my milk would come in.

I asked a passing nurse if she could get me a meal.

Forty minutes later she came back and handed me a paper bag.

Two slices of dry bread inside. No butter. No jam.

She wouldn't meet my eyes. Talked fast.

"Dr. Draven said the hospital meal plan is the same for every new mother. He doesn't want you getting anything extra."

I took the bag. Didn't say a word.

I picked up my phone. Scrolled down, numb.

Ariadne had posted five minutes ago:

[Hubby personally planned out my meal prep. I have to finish every bite or he'll be upset. Getting my happy weight on~ ]

The photo showed a beautiful tray.

Pan-seared salmon. Asparagus. Quinoa salad. A bowl of creamy butternut squash soup.

Her son was asleep in an expensive bassinet, wrapped in a cashmere swaddle, cheeks pink and healthy.

And my daughter lay in my arms, on top of old sheets dug out of some hospital storage room, her face already flushed an angry purple-red.

So Stellan's "avoiding favoritism" only ever applied to me.

Fine. Let them treat me like nothing.

But now my child was getting the same treatment.

I was done with this family.